Chapter 69 The Wedding
Catherine's POV
They gasped exactly when I wanted them to.
The great doors of the hall opened, and the sound swept through the palace like a prayer answered too loudly. I felt it before I saw it, the collective intake of breath, the awe, the envy, the quiet, reverent terror of beauty perfected. Every eye lifted. Every spine bent. Every noble instinctively lowered their head as if my presence alone demanded it.
Good.
I stepped forward. My gown was white; it was pearl-bright, luminous, woven with threads of silver that caught the light and shattered it into halos. The skirt billowed around me like a living thing, heavy with hand-sewn jewels that glittered with every measured step. Diamonds traced my bodice. Moonstones kissed my throat. Rubies glimmered in my hair like drops of captured blood.
Flowers lined the aisle: white roses, pale lilies, rare eastern blossoms shipped across seas simply because I had asked for them. Their scent was overwhelming. Sweet. Suffocating. Perfect.
I smiled softly, graciously, as though this were all effortless.
As though I had not planned every breath.
They bowed as I passed. Courtiers. Ladies. Lords who once ignored me now bent so low I could see the fear in the lines of their necks. Some wept openly. Some stared as if witnessing something divine. I let them. I had earned this.
I was the future Empress.
At the end of the aisle stood Daevir.
And he ruined everything.
He did not look at me the way men looked at women they adored. He did not soften. He did not smile. His posture was rigid, his jaw locked so tightly I could see the muscle jump beneath his skin. His eyes, those eyes everyone feared, were dull. Empty. As if he were staring through me instead of at me.
For a mad, irrational moment, I wondered if he would even notice if I disappeared.
I tightened my grip on my bouquet and lifted my chin.
He will learn, I told myself. Men always do.
He was grieving. That was all. Grieving the illusion of a woman who had never deserved him. A concubine. A cursed thing. A stain that had finally been wiped away.
Amarien.
The name flickered through my thoughts like a bitter taste.
I crushed it.
I had won. I had done what she never could: I had been chosen publicly, lawfully, gloriously. Whatever fragile hold she once had over him would fade. Love was not some magical tether. It was a habit. Proximity. Convenience.
And I was all three now.
The music swelled. The procession began. I reached him at last, and he offered his arm because tradition demanded it, not because he wanted to. His touch was cool. Impersonal. It made my skin prickle with annoyance.
You will warm up to me, I thought fiercely. You will forget her.
The priest stepped forward, draped in gold and red silk. His voice rang out across the hall, declaring union, destiny, the joining of bloodlines.
At long last! We are married!!
The kingdom rejoiced on command. Applause thundered. Bells rang.
The emperor's crown was placed steadily on Daevir's head, crowning him Emperor of the realm. While I got gold and silver pins with a dragon on them, making me the crowned Queen.
When the cheer died down, a voice cut through it all.
"The curse is defeated!"
The words rang sharp and triumphant.
Cheers erupted.
My smile froze.
I felt it before I understood it, the way Daevir's body went utterly still beside me. Not tense. Not angry.
Cold.
Silence bloomed inside him like frost.
Another voice shouted, "The cursed concubine is gone! Long live the prince and his bride!"
The hall roared with approval.
I turned to Daevir, breath catching. "They're celebrating us," I whispered quickly. "Listen to them."
He did not look at me.
Something in his expression… broke.
Not rage. Not grief.
Revulsion.
I watched it ripple through him as if he had been struck.
"Enough," he said suddenly.
The priest faltered. "Your Highness..."
Daevir stepped back.
Away from me.
The movement was small. Devastating.
He turned sharply and strode down the aisle, past the flowers, past the nobles, past the banners bearing my new sigil. Gasps followed him like aftershocks.
"Daevir?" I called, my voice too loud, too sharp.
He did not stop.
He did not turn.
The great doors slammed open as he left, the echo tearing through the hall.
Silence fell.
Every eye turned to me.
I stood alone at the altar, white silk suddenly feeling absurdly heavy, jewels burning against my skin like accusations. The flowers drooped. The music died. The priest stared at me as if I were a statue.
No one bowed now.
Whispers spread.
Confusion. Unease. Doubt.
I forced my spine straight. Forced my smile back into place, though it trembled at the edges.
"He's overwhelmed," I said lightly, too lightly. "It's been a difficult season."
No one answered.
Somewhere, deep in my chest, something twisted. It wasn't fear. No, not yet. It was a sharp, furious certainty.
This was not over.
I had chased Amarien from the palace. I had ruined her name. I had turned the world against her.
And still,
Still, she haunted him.
My fingers curled slowly around the bouquet until thorns bit into my skin.
Let them whisper.
Let him run.
I would not lose.
I would make him stay.
I would make him forget her.
Even if it took everything she had left to lose.