She kept her head turned to the public, a smile pinned to her face as she waved the way Marianne had taught her with one hand, like she was caressing the air, while the other was held in a tight clasp by her daddy.
She wasn’t sure who clung to whom most, but they were both clinging, that was all she knew.
She was ready for this. Readier than she’d realized she could be… but that didn’t mean the ride wasn’t eye-opening.
Thousands of people lined the streets of the capital to greet her. They chanted her name, they cried out Edward’s.
The roads were barricaded so her carriage, and the guards riding horses at front and back, could traverse with no problem. The many aspects of Madela she’d come to appreciate, she barely saw.
She was a bit blind at that moment. Tunnel vision was allowing her to see only the way ahead, and that path was dotted with people wishing her well and waving Veronia’s flag as they did so.
These were her people now, she realized, surprised by the notion.
She had a “people.” She was becoming so much more than she’d ever dreamed she’d be, and in the wide-eyed expression on her father’s face, she saw his surprise at her acceptance by the Veronians, as well as his pride in her.
Not that he’d admit to that. What with pride being a sin, after all.
In the distance, she saw the abbey. It was large and daunting. Gothic in style, it reminded her of the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, but where the Gaudi monument was freely formed, almost like candlewax melting down the candlestick, this was sharp and harsh. Fierce lines.
This was a place of worship where royals were baptized, married, and buried.
This was where the country’s royal heart was kept safe.
And she was getting married there.
The tower pierced the sky with an aggression that had her eyes widening.
It wasn’t the first time she was seeing it, wasn’t the first time she’d be inside it thanks to the rehearsal, but it was the first time this would be happening.
All roads led to Yorke Abbey, and it was where her fate and Edward’s would unite forever.
She was nervous again by the time they made it to the front steps of the abbey. Her father climbed down first, hopping with an agility that belied his sixty-eight years, before he rounded the carriage, a guard ushering him, to reach her side.
Another guard, dressed in royal livery, more gilt and a wig this time that reminded her of the Stuart royal household, held open the carriage door for her.
He and her father then held out their hands, and she grabbed both and carefully lowered herself to the ground.
There were many phases of the wedding where she knew she could make a fool out of herself. Tumbling headfirst out of the carriage was one such instance, but she managed her exit with a panache that astonished even her.
When the gown was settled and righted, she nodded at her father.
This was the moment the world would see her dress for the first time, and Drake had warned her that she might feel blinded by the flashes.
Just as she started to take the first step towards her future, a noise made itself known to her.
She froze, then as the stench of fresh horse dung filled the air, she whipped her head around and saw the evidence for herself.
“Animals will be animals,” her father whispered in her ear, and she could hear his amusement.
For herself, she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Then, because if that was the worst destiny could throw at her on her journey to being Edward’s, George’s, and Xavier’s, she flipped fate the bird.
Tilting her head back, she let loose a laugh she knew would grace the front pages, and enjoyed the moment. Her father, chuckling at her side, helped steady her as she began to ascend the steps. Her short train at her back, the longer train of the wedding coat pooling around the stairs.
Each step was a minefield, but she managed it. With her father’s help.
“Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered, a touch brokenly, as she made it to the top of the steps.
“Anytime, buttercup,” he said roughly, and she caught his eye with a grateful smile that was loaded with the love she felt for him.
He’d been pigheaded since his arrival here, but God, she wouldn’t change him one little bit. That, and her gratitude for his doing this with her, for falling into the fray at her side, must have been evident in her expression because he caught his breath at her smile.
Reaching up to cup her cheek, he bent down to kiss her there. The candid moment set off a flurry of flashes, but she ignored them.
This wasn’t for the world.
This was for her.
“You ready for the zoo?” he asked gruffly.
She blew out a breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Straightening her shoulders, she turned to face the crowd head-on, and raising a hand, waved.
Three times, Marianne had told her. Three single times.
Each one seemed to stir the crowd into a frenzy of joy that made her throat choke at the sight.
They were happy for her, she realized. And she felt that joy down to her bones.
Jeez, it almost made her want to cry.
But the makeup had been too long and arduously set for that. And then she had the whole “seeing George and Edward at the altar” thing to contend with. Never mind Xavier, who’d be hanging out with her future in-laws beside the thrones.
Hiding her grimace as she prayed she wouldn’t break down and start weeping, she squeezed her father’s hand once more. Together they walked into the grand arch that had seen hundreds of DeSauviers pass through its aperture for such a festivity.
She sucked in a sharp breath as they headed into the small ante-chamber at the entrance, and the doors closed behind her.
The brief moment of privacy had her asking, “How do I look, Daddy?”
“You look like a princess,” he told her softly, reaching over to cup her chin through the veil. “My little girl, getting married, and becoming a princess.” He whistled. “It’s not what I ever imagined for you, buttercup.”
Her eyes pricked with tears once more. “Me neither, but he makes me happy, Daddy.”
“I’m glad he does. If he ever doesn’t, I’ve plenty of land out back where we can bury him, and the rest of these fools won’t ever know.”
She chuckled. “I think they’d realize if he went missing.”
Nathaniel winked. “At least it made you smile. You’re beautiful, Perry.”
Nerves beset her once more. She clung to his hand. “I wish we had more time.” Her throat closed. “I should have visited more…”
“There’s never enough time, sweet pea. The years pass in a flash, and you had a life to forge of your own. A path that led you to here.” He blew out a breath. “I couldn’t be prouder of you.”
Now, the tears seemed less of a threat and more an imminent danger. “That means a lot, Daddy.”
Before he could reply, the footmen behind the grand doors to the chapel stomped their feet.
She knew that was a cue.
They’d be turning in unison to face one another as they reached for the grand iron rings that acted as doorknobs on the huge wooden doors. They were made from raw planks that had been seasoned with an orangey varnish over the years, and big bolts studded the ten foot monsters.
A footman leaned over with her bouquet, a cascading waterfall of peonies and natural flowers that were native to Veronia—from the thistle embroidered on her wedding coat, to a delicate lily that was a sunburst of color amid the other white and cream petals.
“Ready?” he whispered at her side as she tucked the bouquet securely into her hand.
“As I’ll ever be.”
He raised his arm and she settled her fingers atop it, and together, they entered the nave and walked down the aisle to a choral accompaniment—the name of which George had told her, but she hadn’t really processed the Latin.
The high voices, the echoing sound as the so
ng speared the chapel, soaring high enough to hit the ceiling hundreds of feet overhead, made shivers run down her spine.
She knew from the rehearsal that the chapel was dark and pretty dingy, the only light coming in from a domed roof and the myriad stained windows. But that gloom added to the pageantry of the moment, and with the choir? It was all the more powerful.
The aisle was studded with huge swathes of flowers, bright white thistle and elda, flowers that were embroidered on her dress. Tucked with large roses and bunches of peonies, all matching the bouquet in her hand.
The floral chaos was astonishing, though, and stayed with her throughout her journey down the aisle.
The Veronian service had the bridesmaids and even Cassie, her matron of honor, settling into place long before she even made it down the aisle. Which meant all eyes were on her and her daddy, their own gazes aimed down toward the altar where her future husband would be standing.
She didn’t see the huge stone tablets underfoot that were the resting places of hundreds of Reverends who had served this abbey. She didn’t see the domed roof with its bright blue fresco that overlooked the festivities. She didn’t see the grand thrones, ornate and studded with gems where her future in-laws were seated and beside which Xavier stood. Nor did she see her mother or her family who were close to the throne, where in a regular church she figured the choir would stand.
Here, the choir was at the back, their haunting melody chasing her down the aisle, making those chills shoot back and forth along her spine with every step.
She had no room to fear she’d trip.
She had no room to think anything other than the need to calm her breath. To steady her heart.
The aisle was long. Hundreds of feet long. She started to feel a little desperate, a little ragged, until finally, she caught sight of her men.
They were standing there, so proud, so tall. So elegant and so regal that they blew her breath away.
Only the sight of them grounded her.
Only the sight of them in their splendor let her breathe deeper, easier.
For the first time, she sought out Xavier who was standing beside Philippe on his throne. He was at attention, but he was just as glorious as George and Edward in their…
If her father hadn’t been shepherding her down the aisle, she’d have frozen in place to gawk.
Because, were they wearing kilts?
Holy crap, were they butt naked under them?
The notion made her cheeks tinge with pink as a desperate need to find out that particular truth hit home.
And it was those thoughts in mind, not of the future or of the solemnity of the moment, that helped get her down the aisle with nary an issue.
Because when it came to the prospect of her men being butt naked under a kilt in church, not even the future could take pride of place in her thoughts.
Chapter Eighteen
At the sight of her sweeping down the aisle, Edward felt choked.
George had been right.
The bastard.
He’d said her glory would astonish him, and it did. It did. She was like something from pre-Elizabethan times. A pagan goddess come to blow his mind and to steal his heart.
Half-witch, half-goddess.
That she was to be a princess was affirmed at that moment.
She was short, there was no avoiding that. She wasn’t skinny, even though he knew she hadn’t been eating well. And though she might not have been anyone’s idea of a princess, she was his.
And she was perfect.
Glorious.
She gleamed like an angel with each step she took toward him. And with each step, he wondered if she was questioning this. Wondered if she was uncertain about the future and the power of what they had together in the face of what she had to do to be with them all.
He had no doubt that her wide eyes weren’t for him alone. They were for George, and if her darting looks were anything to go by, Xavier too.
But as she approached the altar, moving ever nearer, any qualms fled. He felt her delight in his uniform, just as Xavier had predicted. He sensed her joy in what was about to happen. Her absolute surety.
From the shaky beginnings, from a start that had more chance of crumbling than flourishing thanks to George’s machinations, here they were.
The culmination of George’s hopes and dreams. Of Edward’s needs and passions. Of Xavier’s wants and desires.
She was the living embodiment of it all, and he’d never been more grateful for her than he was at that moment.
The choir ceased singing its powerful aria as she neared the altar. With six feet to spare, utter silence befell the abbey.
The thumps of her slippered feet and her father’s Oxford’s were the only sounds echoing around the atrium. The whisper of her train could also be heard, but it was a steady hum that soothed him.
The aisle gave way to a clearing where they came to a halt.
As protocol demanded, Cassie descended, graceful to the last, from her perch on the penultimate step to the altar. She swept down to face Perry and began to carefully lift the veil off his fiancée’s head.
The movement enabled him to see the glorious circlet atop her brow, its bright emeralds winking at him. And he knew his mother had had a hand in choosing that particular piece—emeralds were, after all, the Crown Prince’s stone.
She looked a little white around the gills, if he were being honest, but her cheeks were tinged pink and her eyes were bright with excitement, he was relieved to note.
Cassie gathered the veil in her hand and collected Perry’s bouquet of flowers before dipping into a low curtsey and retreating to her perch.
Perry shot him a look that held the mysteries of the ages, a look that had confounded greater men than he and which Da Vinci had captured in la Gioconda. Her father once again took her hand, and together, they turned to the left where the King and Queen were seated.
Nathaniel’s heels clicked as he stood in place and carefully bowed as Edward had instructed him. When he’d supplicated himself, he half-turned to Perry, and with his support, she fell to her knees.
Seeing her there made Edward’s throat choke. The pool of white creamy beige against the decorated and carved stone floor was a powerful image he knew he’d never forget.
If he’d doubted his love for her, he knew at that moment he couldn’t.
The rest of the world disappeared. The cameras, the congregation, even their family, no one else was there. She was it.
On her knees, she bowed her head and whispered the words that would start the wedding.
“Your Highness, I claim your son as my own. With my heart, I shall shield him. With my body, your line shall continue.” She fell silent a second, and Edward’s heart raced. The world reappeared, and he glanced quickly at George who also looked a little frantic.
Had she forgotten the rest?
But before their nerves could swell further, she cleared her throat, and the words came out choked. “Do you grant me leave to be the future of your house?”
“Aye, daughter, I do,” Philippe said, his tone neither booming nor gentle. But it was heartfelt.
Edward knew it, and as he caught his father’s eye, he saw Philippe’s approval at his choice.
His father hadn’t said much about Perry. But Edward sensed his relief. Not only that he was marrying, but that Perry was the bride.
With her, there was a future that included the chance of a DeSauvier heir of Philippe’s direct descendance.
But more than that, Edward knew Philippe was aware of how happy Perry made him.
That, Edward realized, was what counted to his parents as it hadn’t the last time.
Before Nathaniel could help Perry onto her feet, Philippe stunned them all by standing, too.
The thrones were ancient and huge. Made from solid gold and carved with motifs that Edward had long since learned and forgotten about, they were also uncomfortable as hell. Not even the red velvet cushions made them easier to sit on�
��he knew because he’d plunked his butt on there as a child more times than he could count.
Still, his heart was in his throat as Philippe descended the dais and approached Perry.
He looked at Nathaniel. “Your child is welcomed into my line. We shall shelter her for you and safe-keep her future.”
Nathaniel blinked, and Edward recognized the appearance of a rabbit in front of headlights, as this was most definitely off-script.
Philippe whispered something which had Nathaniel nodding, and Edward watched as together, they helped Perry stand.
His father held out his arm, and Perry, white-faced and trembling now with confusion and nerves, placed her small hand atop his father’s wrist as she did with her own.
The trio managed to walk the six steps to the altar in sync.
Edward caught his father’s eye as he too descended the stairs. Bowing deeply, he felt his father’s hand on his head. Hesitating a second until Philippe’s fingers slipped away, Edward stood.
His eyes prickled with tears, and he silently thanked his father for his explicit approval of this match.
No other bride had been treated so generously in their history.
This was a first.
Groundbreaking.
Philippe smiled at him, the gentle twitch of his lips warm and loving, before he turned to Perry and further amazed anyone who knew anything about protocol, and bowed his head to her.
Perry, looking close to fainting now, gulped.
“I am relieved the future of my line is in your hands. But more than that, it warms me to my soul that my son’s heart is in your safe-keeping.” He stepped close to her, kissed her cheeks, then having stunned the world with the breach of etiquette, retreated to the throne.
When Edward glanced at his mother, he saw that she wasn’t surprised. If anything, her smile was approving. When she realized his attention was fixed on him, her smile widened, but she flared her eyes. A silent prod to get things moving.
Amused at his mother’s bossiness, he approached Nathaniel, hand outstretched. His future father-in-law shook it. With his free hand, he reached for Perry’s and placed hers close to Edward’s.
“Thank you,” he said softly, watching as Nathaniel leaned down to kiss Perry on the cheek before he made his retreat to Janice’s side, leaving him and his bride-to-be alone.
Her Highness, Princess Perry: Contemporary Reverse Harem (Kingdom of Veronia Book 2) Page 28