After I got in the horse-drawn carriage with the King and Queen, we galloped through a small village where everything looked like it was right out of a story book. It was quaint and small—thatched roofs and cobblestones and chimneys. People with carts selling produce on the side of the road, roasted chestnuts being sold by the bagful, and tourists stopping to take photographs of the “idyllic” scene.
The carriage stopped in front of a tiny chapel, where exactly zero people were waiting for us, but I didn’t need a bunch of people, just my prince. Or so I thought.
But as I stand here in a tiny chapel, holding a golden ring, without anyone I know as a witness for this momentous day, I understand my father’s warning. I feel all alone in this new world.
I look at the prince before me. He’s a solid foot and a half taller than me and at least that broad in the shoulders. He has a scruffy beard, and intimidating eyes that seem to penetrate me to my very core. I can’t help but wonder if I really can hack it as this man’s wife—because the truth is, I haven’t steeled myself for this reality.
I’m getting married to a stranger. Right now.
Am I ready for this? To be his?
Suddenly I’m scared.
I blink once, twice, fighting the tears that are threatening to surface. He takes my hand in his and slips a simple gold band over my ring finger.
This is really, really happening.
I do feel slightly disappointed that I’m not getting a royal wedding, but I can’t deny that something passes between Garrick and me when we exchange rings, and that’s more important to me than some fancy show.
I’m forced to squeeze my legs together, because with just the touch of his hand, I’m already imagining his body possessing mine.
And so, as we exchange rings, I focus on that simple truth. That his eyes are on mine, and that he’s looking at me as if he wants to devour me.
“You may now kiss your bride,” the priest announces.
Garrick doesn’t hesitate. He leans down, his palm wrapping around the base of my neck, tilting my chin up ever so slightly with his thumb. We lock eyes, and the room stills. The fluttering in my stomach and the fear and the resounding worry that Dahlia was absolutely right about him—they all disappear.
Garrick, my husband, kisses me.
He kisses me, and time stops.
His lips are unexpectedly warm, and the calluses on his hand rub against the soft skin of my neck. I hear a moan, and to my horror I realize that moan is coming from me.
Garrick’s tongue pushes past my lips and I open my mouth ever so slightly, granting him access to a part he wants to take.
I sink into the kiss, knowing his parents are watching and a priest is watching. He doesn’t seem to care, so neither do I.
Then, just as suddenly, he pulls away from me, blinks.
I press my hands to my heart, catching my breath, because I’ve never been kissed in my life, and I certainly never imagined it could be like that.
Garrick’s jaw tenses as he looks down at me, as if he’s considering me as his wife.
The priest smiles. “I now present to you the Prince and Princess of Alpinweiss.”
I look around the chapel. The queen is blotting her eyes with a tissue, and the king is beaming proudly with a smile across his face; everyone seems so happy.
I hear his parents mutter “thank God” and “it’s about time,” and I realize it isn’t so much happiness on their faces as relief.
Except for Garrick. Because whatever sliver of romance passed between us when we kissed is long gone. Now he coughs into his elbow, nods to his parents.
“We’ll be off then,” he tells them.
“Oh, Garrick,” his mother says, “wait a moment. Let us bring you back to the castle and feed you some supper. I know you insisted that no one know about the wedding, but … well, the truth is, we did tell a few people. The cook prepared a lovely meal for you and Iris. And don’t hate me, Garrick, but we also sent notice around about your nuptials.”
“Sent notice?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow, and I have to admit, even though he seems disgruntled at his mother’s announcement, his raised eyebrow does make my heart do that fluttering thing again.
“I’m guessing a few hundred will join us for the reception,” she admits.
Garrick groans. “I made one request. One simple request. That we just get married in peace. I don’t want a show, and never asked for one.”
“Oh, Garrick,” the king says. “It’s not a show, it’s just a reception for our son and his wife. The dignitaries at court need to see a more genial side of you. You’re always so grumpy around them. A reception with a bit of publicity will show them your softer side. With Iris’s help.”