Eloisa’s dress arrived just hours before the wedding was to commence. She was so detached from the whole planning process that she’d been oblivious to the frenzy that had led up to its arrival at Cal’en Fasha. When she’d first gotten into it, she’d thought that the planners were tearing up because she looked so beautiful, but Jedora had informed her that they were merely relieved that they wouldn’t be losing their heads for ruining the wedding.

Though she doubted anyone would have been seriously reprimanded, Eloisa did share in their relief. The planners, two tall and hawkish Stravean women, had tried their best to get Eloisa involved in the planning of her wedding, but she’d evaded them at every turn. Though she’d always secretly dreamed of her wedding, she had little idea of what went into an Atolian one, and could not even begin to grasp the intricacies of a Cal’derache one. For a nation that didn’t value marriage, they had rather complex weddings.

Her wedding was to take place over twelve days, though the first ceremony would officially bind her to the sovereign as his lawful wife. After a night of festivities, they would depart in the morning for the temple at the heart of Cal’dara, where Eloisa would have her coronation and would henceforth be known as Asejana Eroja, the latter being the Cal’derache variation of her name. It had been decided that she would take the new name in order to ease the empire into having a foreigner as the sovereign’s bride, but Caleth had promised that he and the residents of Cal’en Fasha would call Eloisa by her proper, Atolian name.

In a normal Cal’derache marriage, the marriage weeks would be spent visiting with family members. As asejana, Eloisa’s marriage weeks would be spent visiting the monarchs and high nobility in Caleth’s various kingdoms, with a final stop in Atolia, where they would visit the Suntouched Palace and complete the marriage contract with Philomen. Eloisa wasn’t sure which part of her journey she dreaded more.

However, she didn’t let fear of what was to come put a damper on her day. Today was her wedding day, and she was determined for it to be the best day of her life thus far. It was going to be quite a challenge, considering every day for the past week had been the best day of her life, and she wasn’t sure how things could possibly keep getting better. She also didn’t know how spending her night in a room with hundreds of strangers all vying for her husband’s attention could possibly be better than a night spent alone with Caleth in their beds, but she had faith.

She also had a stunning dress.

‘Cues ka aryma ka arsujem?’ What kind of dress?

The planners had asked that as they’d hefted a massive tome into Eloisa’s lap. Eloisa had thumbed through several of the pages, gawking at the myriad illustrations of potential wedding gowns. In the end, she’d politely handed the book back and asked for something simple. Her planners had not honored this request, and she could not have been more grateful.

The interior of the dress was soft fur, and would insulate her against the cold halls and reception areas. Long and trailing several paces behind her, her skirt was comprised of thousands of white feathers, ending at the slopes of her hips, where the bust was tight to her skin and sewn with countless tiny, blue scales. It was a perfect blend of Atolian and Cal’derache fashion, and she loved it more than she would dare admit.

“I look like a real bride,” she said, shamelessly admiring herself in the mirror.

The tall Cal’derache woman who was curling her hair hummed as if in agreement, though to Eloisa’s knowledge she spoke no Atolian. She received no response from Jedora, who was in her customary position, sprawled out on Eloisa’s sofa.

She and Jedora had spent most of the week together, purely out of necessity. As the wedding preparations had begun, there had been a mass influx of new people coming and going from the fortress. Caleth ordered tightened security on the residential wing, which included Jedora’s constant accompaniment during the waking hours and guards posted outside Eloisa’s door during the rare occasion when Caleth wasn’t in bed with her.

Eloisa had tried asking for a different guard, but Caleth had insisted on Jedora, citing that Eloisa needed someone who could speak her language. Eloisa had tried to reason that Lidia could be her translator, provided she even needed one, as her Cal’derache was becoming quite good. In his usual manner of obnoxious intractability, Caleth had simply changed the subject and resisted Eloisa’s efforts to bring it back up.

She knew why he wanted them to spend time together. Though Jedora had shown no affable qualities to Eloisa, Caleth clearly cared deeply for her. Jedora’s disdain for Eloisa was a continuous source of friction between Jedora and her father, and Eloisa knew it must have weighed on Caleth. He must have hoped that by forcing them to spend time together, Jedora would begin to warm to her. Eloisa had seen no sign of this, but she kept putting in effort where she could.

“Jedora, have you given any thought to what sort of dress you would like for your wedding?” Eloisa asked.

Jedora was under strict orders to answer Eloisa whenever she asked a direct question.

“I’m not getting married,” Jedora grunted.

Eloisa said, “Your father told me that—”

“The sovereign,” Jedora corrected. “I am a grown woman, older than you, I might add. I have no need to call him father anymore.”

Eloisa often prayed that if she ever had children they would not be as prickly as their sister.

“Caleth told me you wish to marry,” Eloisa said. “May I ask to whom?”

“Why? You wouldn’t know him.”

Eloisa might have given up at that point, but she was determined to be nice, if only to spite Jedora.

“Right. Well, I just want you to know that I’ll do my best to fill your role.” Although she spoke Atolian, she still chose her words carefully. “Caleth says it may be a few years before I am ready, but I will endeavor to learn as quickly as I can.”

“Are you that eager to be rid of me?”

Eloisa couldn’t imagine who Jedora would want to marry—or who would want to marry her, for that matter. Her personality aside, she was a terribly masculine woman. But who was she to judge?

“Frankly, yes,” Eloisa said. “And I also believe that no one should be denied happiness in their lives.”

“That is painfully idealistic, princess.”

Eloisa threw a smirk over her shoulder. “That’s asejana to you.”

To her surprise, Jedora’s lips twitched. “Not yet, it isn’t.”

Once the hairdresser finished her work, she fitted a delicate tiara of silver and diamonds onto Eloisa’s head. It was a placeholder for the crown she would get the following day, after her coronation.

“Ketshta?” The hairdresser asked with a hopeful smile.

“I do. Ket’re ka cre,” Eloisa responded.

The hairdresser informed her that she’d be right back, and then went to the bed where her suitcase lay sprawled open.

Wearing a dress in place of her customary armor, Jedora was silent in her approach, and Eloisa was startled when she appeared in the mirror behind her.

“Relax,” Jedora said. “You think I’d snap your neck with a witness in the room?”

Jedora frequently alluded to the various ways in which she could kill Eloisa, though she most often did it in front of Caleth, as if she were challenging Eloisa to rat her out.

“This is for you,” she said, holding out a somewhat crumpled piece of parchment. “I was told to give it to you as a wedding gesture from the sovereign.”

“You mean a gift?” Eloisa asked, taking the paper.

She unfolded it, and was surprised to find that the text was in Atolian. It was the agreement for the loan that Caleth was meant to give to Atolia, except that the amount was left blank. Across from where Philomen’s seal would go, there was a space not for Caleth’s seal, but for Eloisa’s.

“You’ll get your seal after the coronation, before you depart from Cal'dara,” Jedora told her.

“I don’t understand,” Eloisa said, looking up from the paper. “Is he giving me the rights to the loan?”

Jedora nodded. “Although, technically it is your money, from your annual stipend. It’s within your rights to give your brother as much as you want. Contrary to what King Philomen believes, he and the sovereign made no binding agreement. Technically, we owe him nothing, though the sovereign is still willing to send auxiliary forces, should you so desire.”

Eloisa clutched the paper to her chest. “My annual stipend? How much?”

“Two-hundred fifty thousand pounds’ gold, seventy pounds’ silver.”

“Annually?” Eloisa said, needing to clutch the back of a chair for support. “That’s… It’s too much.”

“That is precisely what I told fa—the sovereign. It is nearly a hundred pounds of gold more than what I am allocated each year, and I have had to work to earn that much.”

“How can he afford such a sum?” Eloisa asked, certain she was going to be sick. “Surely, I will bankrupt him.”

Jedora snorted. “The man owns every kingdom in the north. If you knew how much he collects in taxes each year, you’d feel insulted.”

“There is no way I can accept such an exorbitant sum of money, I…”

Jedora put a hand on her shoulder. “Breathe, you foolish girl. The money is yours. You don’t have to touch it, if you don’t want to. That said, I’m sure you’ll figure out some way to put it to use.”

She gave Eloisa a hard pat on the back. “Chin up. Here comes your veil.”

Eloisa turned, eyes wide. The hairdresser was approaching her, and for a split-second, she appeared to be carrying the gray vestal veil that Eloisa had lost on her trip to Cal’dara. But as the woman drew closer, Eloisa saw that the veil she carried was white and strung with glittering diamonds.

Eloisa was still as the hairdresser fixed the veil atop her head. Briefly, she had the sensation of being outside of her body.

Surely, this beautiful bride couldn’t be her.

Jedora took her by the hand, giving her an awkward squeeze. “Enough fawning over yourself. Let’s go and get you married.”