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“Name?” asked the royal guard at the door, when it was their turn.
“Uh, Riella,” she replied. “And guest.”
The guard ran the nib of his quill down a long piece of parchment while she held her breath. What if the Count did not keep his word? Or simply forgot to put her name down?
“Ah, here you are,” said the guard, his quill coming to a stop. “Very good.”
He gave a small bow and gestured for them to enter.
Like the salon, the inside of the palace reminded Riella of beneath the sea. The ceilings were high, with ornate gold and turquoise-blue accents. Murals of forests and fantastical creatures were painted on wall panels, and balconies oversaw the cavernous foyer. Compared to the outside, the interior was cool and dark and tranquil. She was beginning to realize that peace and quiet were synonymous with wealth in the human world.
With his hand between her shoulder blades, Jarin guided her to the temple where the marriage ceremony would take place. They chose a spot toward the rear, to better survey the crowd of plucked and perfumed nobles. A man in a purple robe presided over a carved wooden pulpit at the front. Thousands of candles lit the temple.
“Is the High Magus here?” asked Riella.
“They’re coming in now,” muttered Jarin in reply, inclining his head at a side door. “A delegation from Starlight Gardens. He’ll be among them.”
Royal guards held the door while a group glided into the temple wearing identical black robes. Except for the tallest one, Riella noted, whose black robe had a crimson hood. A hush fell over the room, followed swiftly by ripples of excited murmurs.
The group sat apart from everyone else, toward the front. As soon as they were settled, the ceremony began. A string quartet played elegant music from the chancel.
First, King Leonid was helped to the altar by a pair of footmen. He wore a mask, like the guests, and an intricately embroidered gold and red cape. His posture was stooped, his skin pale, and tufts of hair stuck out from underneath his jeweled crown, which sat slightly crooked on his head.
The bride entered on the arm of an imposing man, who walked her up the aisle to meet her betrothed. Both wore masks and a crown sat atop the man’s head. His attire was designed to resemble armor, and his crown was made of silver metal and rose-cut diamonds.
“King Reynard Garstang of Morktland,” said Jarin. “Accompanying his sister, Meliohr. Now we know why it’s a masquerade.”
“I don’t,” whispered Riella. “Why?”
Jarin lowered his voice farther and leaned into her ear. “Reynard is deformed, and very sensitive about it.” He shrugged. “Or maybe they’re using the masks to hide Leonid’s ailing health.”
The young bride had golden blonde hair and excellent posture. Riella gave an involuntary shudder at the thought of having sex with King Leonid, as the new queen would surely be required to do, in exchange for her family’s increased wealth and power.
Impatient for the ceremony to finish, she resisted the urge to fidget. The man in the purple robes recited a prayer, then talked about the kingdom of Zermes enjoying stronger new relations with Morktland. Finally, he spoke aloud the vows for the bride and groom to repeat.
“ . . . you promise that you will honor and protect her, until you leave this earthly realm?”
A deep heaviness formed in Riella’s chest as she listened to the vows. She tried not to dwell on the pain, but the more she tried to ignore it, the heavier it became. Perhaps Jarin felt it too, because his hand tightened on her own. By the end of the vows, he gazed directly at her through his mask instead of the royal couple. Riella blinked back tears, determined to be strong.
The ceremony ended when the newlyweds walked arm in arm down the aisle and the string quartet filled the temple with joyous strains.
“Thank the gods that’s over,” said Riella, standing and surreptitiously dabbing her eyes beneath her mask. “Let’s go kill Polinth.”
The people in the row in front of her turned around in shock. Jarin ushered her along the pew, into the crowd filing toward the temple doors. “As much as I love your enthusiasm, let’s try not to get arrested first,” he said with a wry chuckle.
Night had fallen, patches of black sky and glittering stars framed by the high windows.
The reception party was held in an enormous mirrored ballroom in the northern wing of the palace, with twinkling chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
Musicians played in a band on a stage and entertainers danced on platforms. The dancers had painted faces and wore animal costumes. Waiters in black and white suits wove through the crowd, brandishing trays of fizzing wine in crystalware.
In the very center of the room, a grand wedding cake shaped like the golden palace stood tall on a plinth.
The party took off with swiftness and ease. Guests downed flutes of champagne and traded gossip and danced to the spirited music. The High Magus and his acolytes were conspicuously absent, to Riella’s disappointment, as were the royal couple. Naturally, though, the one person she did not wish to see was preening himself in the mirrors nearby.
Count Zemora was so absorbed in his own reflection that Riella spotted him before he spotted her. She pulled Jarin into the crowd, out of the Count’s line of sight. The last thing she needed was to be waylaid by the fawning of that peculiar man.
“What if Polinth isn’t even here?” she asked Jarin in dismay, as she looked carefully at every passerby. “What then? We’ve left so much to chance.”
