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But not tonight.
Sitting at the table, adorned in a dress that feels both beautiful and burdensome, I can’t help but feel out of place. I’m at yet another wedding I didn’t agree to, but I had to do this, for my people. The crown of flowers on my head a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside of me. The hall buzzes with the tense energy of a celebration that doesn’t feel joyous. Bear shifters and wolf shifters share the table in a display of unity that feels as fragile as glass.
“To the happy couple!” the bear shifters toast us.
Garrick and I lift our glasses and toast too. He clinks my glass and gives me a smile that’s hard to return. To hide my nervousness, I down some of the ale, trying to ignore the way it burns on the way down.
“You make a lovely bride,” Garrick tells me.
Across from me, my wolves glower. But what are they supposed to say? That I’m not lovely? Or that I was lovelier on our wedding day? Nope. So they just sit, looking pissed. Beside them, Lady Scarlet sits strangely quiet, observing the bears like she’s watching a fascinating play that she doesn’t want to interrupt.
“Thank you,” I tell him, struggling for the words. “You look nice too.”
Garrick must have planned this wedding from the very beginning, because there’s no way he was able to borrow clothes in his size from the wolves. His fancy overcoat is a blue so dark that it’s almost black, with silver accents rubbing across his breast and shoulders, and his undershirt and pants match. He’s combed his shaggy light brown hair so that he looks like a proper gentleman rather than a wild man. Although I kind of miss his other look, this one is good too.
As I pick at the food in front of me, ignoring the pointed glances from the wolves, my thoughts race. Four husbands? Four husbands who hate each other? How is this even going to work? The reality of my situation, being married to Garrick alongside the wolves, feels like a lot to process. Like I need a few days away from them just to get my head screwed on straight.
Except I don’t have a few days. I need to figure this out now.
Each bite of food I take feels like a chore, my appetite stolen by a whirlwind of worry and uncertainty. I’m pretty sure they’ve made some special dishes, but everything tastes the same on my plate. Like ash. Ash and worry.
The laughter and chatter around me seem distant. I feel like I’m observing the celebration from underwater. Garrick will have expectations, ones the wolves never had. Am I ready for what’s to come? The very thought sends a shiver through my body. This man is huge. Could anyone have sex with a man as big as him? I feel like he’d snap any woman in half.
Did I used to think the wolves were big? I’m a fool. A tiny creature in a land of giants.
I glance around, taking in the faces of my husband, searching for some sign of what they’re feeling behind the rage and jealousy. Prince Rinan gives me a curious glance beneath the anger simmering on his surface, like he’s trying to read my face. Prince Arlys’s mouth is pulled into a thin line, like he’s gritting his teeth and bearing this whole thing. And Prince Drogo? It’s a “surprise” that the constipated puppy looks pissed.
Garrick leans towards me, a motion that’s becoming more and more familiar between us. “So, we’re married now. I think we should start trying to get to know each other.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised.
He gives me a funny look and shoots a glance toward the wolves. “Of course. I’m sure that was the first step between you and the others.”
I look away. “Uh. Okay.” What else do I say?
“Oh yes,” Lady Scarlet says sweetly. “These three are real charmers. That was their first order of business.” And although it isn’t obvious, I can detect the sarcasm in her voice.
I almost snort, but seeing the tense looks on the wolves’ faces, I choose to move on. “So, what do you want to know?”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “Tell me about your family.”
I glance at the princes, noting their stiff expressions, and choose my words with care. “My father passed away when I was young. He was sick for a very long time before the illness finally claimed him.” My words are tinged with an all too familiar sadness. “My mother is a warrior who specializes in Battle Magic. She is strong, powerful, and… scary.”
“I’m sorry about your father.”
That sadness rises back inside of me. “Thanks.”
“Were you close to him?”
“Very.” The word hurts. “He was the person I was closest to up until then.”
“It’s a difficult thing to handle, especially for someone so young. I understand loss myself.”
I give a wobbly nod.
“And are you close to your mother?”
I hesitate. “Sometimes the personality of a warrior doesn’t translate as well to a mother.”
