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I’ve never worna dress so beautiful as this one.
“You look unbelievable, Emily Samovna!”
I pucker my mouth at how they’re addressing me. My desire for more information about this castle and its people has dwindled as the wedding approaches. Now, with the ceremony only an hour away, I’m expending all my energy on not fainting.
The young woman who called me beautiful moves around to view me from every angle. Her dark hair is cut short, enhancing her soft features.
“Yes,” she says. “I think he will be delighted.”
He.She means Konstantin. The group of women—six in total—have been giggling all day as they get me ready for my wedding. They speak almost entirely in either Russian or Croatian, but I can always pick out his name.
They practically swoon every time they sayKonstantin Yurevich.
And every time I hear the adoration in their voice, I get annoyed.
Annoyed? Or jealous?
Exhaling, I study myself in the large, circular mirror. The dress fits me like I was born to wear it. I turn from side to side, eyeing the way it dips along my back in an inverted heart. It really is perfect.
I trace the thin shoulder straps, remembering the way he stood behind me that other night, his skin caressing mine, his cock digging into my thigh. But right now, I have anothermemory … one where I allowed him to hear my dark confessions.
“Are you alright, Emily Samovna?” One of the girls frowns. “You’re all red.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, flapping my hands to fan my face.
The door to the bridal suite—a sunroom in another part of the castle—swings open.
“We have to get to the stables,” Ivica says urgently at the girls. “Toropit’sya! Toropit’sya!”
The group of girls attending me leaps to life, rushing around to grab flowers, extra makeup, and a few last sips from their glasses of champagne. I haven’t touched a drop. I’m worried that if I start, I’ll be tempted to polish off the bottle.
With me in the middle of the line, they usher me from the room and out of the castle. It’s a sunny day, easily the most picturesque weather a bride could pray for. I stare at the clouds and wish they’d turn black as ink.
But I doubt even a thunderstorm would dare delay Konstantin.
Hiking up my dress as we cross the grass to the stables, I catch a whiff of hay. The scent relaxes my rapidly pounding heart. The sight of a familiar horse helps even more.
I rub Hamlet’s muzzle. He snorts, tail flicking. “Well, look at that,” I say softly. The bandages around his rear leg are clean and crisp. “You’re healing nicely.”
“Emily Samovna?” A young woman, one of my entourage, hovers by my elbow. “Your ride is this way.”
Giving Hamlet a final loving pat, I lift my dress hem and hurry after the girl. When I see the massive white stallion with flowers woven in his hair, I let out a silent gasp. He’sstunning—no two ways about it. His clean hooves, large enough to crush a pumpkin, are draped in long white fur. Someone has wrapped silver circlets around all four ankles.
The other women stare at me uneasily. One of them clears her throat. “Is it alright?”
“Is what alright?” I ask.
Each of them shares a look. “Can you sit on such a big horse?”
Their wary faces draw a giggle out of me. “I’ll be fine.”
Gripping the pommel of the elaborate saddle with filigree curling over the edges, I haul myself up onto the horse. The stallion whinnies quietly, holding steady as I adjust.
“Sitting on a horse in a wedding dress is … a little complicated,” I announce.
A woman rushes over, helping to bustle the gown in a way that leaves my legs free without exposing my upper thigh. Anothergirl drapes some layers of chiffon over my lap, adding to my modesty.
“Take these too.” Someone holds up a bouquet of white and yellow roses. I accept it with some resistance. They match the flowers woven into the horse’s mane and tail. “Are you ready?”
