Total pages in book: 208
Estimated words: 209645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1048(@200wpm)___ 839(@250wpm)___ 699(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 209645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1048(@200wpm)___ 839(@250wpm)___ 699(@300wpm)
Queen Elpis was in a snit, Mercy saw.
But really, incense?
In a temple?
Revolting.
“There must be something else that would make this more…homely to Farah,” she remarked, ignoring their other companion in the room, Melisse, studying her with disapproving eyes.
But…please.
Censure from a Nadirii?
The woman resided in a realm where no men were allowed. There was a reason for that, of course, but Nadirii lived in a culture defined by bias. She could hardly cast judgement against Mercy wishing to abide by Dellish traditions at a bloody royal wedding, for the gods’ sakes.
“As I explained,” Elpis replied impatiently, “most Firenz wedding ceremonies take place in nature. A favorite spot of the couple, or of the bride, or the groom. The bride chooses colors she enjoys and decorates in those as she sees fit. A priest or priestess presides, the one closest to the bride, or the couple. Though normally, it is a priest or priestess of The Grace.”
“A priest of Wohden will reside over True’s nuptials,” Mercy stated implacably. “A future king of Wodell is married under the eyes of our god of power.”
“Of course,” Elpis murmured.
“So obviously, that will not change,” Mercy decreed.
“As, I will note, I did not suggest it should. I simply suggested, since this will be an affair of some pageantry, which is not the Firenz way, perhaps some rose or cedar incense could be burned, a tribute to The Grace. Either scent most assuredly reminding Farah of home.”
“We will have roses,” Mercy pointed out, and they would, tens of thousands of them. “Won’t that do?”
“Roses are not considered a tribute to our gods,” Elpis explained. “But a gift from them.”
Mercy fought sniffing her disapproval.
“I suggest you reconsider her gown, Your Grace,” Melisse suggested…again.
“That would be highly inappropriate,” Mercy retorted…again.
“Farah is very beautiful, and many hues I’m sure suit her,” Melisse stated. “But I would think something more robust, and Firenz, like wine or currant, would not only be reminiscent of home, but of her king. Not to mention, it would be more suitable for her coloring.”
“Every future queen of Wodell wears pale green,” Mercy returned.
“All right then, as green is the color of the royal standard, then perhaps something deeper, say juniper,” Melisse proposed. “Or something richer, for instance, emerald or jade.”
“The tradition of royal weddings is centuries old,” Mercy replied. “Not to mention,” she went on acidly, “the gown has been weeks in the making and still is not finished. We cannot start a new one now. There’s not enough time.”
And, not to mention, there wasn’t enough money.
Her husband was going to announce an increase on taxes as it was in order to pay for the flowers, and the bunting, the ribbons, the catering, the wine, etcetera.
The cake that was being made as an exact replica of Birchlire Castle cost nearly as much as the gown, the bodice of which was crusted with seed pearls, for bloody sakes.
Fortunately, the common folk enjoyed the pomp of a royal wedding, for somehow, it did not occur to them that they paid for it.
Indeed, the city was teeming with excitement, something that shocked Mercy, for they knew their new princess would be Firenz.
And more shocking, as the days went on, this excitement seemed to grow exponentially.
She could not imagine why.
Though she was glad it was, for that would soften the blow of tax increases.
Elpis drew a sharp, audible breath through her nose, gaining Mercy’s attention, and Mercy watched her look out the window, her hands folded in her lap, her back straight, her face composed, but Mercy still knew she was seething.
She did not care.
How True could have arranged this rubbish was beyond her.
“Then the wedding portrait,” Melisse pressed doggedly. “They could sit for it at one of Prince True’s favorite spots in the gardens. That’s in nature, as is Firenz tradition.”
Was she mad?
“The wedding portrait always depicts the future king seated in his throne in the throne room with his bride standing behind him, as is the place for any princess and definitely queen.”
Melisse sighed.
A servant walked in.
Mercy turned irate eyes to the man.
He blanched at her expression but bowed low, holding out a gleaming, intricately carved wooden tray.
“A message from His Grace, the Royal Highness, Prince True,” he announced.
She lifted her hand his way.
The man came forward, head still bowed, arm out proffering the tray.
She took the folded message on top, and he backed away, leaving the room.
She unfolded it and stared at the words.
True had sent a bird.
There was an established shorthand for use in such messages, as birds could not carry missives that were paragraphs long.
Even so, this message was unusually short.
Even for a bird.
Send a royal summons to the charmed folk immediately.
He meant, invite them to the wedding.
She clenched her teeth.
Now, her son would allow incense.
She was wondering, as she had since that scene at the breakfast table some days ago, where she had gone wrong with her boy.