“No, thank you.” I am most grateful for the help you’ve given me and mine. I’m sorry for how I treated you when we first met. I was jealous.

I felt cool air on my tongue as my jaw dropped. Of me? Why? You had no reason to be.

But I thought I did. You look so much like the woman in my vision, the one who will follow my mother on the throne. It hurt. So, take this with my apology. The ring is a family heirloom. Its sole purpose is to strengthen and focus the telepathic abilities of the wearer. My mother gave it to me to encourage my siren abilities.

Wow. I knew Adriana’s siren abilities weren’t strong because her talent as a clairvoyant kind of cancelled them out. If she gave me this ring, would she have any siren powers at all? Are you sure you want to part with it? Won’t you need it?

No. I will be ruling Rusland. It is a land-locked country. Too, my abilities tell me that you will need it more. Not today, but someday. This is best.

It was such an unexpected gesture that I found myself sniffling.

Don’t you dare cry. If you do, I’ll start, and I don’t want red eyes and a chapped nose at my wedding.

I’m not crying. Well, not much. I gave her a bright smile and then spoke out loud. “It’s beautiful. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Celia, you’ve saved my life how many times now? I think that’s more than thanks enough. I just wish there was more I could do.” She reached forward and held both of my hands in hers, squeezing lightly but with warmth.

We were interrupted by a light tap on the door.

Adriana glanced around, making sure everybody was decent, withdrew her hands, then called, “Come in.” The door opened, revealing Queen Lopaka, a vision of loveliness in a coral-colored skirt suit with pearl buttons, her blond hair swept into a perfect chignon. She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. Crossing the room to the privacy screen, she disappeared. In less than a minute the queen’s suit was hanging over the top of the screen. I felt magic in the air, and a moment later, a deep male voice asked, “Could someone please pass me Princess Olga’s dress?”

I plucked it from the clothes rack and brought it over, inadvertently catching a glimpse of a hairy man with bushy eyebrows wearing a pair of Wile E. Coyote boxers. I managed to hide my smirk. I hoped.

“Hi. I’m Celia Graves,” I said as I passed him the hanger.

“Lars Balakan. It is an honor to serve my king and his queen.” Despite his appearance, Lars bowed with immense dignity.

I turned, letting him do his thing in private.

As he was changing, there was another knock. This time it was the hairdresser and makeup artist, who hurried to their stations. I recognized them both from the ceremony on Serenity.

“Princess Celia,” Brenna called. “I’ll start with you.”

As I walked across the room toward her, I felt the surge of magic. Moments later, Lars emerged from behind the screen as Olga.

“You there. I’ll start with makeup,” Lars called in Olga’s exact voice as he swished his way over to us, wiggling his hips. Wow. He even had her snarkiness down pat.

That was just … disturbing.

Are either of you as bothered by that as I am? I thought to Adriana and Natasha, but apparently Ivy overheard, too, since overhead, the lights blinked once. Hmm. I hadn’t known she could hear thoughts. Across the room, Natasha shuddered and gave me a small nod.

Adriana didn’t respond. She was too busy getting into her gown and veil.

I waited until Lars was finished before taking my place at the makeup station. The stylist began with a layer of sunblock as I sat utterly still, watching the clock on the television counting relentlessly down to the moment when we would leave. With each tick, I felt the tension in the room ratchet up another notch. Each of us tried to pretend we weren’t nervous and failed miserably.

Once again I went over the arrangements in my mind. The men had gone ahead and would be meeting us at the church. Gunnar would escort Adriana up the stairs to Dahlmar and the priests. Yes, priests, plural. The king’s confessor had been given a small part to play in the ceremony as a courtesy, while Adriana’s father, Feliks, would be the primary officiant. As best man, Igor would escort me. Prince Arkady was next with “Olga,” and Sergei, a distant cousin who was so reserved I’d barely noticed him (and had yet to hear speak), would follow with Natasha.

We’d pose at the top of the steps, then go into the church’s vestibule for the betrothal ceremony that would take place before we entered the nave, where the dignitaries of the world awaited.

Two minutes to go. Adriana slipped the fine, lace-trimmed veil onto her head, pinning it in place. In the vestibule, a crown would be placed over the veil and an elaborate ritual would take place, including both Dahlmar and Adriana being given communion. I put on my heels and took a couple of experimental steps, telling myself that I would be fine. My balance still wasn’t good, but I could do heels. I hoped.

The door opened. It was time. Surrounded by a phalanx of Secret Service, we made our way outside, to the waiting pair of horse-drawn carriages. Adriana rode alone in the first carriage. Natasha, Lars, and I rode in the second.

The procession only lasted a couple of miles, but it seemed endless. The crowd roared as the two coaches drove past. I waved, the silly, little royal wave it seemed I had figured out how to do. I still felt ridiculous. But at the same time it was a huge rush, seeing the crowds waving and cheering, hearing them scream our names. I could see how it could get addictive.

Ahead, Adriana’s carriage pulled to a stop at the foot of the long staircase that led up to the cathedral. As planned, our male escorts waited for us in a row near the stairs. Dahlmar cut quite a figure at the top, in his traditional Ruslandic uniform, which was black with silver buttons and a silver sash. Not that it was easy to see the fabric of the sash, because it was so heavily medaled and beribboned. It must have weighed a ton. He wore the charm that offered him immunity from siren magic out in plain sight for everyone—and the cameras—to see. But his real, unenchanted joy in his bride was obvious the minute he caught sight of her.

It was as if the sun rose at her arrival, and when she smiled back, you could see the love between them. Next to Dahlmar stood Anton, Dahlmar’s old confessor, and beside him, Feliks. Both clergymen wore full regalia, their robes glittering with elaborate embroidery and sparkling gold thread.

“Awwww,” Lars cooed in Olga’s voice as our carriage pulled to a stop behind Adriana’s. “Isn’t that sweet?”

Natasha looked at him, blinked, shook her head, and looked away, obviously disconcerted. I couldn’t say I blamed her. It was more than a little disturbing to me, and this wasn’t the first time I’d worked with a spawn. I was worried about whether or not he’d be able to go into the church. Surely he’d have told someone if that was a problem? On the other hand, I really couldn’t imagine the almighty being okay with a half-demon entering the cathedral.

“Showtime,” Lars said as the footman opened the carriage door.

I watched as Gunnar Thorsen stepped up to Adriana’s carriage. Holding her hand, he helped her down from the step stool the footman had provided, then began escorting her up the stairs to join her future husband.

I waited, as I’d been told, until the bride and her escort were ten steps ahead. Igor stepped up, his actions a perfect echo of Gunnar’s, and the two of us began to make stately progress up the steps. Ten steps behind us were Lars and Dahlmar’s brother, Prince Arkady. Natasha and Sergei took their first steps just as Gunnar and Adriana reached the top.

On cue, the entire group turned and waved. The crowd went wild.

Gunnar stepped aside as Adriana took Dahlmar’s arm. The cathedral doors opened of their own accord, thanks to a little magic. We entered the cathedral in pairs. As Natasha and her escort crossed the threshold, the doors swung closed behind them, muffling the crowd noise; a moment later, the privacy spells clicked into place, cutting the sound off completely as the church became isolated.

Dahlmar and Adriana had chosen to keep the betrothal portion of the ceremony small and private. Even Queen Lopaka wasn’t present; she was seated in the nave, in the front pew. That might have seemed odd to outsiders, but in her eyes, her daughter was already married. The ceremony on Serenity had been the one that mattered to the queen.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, but it was a pleasure to be inside the church vestibule and out of the burning sunlight.

I’d seen photos of the church but they hadn’t done it justice. White marble walls soared nearly forty feet upward, the silver-veined stone elaborately sculpted where it framed huge stained-glass windows. The glass depicted the patriarchs of the church, each with their right hands raised in blessing, each image laden with symbols. Sunlight streamed through the windows, painting rainbow patterns on the polished black marble floor.

Once we moved into the main chapel, the eyes of the world would be on us. But not now. For the moment we were a small, quiet group of friends and family in a peaceful, intimate, and beautiful setting. I glanced around, taking it all in at the same time as I automatically checked for threats.

To my right, on the wall opposite where the ceremony was to take place, was a long stand filled with candleholders of bright red glass. Each burning votive represented a petition being placed before God.

Dahlmar and Adriana moved to take their place on a matched pair of wooden kneelers, elaborately carved and stained black, polished to shine as brightly as the floor. Each had an embroidered and tassled cushion to kneel on and a crown resting atop. They faced a cross carved directly into the wall; its exquisite detail mimicked the stones set into the cross Adriana wore around her neck.

Anton, the aged priest who had served as Dahlmar’s confessor from childhood, shuffled slowly into the space between the kneelers. He had asked to give a blessing to the pair before the official ceremony began, and King Dahlmar had gladly agreed. No one suspected anything was wrong when Anton raised his right hand and began murmuring softly. I certainly didn’t—until I felt the swirl of powerful magic building and caught a glimpse of a spell ball clutched in his hand.