When I don’t answer, the pounding stops. I smile into my pillow until I hear the click of my lock being thrown back. The door opens and footsteps cross the room.

My bed dips as someone sits down on it, and then I feel the feathery touch of fingertips on the bare skin of my shoulder. “You need to get up now.”

My eyes snap open at that voice. “I thought you were ignoring me?” I say to King Montes. He’s leaning over me, and his nearness is doing strange things to my body. I haven’t seen him since that night in the ocean.

“When it comes to you, that’s impossible.”

I bury my face in my pillow. “I want to sleep in.”

“We’re getting married in two hours.”

“Don’t care,” I say, my voice muffled.

“Fine. We’ll skip the wedding part and go straight to the honeymoon.” He pulls back the covers and begins to slide in next to me. I yelp and jump out of bed.

The king steps away and sticks his hands into his pockets. He’s wearing a uniform with a sash, and it takes me a minute to realize that’s what he’ll be wearing today when we get married.

I rub the sleep from my eyes and give him my best glare.

“Just so you know, you’re not frightening at all in the morning,” he says, smirking. “You look like a pissed-off kitten.”

“Say that again, and I’ll castrate you with a butter knife.”

His lips quirk. “Ah, lucky me to have such a blushing bride.”

“Isn’t it bad luck to see me before the wedding?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest.

“What, you think our luck can get any worse?” the king says, raising an eyebrow. He has a point.

Before I can formulate a response, he walks to the door and ushers in a group of women who carry bags of makeup and hair supplies. I grimace at the sight.

“I’ll see you in a couple of hours, Serenity,” the king says, and then he’s gone.

By the time I’m sitting in a small room waiting to be ushered down the aisle, a cold emptiness has settled in me. I’m wearing a dress I didn’t pick out, holding flowers I don’t care for, wearing makeup and hair someone else has styled, and I’m waiting to be married to a man I don’t love because of orders someone else gave.

There’s a rap on the door, and it opens after a moment. A young guard sticks his head in. “We’re ready for you.”

I shake out my arms and crack my neck. I’m supposed to be gathering my courage, not falling apart. I nod and follow him out, bringing the bouquet up to my chest.

Flashes go off, and cameras pan in on me. The photographers press against the velvet rope they’re prohibited from crossing.

All I need to do is march down this hallway, then the aisle.

Easy, I tell myself.

I’m a horrible liar. I might as well be walking the plank. I’m just as frightened as I would be if my life were on the line. I have no one to hold my arm, and even though I don’t believe in giving someone away (my current situation case in point), it’d be nice to not face this alone. That thought makes me think of my father and how unhappy he’d be if he could see me now.

Time’s up, regardless. I turn the corner and stare at two large oak doors guarded by two of the king’s men. Inside is the royal chapel, where hundreds of guests and dozens of camera crews eagerly wait. I can hear music softly playing from inside.

When the tune abruptly changes, the guard at my side nods to the two men in front of me, and they grasp the door handles. “Congratulations,” he says, stepping aside as the doors swing open.

I stand there blinking as I take in the foreign faces that watch me from the pews. I’m too terrified to smile, so I simply stare straight ahead. My eyes meet the king’s, and strangely, in this moment, the sight of him grounds me.

He stands with his hands clasped, smiling at me. I can’t help it, between my nerves and his smile, my mouth curves up. I don’t look away as I walk towards him; ironically, he’s the only thing that’s keeping me from running out of here screaming. And I don’t want that—not if this is somehow supposed to symbolize future peace and unity.

It seems like an eternity before I get to him. Once I do, relief washes over me that I’m no longer doing this alone. I pass my flowers to someone standing nearby, and the king takes my hands. I know he can feel them shaking by the way he squeezes them reassuringly.

The priest officiating drones on in Latin, and my pulse calms down a bit. At some point he reverts to English and asks King Lazuli to present me with the token of his commitment.

Montes reaches into his breast pocket and procures a ring. Giving me a soft smile, he slides it onto the finger where the engagement band already rests.

The stone of this new ring is dark blue, and flecks of gold are caught in its matrix. It looks for all the world like I’m wearing the night sky on my finger. Because what I love most about the sky are the stars.

He remembered.

It’s also not lost on me that the stone is lapis lazuli; I’m wearing the king’s namesake on my finger.

Someone passes me a ring, and with trembling hands I slip it onto the king’s finger.

I gaze into his eyes as the priest speaks. They shine, and right then I feel beloved—by the man in front of me and the world that’s looking to me.

Then I remember my father, and why it is that I’m up here. The lives the king has taken because of his selfishness. The façade is gone just as the priest says, “You may now kiss the bride.”