Chapter 19: A Bride In Black

••{RHIANNON’S POV}••

The fitting chamber is warm and brightly lit by countless candles, yet somehow, I still feel cold.

I stand on a raised platform in the middle of the room surrounded by mirrors while five seamstresses fuss over me from every direction. Measuring tapes run across my shoulders, around my waist, and down the length of my arms and legs as they take note of every measurement needed for my wedding gown.

One of the seamstresses lifts my arm roughly while another practically drags me by the waist. The rest keep shoving lace patterns in my face, asking which one I like best as if I asked for this fucking gown in the first place.

Every time I remember that my wedding to Azræl is fast approaching, my stomach knots painfully.

Three days.

That’s all the time I have left.

Three days until I’m forced to marry the man who murdered Cyrus and dragged me away from my family in chains.

I’m utterly terrified of what will happen once the ceremony is over and I become Azræl’s wife.

What if he wants to sleep with me on our wedding night?

What will I do?

If I fight him...

If I scream at the top of my lungs...

Will anyone come to my rescue?

Or would everyone simply stand aside because he’s the Emperor?

My eyes begin to sting.

I blink quickly, forcing the tears back before they can fall.

I can’t cry here.

I refuse to let these women see how frightened I am.

"Your Highness," says one of them, "please turn around for me."

A sigh leaves my lips as I do as she says.

"I think that will be enough," the head seamstress says.

Immediately, the others step away from me.

The head seamstress crosses her arms and begins circling me slowly. She narrows her eyes and pouts her lips, humming to herself as her gaze travels over me from head to toe.

When she finally comes to a stop in front of me, she claps her hands together.

"Your Highness," she says with a smile. "You will be the most beautiful woman in the nine kingdoms once you wear the black wedding gown we’re preparing for you."

My expression twists into a frown almost instantly.

"Black?" I repeat, not sure if I heard her right the first time.

"Yes," she nods, shrugging as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

"No, no, no," I say slowly, shaking my head. "That’s not right. White is supposed to be the color a bride wears at her wedding. White is—"

All five of them burst into laughter at once as if I’ve just told them the funniest joke they’ve ever heard. When the laughter finally fades, they share amused glances with one another before looking at me.

"Your Highness," one of them says, "In our tradition, the bride always wears black."

My eyes widen.

For a moment, I stand rooted to the floor like a statue. My lips part, but any word I can think of dies before it reaches my tongue.

The seamstresses return to their work, circling me, whispering to one another about something concerning lace, stitching, gemstones. But I can barely hear a word of what they’re saying.

A black wedding gown.

Just the thought of it makes my chest suddenly feel heavy.

What does that even mean for someone like me?

A hand touches my shoulder, causing me to flinch before looking up.

The head seamstress is staring at me, her eyes filled with concern as her brows knit together.

"Princess, are you alright?" she asks.

"I..." I trail off, struggling to find the words. "Yes, I am."

"I’ve been trying to get your attention," she continues. "We have agreed on a design that will best suit your figure. Something bird-like with floral embroidery, and some gemstones to add—"

"Leave," I mutter.

Her brows rise. "Your Highness?"

"I said get out!" I scream, pointing to the door. "I want to be left alone!"

Their eyes go wide, then they exchange quick glances before bowing and heading for the door, gently closing it behind them.

The tears I’d been holding back finally break free, streaming down my cheeks.

Suddenly my knees feel weak as if they don’t want to hold me up anymore. I stagger off the platform and drop into the nearest chair.

I can’t wear a black wedding gown.

White is what a bride wears when she pledges her heart and binds her soul to the one she loves.

In Astragarde and every other kingdom across Valthorea, white signifies new beginnings... joy... and hope.

But black...

Black represents grief and death.

Black is what people wear when they mourn the loved ones they lost.

A black gown for a bride with celestial blood?

I might as well be walking into my own funeral.

My chest hurts as my heart thuds painfully against my ribs.

I press my fingers against my temples to keep my thoughts from spiralling even further but it’s useless. All I can see is myself, wrapped in the color of death as I walk down the aisle toward the man who took everything away from me.

My shoulders shake as I bury my face in my palms and begin to cry.

The doors suddenly creak open.

"I thought I said I want to be left a—"

The words die in my throat the second I look up to find a strange woman standing in the doorway.

Without taking her eyes off me, she quietly shuts the doors.

My pulse quickens as I slowly rise to my feet.

She walks toward me as if she has all the time in the world. Blonde curls frame her face, falling all the way down to her waist. And once she’s close enough, I see the violet glint in her eyes.

"Who are you?" I ask, the slight tremor in my voice betraying my fear.

Slowly, a smile curves her lips in a way that unsettles me.

"It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Princess Rhiannon," she says softly. "I am Lady Delilah Morvayne."