Ten across.
Four rows.
The first row the flag of the acorn, second of the leaf, third of the blooming tree, last of its skeleton.
And after that, Prince True’s chosen lieutenants, Sir Alfie in the lead, followed by Sir Bram and Sir Luther side by side, and then Sir Florian and Sir Wallace.
That was when the cheers went deafening.
For behind them, on his esteemed chestnut charge Majesty, his horse’s rump covered in the royal standard, sitting straight and riding hatless, was their most handsome Prince True.
Men cheered. Women screamed (and some swooned). Children ran along the parade route beside him. Leaves flew in the air.
He turned and dipped his chin this way, that.
He caught eyes.
If those eyes were of a child, he smiled.
He was handsome beyond compare.
He was beloved beyond measure.
Following their prince came the dark-skinned, daunting, but appealing King Aramus of Mar-El and his extraordinarily beautiful queen, both mounted on horses that had their necks hung with sea-blue silks that undulated like water.
Next to them rode the large and fearsome, but attractive King Mars of Firenze and the new pride of Wodell, his Dellish queen, Silence. They, too, were mounted, with their horses’ necks draped in crimson that was edged with green.
Behind them, also side by side, rode the beautiful and proud Princess Elena of the Nadirii with the ferociously handsome Cassius, the Prince of Airen.
The rump of her horse was blanketed with a purple silk edged in coral with a white oak leaf in the middle.
And it was noted widely, Prince Cassius’s horse had his neck draped with two silks.
One the black of Airen.
The other…
Coral.
Following them were the surprise guests at the wedding, the Ice Princess of faraway Lunwyn and The Drakkar, her husband and the most powerful man of that realm. This power was proved, for as they rode, a lone dragon soared over their heads.
At their sides were those some had heard were Lord Apollo and Lady Madeleine, Lunwyn’s top general and his wife.
Behind them rode three lines, five across, of harpists who played while sitting in low carts pulled by manned horses.
And this was when they knew the grand finale was near.
She would soon be there.
And the frenzy grew fevered.
Following the harpist were ten lines of ten girls aged from eight to twelve, these selected from schools across Wodell in honor of their educational aptitude. They tossed splendiferous autumn leaves to the cobbles.
And behind them, as the crowd grew nearly silent in expectation, a long pause in the route many figured was designed in order to increase that expectation (and it was).
But eventually, it came.
And the din was deafening when it did.
The Wedding Carriage.
An extravagant conveyance made of brass and gold, lacquered in yellow and orange, the royal shield on the doors. Covered, it had two liveried footmen at the back, two at the front, four Dellish soldiers in dress greens marching at each side, and the liveried driver with his forest-green, velvet top hat sat on a bench festooned with orange fringe and gold ribbons and tassels.
Through the windows they could see her.
Her dark hair up and away from her lovely face in curls threaded in lace ribbon the color of juniper, this tumbling over her left shoulder.
She wore extravagant earrings and an intricate necklace of green tourmaline and diamonds.
They could not see her gown, except it was the color of the ribbon in her hair and off-shoulder. They could see, as she waved through the windows, her long sleeves were studded with sequins, but the green material there was sheer. They could also glimpse that the sweetheart neckline was tufted with tulle, the bodice covered in a nuanced appliqué and subtle green glitter.
It was those closest to the temple, those who had camped outside its sweeping steps for weeks, who got the best show.
For they saw the troops and the mounts and the drummers and the pipers take formation in the park opposite the temple.
They also had witnessed the arrival (though separate) of King Gallienus of Airen, as well as Relict Queen Elpis of Firenze earlier. Not to mention, Lord Johan and Lady Vanka of the Arbor.
But then they watched their king and queen, their prince’s lieutenants, their prince, and the kings and queens and prince and princess of all the nations of Triton and one of the Northlands enter the temple.
Most of all, they watched the footmen rush forth and open the door to the Wedding Carriage when it came to a gently swaying stop at the foot of the steps.
And out alighted Prince True’s betrothed.
Their future princess.
Their future queen.
Her skirts burst from the carriage, and when she stepped down on a beaded green slipper, they fell in wide, graceful folds from a densely adorned midriff and neckline, the appliqué and sequins smaller at the top, but becoming larger all around the skirt.
As she alighted and moved forward, her train spread out behind her, five feet long and at least that wide.
She was not a vision.
She was resplendent.
She was a miracle.
Even more so as she seemed to gaze side to side with endearing timidity, a small, nervous, but nevertheless striking smile on her lips.
To the clamor of a cheering crowd, gracefully, she lifted her ample skirts and walked alone up the steps to the temple but was met at the top by King Mars.
He offered his elbow with an adoring smile.
She took it with a brave one.
And it was then she won the hearts of a nation when the king of her land, gaze aimed forward, led her to the temple doors.
But Princess Farah turned back and looked over her shoulder, that smile still on her lips.
She lifted her elegant hand…
And waved to her people.
Prince True
The Altar, Temple to Wohden, Notting Thicket
WODELL
“Good gods,” Alfie muttered.
“Bloody hell,” Bram whispered.
“I have never wanted to be you, until right now,” Florian murmured.
True heard them.
And didn’t.
For Farah was walking down the aisle toward him.
There were flutists playing, with the accompaniment of strings.
Sprites were resting on the railing in front of the gnomes who sat in front of the fairies who sat in front of people, behind whom floated pixies, this on his left side at the pews flanking the aisle.
Aramus, Ha-Lah, Elena, Cassius, Mars, Silence, her parents, Frey, Seoafin, Apollo, Madeleine, Elpis and Gallienus as well as his parents sat in the pews to his right.
There were pompom chrysanthemums of cream and bronze and gold bunched with autumn leaves in remarkable arrangements everywhere, including at the tips of bunting in hues of marigold, amber and juniper that lined the fronts of the pews.
And when you entered the temple, the outer sanctum smelled of cedar from the incense burning, while the inner smelled of rose.
It was not, as he feared, ostentatious.
Though it was abundant.
It was also celebratory and beautiful.
But nothing compared to her.
Nothing.
She was nervous, he could see it.
But with every step she took to him. Every second she gazed at his face as she came closer.
That disappeared.
When Mars arrived with her at the altar, True did not look to her protector to hear his message, as tradition dictated.
He said to Farah, “I didn’t think you could be more beautiful, but every day, you prove me wrong.”
Her smile lit up the vast space.
“I think that’s enough said,” Mars remarked in a low voice, and True tore his eyes from his bride to look to his friend. “Excep
t this,” he went on. “There is not a man in any realm I would offer her to without some sense of unease.”
A king then dipped his chin to a prince and finished.
“Except you. Be happy.”
True accepted this honor with a silent nod.
Mars turned to Farah to see her beaming up at him.
He bent to kiss her cheek then put her hand in True’s proffered elbow.
That done, Mars walked away to join his wife in the pews.
“Is this really finally happening?” she asked.
“It is, my love.”
“It’s like a dream.”
She was not wrong.
His mother had given them a beautiful wedding gift.
So beautiful, it was like a dream.
He wrapped his free hand around her fingers at his elbow.
“Mercy had the most beautiful gown made for me,” she shared.
He felt his lips quirk. “I did not miss that.”
“Apparently, this color is not tradition,” she told him.
“It isn’t.”
“But it very much suits me.”
“It does.”
“The incense, True, that was so kind. Remind me to thank her.”
He thought he might start laughing.
He did not.
He answered, “I will.”
“You look most handsome.”
His lips quirked again. “Thank you, darling.”
“Are you as nervous as me?” she queried.
“No,” he answered. “I’m impatient.”
She got his meaning and her eyes gleamed.
They heard a throat clear and both looked to the Wohden priest standing before them.
“By your leave, Your Majesty, if I could start the ceremony?” he requested.
Hell yes, he could start the ceremony.
For then it would be done.
And Farah would be his princess.
His wife.
His future.
One he was finally looking forward to.
With pleasure.
“Please do,” he bid.
Farah shifted, pressing closer to his side.
True locked his frame to support her weight.
The priest smiled in amusement, drew in breath, lifted his hands palms up.
And he began.
True kept his fingers curled around Farah’s the entire ceremony.
He was unsure he heard a word.
He smelled her perfume.
He felt her presence at his side with such acuteness, he knew he would not forget, standing right there with her pressed against him, not for the rest of his life.
But mostly, he didn’t hear the words to the ceremony because he was keen to have her pronounced his wife.
Not to mention, he was very ready for their wedding kiss.
80
The Plan Commences
Prince True
Temple to Wohden, Notting Thicket
WODELL
The first indication that something was wrong was when Prince Cassius’s lieutenant, Macrinus, made a stealthy exit for reasons unknown.
However, he was seen by a few people, a few fairies, some sprites and several gnomes catching sight of something at a side entrance to the temple.
Macrinus then left his seat silently, but with haste, and disappeared through there.
True, focused on his bride, focused on his future, focused on the fact that it was for once bright, missed this.
Completely.
Thus, he missed that the man Macrinus saw there was Nero, another of Cassius’s lieutenants. A man sent to Airen over a month ago to see to its defense against a probable revolt.
And missing it, he missed Nero was travel worn and his face was a mask of foreboding.
The second indication that something was wrong was when Cassius caught site of something at the entrance of the temple.
There was a quiet altercation happening there. A common woman with copper hair appeared determined to gain entry but was being held back by Dellish guards.
She fought like a warrior. However, her tact was as a warrior that didn’t wish to harm anybody.
And thus, six guards to one woman, she was losing.
Cassius’s eyes narrowed on it.
He then brought Elena’s attention to it.
She looked that way and her head jerked in surprise.
True missed this as well.
For it was only moments before Farah would be declared his wife.
And he was not going to miss that.
The final indication that something was wrong, True could not miss.
No one could.
And as Macrinus rushed back into the sanctuary, moving swiftly toward his prince, and Cassius seemed to be attempting to stop Elena from coming up from her seat, at the back of the balcony, twenty men wearing dark-gray robes, black hoods with eyeholes and carrying longbows rushed in and lined the back aisle.
There was barely time for the murmurs and frissons of surprise of those seated in the balcony to register on the rest of the congregation before, as one, the assailants raised their bows aimed toward the front of the sanctuary.
And as the Wohden priest declared the joyous news that the Crowned Prince, True Axelsson of Wodell was now married under the gods and in the eyes of all in the land to the Lady Farah of Firenze, now Princess Royal of Wodell, Macrinus reached Cassius and told him something with great urgency.
Cassius’s face turned to stone.
Elena’s expression registered grave shock.
Aramus, Ha-Lah, Mars, Silence, Frey, Finnie, Apollo and Maddie looked on grimly.
Gallienus, however, looked smug.
And a shout was heard from the balcony.
“Long live The Rising!”
True turned instantly.
But it was too late.
The arrows were threaded, the strings pulled back.
Swiftly, he turned his back to the archers and fell on his wife, taking her to the ground with him on top.
In a flash, Alfie saw the aim and began to race across the nave.
True’s other men raced to Farah and True.
Wilmer noted the threat and threw himself to the floor behind the railing of the pew.
Screams were heard.
Shouts.
Mars, also noting the aim, and after shoving his wife to the floor, attempted to leap from his place in the pew just down and behind the King and Queen of Wodell.
But the arrows had flown.
One struck Sir Bram in his back right side.
One rooted in the side of Sir Florian’s left thigh.
Two hit Sir Alfie in the back.
One hit Queen Mercy in the clavicle.
Four hit her in the chest.
One struck her in the neck.
One seared through the shoulder of True’s dress greens.
And embedded itself in his bride.
The plan had commenced.
Its mission accomplished.
The End of Part Two
To be continued…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
KRISTEN ASHLEY IS the New York Times bestselling author of over sixty romance novels including the Rock Chick, Colorado Mountain, Dream Man, Chaos, Unfinished Heroes, The ’Burg, Magdalene, Fantasyland, The Three, Ghost and Reincarnation, Moonlight and Motor Oil and Honey series along with several standalone novels. She’s a hybrid author, publishing titles both independently and traditionally, her books have been translated in fourteen languages and she’s sold over three million books.
Kristen’s novel, Law Man, won the RT Book Reviews Reviewer’s Choice Award for best Romantic Suspense. Her independently published title Hold On was nominated for RT Book Reviews best Independent Contemporary Romance and her traditionally published title Breathe was nominated for best Contemporary Romance. Kristen’s titles Motorcycle Man, The Will, Ride Steady (which won the Reader’s Choice award from Romance Reviews) and The Hookup all made the final rounds f
or Goodreads Choice Awards in the Romance category.
Kristen, born in Gary and raised in Brownsburg, Indiana, was a fourth-generation graduate of Purdue University. Since, she has lived in Denver, the West Country of England, and now she resides in Phoenix. She worked as a charity executive for eighteen years prior to beginning her independent publishing career. She currently writes full-time.
Although romance is her genre, the prevailing themes running through all of Kristen’s novels are friendship, family and a strong sisterhood. To this end, and as a way to thank her readers for their support, Kristen has created the Rock Chick Nation, a series of programs that are designed to give back to her readers and promote a strong female community.
The mission of the Rock Chick Nation is to live your best life, be true to your true self, recognize your beauty and take your sister’s back whether they’re friends and family or if they’re thousands of miles away and you don’t know who they are. The programs of the RC Nation include: Rock Chick Rendezvous, weekends Kristen organizes full of parties and get-togethers to bring the sisterhood together; Rock Chick Recharges, evenings Kristen arranges for women who have been nominated to receive a special night; and Rock Chick Rewards, an ongoing program that raises funds for nonprofit women’s organizations Kristen’s readers nominate. Kristen’s Rock Chick Rewards have donated nearly $130,000 to charity and this number continues to rise.
You can read more about Kristen, her titles and the Rock Chick Nation at www.KristenAshley.net.
BOOKS BY
KRISTEN ASHLEY
Rock Chick Series:
Rock Chick
Rock Chick Rescue
Rock Chick Redemption
Rock Chick Renegade
Rock Chick Revenge
Rock Chick Reckoning
Rock Chick Regret
Rock Chick Revolution
Rock Chick Reawakening
Rock Chick Reborn
ALSO AVAILABLE ON AUDIO
Rock Chick
Rock Chick Rescue
Rock Chick Redemption
Rock Chick Renegade
Rock Chick Revenge
Rock Chick Reckoning
Rock Chick Regret
Rock Chick Revolution
Rock Chick Reawakening
The Plan Commences Page 60
