by Jillian Dodd
“Are you all going to walk me down the aisle?” I ask happily.
“I’m going to bow out,” Blake says. “I’m just not comfortable, being on live television—not so much because of my facial scarring, but because of my former life as a spy. I have a very special seat scoped out in the upper level of the church.”
“They could blur out your face,” I offer.
“Lorenzo suggested the same,” he says. “I’m here because I love you, Huntley. But please respect my wishes.”
I nod and give him a hug before he slips into a side door.
“And I’m just out here, so I can see my baby sister before everyone else,” Ari says with a grin.
“Baby sister? I’m, like, thirty minutes younger than you.”
“Ha. I know.” He stops smiling and takes a deep breath. “You are a beautiful bride and will make a wonderful queen.”
I give him a tight squeeze. “Thank you, Ari. I love you.”
“You do?” he says, emotion overcoming him as I realize that I’ve never said those words to my brother before.
“Yeah, I do. And I’m really glad that we found each other.” I turn to our father. “Well, I’m glad you found us.”
“I am, too,” Ares says, wrapping his arms around both of us.
Ari wipes the tears from his eyes and says, “I’d better get in there, so we can get this party started.”
“Guess it’s just you and me, kid,” Ares says. “After everything we have been through, the fact that you and I are here, where we always should have been, helps to set the world right. Lorenzo’s father loved you from the moment he met you, didn’t he?”
“We hit it off quickly,” I agree. “I didn’t understand at the time that I really was your daughter, but now, it makes more sense.”
“Your mother would have also been very proud of you.”
“Thank you. I’m a little mad at her, still, but like you said, here we are.”
Although Lorenzo touched on it in his speech, I tell Ares how my mom yelled, embarrassing me, during the castle tour. How she told me I could be a princess someday. And how I locked eyes with Lorenzo. I also remind him about how Lorenzo and I serendipitously met in the tailor’s shop at the start of my first mission rather than because of an elaborate scheme on my part.
“I know you weren’t sure if you had done the right thing for me once you realized I was your daughter, but you did. Blackwood was where I belonged. My journey might not have been the easiest one, but it’s part of what makes me who I am today. I still can’t believe I’m going to be crowned queen after this.”
“Keep dreaming, Huntley, and more great things will come to you and those you love.”
“Speaking of that, any chance Ari and I can talk you into moving to Montrovia? You didn’t get to experience our childhoods. I’m hoping you can be here for your grandchildren.”
“In the future, that’s a possibility,” he says, patting my hand and possibly slightly patronizing me.
“You have until this spring,” I whisper. “Lorenzo doesn’t even know yet, so you’d better be able to keep a secret.”
He turns to me, eyes now completely full of tears. “We taught you to trust no one.”
I let out a chuckle. “Yeah, well, that didn’t stick, obviously. Come on, old man, let’s get me married.”
The bridal march starts playing, signifying our upcoming entrance.
My face is beaming when the doors are opened, and my heart soars when I see Lorenzo standing at the front of the church, waiting for me. He looks so handsome. His hair is slicked back, and he’s wearing a white military uniform. It has elaborate heavy gold braiding, thick light-blue trim, and numerous gold medallions. And on his face is a wide smile.
The decor inside the small chapel is over the top. I was expecting the chapel to be doused in red roses, much like the city streets were. And, while I do love wearing red gowns, I wouldn’t say it’s my favorite color. I planned to use subtle pastels like the names embroidered on my veil, so I’m shocked when I step into a fairy-tale-like setting. As I walk further down the aisle, taking in my surroundings, I realize that’s not what this is. I notice the swirling designs from Lorenzo the Magnificent’s tomb etched into the grass aisle runner. You can’t see the walls of the chapel, as every inch is hidden by a forest of trees, each one with pastel floral vines running up their trunks and interspersed throughout their branches. A hanging garden dangles from the ceiling. Attached to all the branches and vines are glass orbs lit with glowing candles. The ends of the pews offer a tall pole with a large nautical lantern atop, each decorated with floral vines and filled with candles, lighting my way. More floral-filled branches swirl across the ceiling, looking like they are growing toward something.
And they are.
The branches meet above the altar, forming a circle and revealing an ancient painting of the place the decor reminds me of. A place with peaceful rolling hills, green grass, and views of an ocean beyond.
When I step onto the altar and take Lorenzo’s hands in mine, he whispers, “You are my Arcadia.”
I am nervous when it comes time to say our vows. Since we never discussed the intricacies of the ceremony, I didn’t let him know that I had no desire to repeat the words we’d said to each other during our wedding at sea. Thankfully, he must feel the same way, wanting to keep them private, because we simply repeat traditional church vows, promising to be faithful and love each other through both happy and difficult times. And, although I have felt officially married to him since that day and would have been happy to have another private ceremony with a justice of the peace to make it legal, I know this is important to his family, the monarchy, and to his country.
After the wedding ceremony, we leave the chapel together via horse-drawn carriage and follow the twisting path up the hill to the castle. The entire way is littered with rose petals, and if I didn’t already think I’d seen the most extravagant part of the wedding, I’m seeing it now.
We’re dropped off at the palace’s rose garden where there are new structures adorning the entrance. Beautiful metal arches join together to form a covered walkway. The arches are entwined with green vines with ribbons of flowers dangling from them, making you feel like you’re walking through a shower of petals as they blow gently through the breeze.
The interior of the garden has been refurbished. The old marble statues are gone, as are the formal raised box planters, replaced with large swaths of grass where children could happily run free. There are small pools of blue water set with stones to jump across and a cross section of lush floral beds, mixed with tall wildflowers.
“This is incredible, Lorenzo. What made you change it?”
“When I was a boy, I was raised to always act properly.”
I stifle a laugh. “Did it stick?”
He laughs along with me, taking my hand and continuing to lead me through the garden. “Until my teen years, yes, for the most part. I was allowed to ride horses and play futbol, but I wasn’t allowed to run through the palace or around the grounds. Someday, I want a more relaxed life for our children. And, for us, now. Since this is the start of our reign, I desire for things to be a little more casual. A little less stuffy and proper, if you will. But, most of all, I want you and our future children to be safe, so my goal is to create our own little piece of paradise.”
“I can’t imagine anything more perfect,” I tell him as tears threaten, and I wonder if I should tell him that our future children will be coming sooner than he probably thinks.
He continues, “We will be renovating areas of the palace to include some less formal spaces as well. A family wing. I’m even putting in a theater room, and I might have ordered bean bags.”
“You’ve been very busy. I don’t know how you managed to do this, plan a surprise wedding, move the treasure back to Montrovia, and start The Echelon anew.”
“I have had a lot of help,” he says with a grin and then gives me a kiss.
Our sweet kiss i
s interrupted by the ding of his watch. “It’s time,” he tells me, pulling his lips away from mine.
“For what?”
“Your coronation, my darling.”
We leave the rose garden behind and enter the palace through a new set of French doors, making our way to the throne room.
“Your coronation, like our wedding, will be open only to close friends and family, but there will be photos and live streaming. Although you must change.”
“Out of my wedding dress? No way! I might never take this off!”
He laughs. “Blair and I had an argument about that. I said you would want to wear the dress. She said you could change back into it after the coronation. She had a custom coronation gown designed for you by a very well-known couture house.”
“Hmm,” I say, thinking. “Maybe I need to see the dress before I decide. Have you seen it?”
“I have not. My only request was that it be either a brilliant red or a rich golden color. But I’ll tell you a little secret.”
“You’re awfully full of them. I’m a spy. You shouldn’t be able to do anything without my knowing,” I tease.
“The spy who is about to become queen of Montrovia,” he states, pulling me close and looking into my eyes. “There were times when I thought this day would never come. Yet I imagined it every night before I went to sleep. That we would get through this. That Montrovia would survive. That I would not be remembered in history as the last monarch but rather a progressive king, like Lorenzo the Magnificent.”
“I think you will be an amazing king. Remember when I told you, when you dropped all the prince bullshit, I liked you more. Your people will love you simply because you are an incredible man.”
“Thank you,” he says as he moves his hands to my waist and then feels around.
“What are you doing?”
“At the last minute, I asked the dress designer to remove the skirt on your dress and add another one underneath. There are supposed to be some secret buttons. Oh, here,” he says, undoing them.
His stripping away the cathedral-length train is somewhat freeing and certainly makes the dress lighter. It’s still beautiful with the same flowers, but with the train gone, I can actually move around.
Dr. Kate joins us in the hall along with four members of the household staff, who carefully take the train away.
“What did she decide?” Dr. Kate asks Lorenzo.
“I’d like to see the coronation dress,” I answer.
“I think that’s a good choice,” Lorenzo says, kissing my hand before I’m led to what she tells me is going to be the new informal dining room.
When she flings the double doors open, I see another dress on a form. More ballgown than wedding dress in a beautiful rich golden silk satin, the bodice covered in beading. Upon closer inspection, I discover that the beading is set in the flaming hearts design, matching the Arcadian tiara.
“The queen’s imperial robe is navy with gold braiding, so I felt that the gold would coordinate better. What do you think? Dior did a rush job on it.”
“I think I’m cool with wearing this,” I tell her with a wide grin. “I mean, how could I not?”
“That’s what I was hoping you would say. Your coronation gown will be recorded in Montrovian history, much like your wedding dress.” She instructs me to sit down, so she can carefully remove the tiara from my head.
I put on the gown and make my way to the lavish throne room, coming to stand outside the stately wood doors.
“In a few moments,” Dr. Kate says, "the doors will be opened, and you will walk down the small aisle, much like you did at the church.”
When the doors open, she says, “Smile pretty for the cameras,” but her advice isn’t necessary.
My face beams the second I see that Lorenzo is at the end of the room. Just like his coronation, the colors in the room are brilliant—from the bishop’s richly hued robes to the banners displaying the country’s flag and crest and the choir’s bright red robes.
I don’t think I could ever walk into this room and not be impressed with the massive blue marble pilasters, the wall coverings made of the finest of silks, the gilded moldings, and the large crystal chandelier—all colors that match the Montrovian flag and symbolize the country’s maritime roots.
When Lorenzo was crowned king after his father passed away, the queen’s throne was removed from the room since Lorenzo was not married, and it makes me so happy to see him standing in front of two ornate gold thrones, waiting for me. I’m not quite sure what I’m getting myself into, becoming the queen of a country, or if I even have what it takes, but I do know that anything is possible when Lorenzo is by my side. When we work together.
I love him so much.
After my procession to the front of the room, I’m draped in the Imperial Robe and then the bishop nods for me to sit on the throne next to Lorenzo. I’m handed the Royal Scepter and the Rod of Equity and Mercy. Then, a smaller version of the precious jewel-encrusted crown that was put on Lorenzo’s head is removed from a gilded platter and placed on mine.
“God save the queen!” is shouted three times.
The bishop completes the ceremony and pronounces me as Huntley Penelope Calliope Bond-Von Allister Vallenta, Queen of Montrovia.
Trumpets play, bells chime, gun salutes sound, and I walk proudly down the aisle with my husband and out to the balcony to officially greet his—I mean, our—waiting countrymen.
As we step out on the balcony where I first laid eyes on Lorenzo, the memory of my mother’s voice fills my head.
“Maybe, someday, you can be a princess.”
Who knew she could be prophetic?
Lorenzo and I wave to the crowd that has gathered.
“I told you,” he whispers to me, tightly holding my hand, “if you played your chess pieces right, you could end up by my side, history unfolding for both of us together.”
“And I’m very glad you were right about that!”
Lorenzo introduces me as his wife and Montrovia’s queen.
I expect to hear more, God save the queen, but instead, they start chanting, “KISS! KISS!”
And there, on the balcony, the orphan girl who saved Montrovia gives her husband, the king, a kiss completely inappropriate for television.
When we pull away to more cheers, Lorenzo makes sure the microphone is off and says, “I’m looking forward to our wedding night.”
“It’s not like we haven’t slept together,” I tease.
“Not as man and wife. Well, legally as man and wife.”
“True.”
“Except that, tonight, we will be practicing to make an heir to the throne.”
“I expect it will take quite a lot of practice,” I say, not wanting to spill the beans just yet. I’m waiting for just the right moment and hoping I will know when that is.
“It most certainly will,” he says. “A most exciting mission.”
“You know what they say, it starts in Montrovia,” I reply.
Ares finishes watching Huntley and Lorenzo cut their wedding cake at the reception. The reception decor is as equally over the top as the ceremony was, but he guesses that’s to be expected at a royal wedding. He’s curious about the significance of the single queen chess piece atop their eight-tiered floral cake but doesn’t bother to ask about it. He feels so happy right now; he can almost forgive Kelley for not telling him about his children.
He takes a seat next to his old friends.
“Here’s to Gio and Jack,” Malcolm says. “We’ve avenged their deaths.”
“We have,” Ares says, “but look around.”
Malcolm smiles as he watches all their children, looking happy and together, starting the futures they were destined for.
“I will admit, when I heard you were alive, I was mad,” Aleksandr says.
“I was quite distressed when I had to make myself dead,” Ares counters.
Aleksandr nods, weighing the two in his head. “I’d say we’re even then,�
� he says with a laugh.
“Thank you for taking in my children, no questions asked,” Ares says gratefully. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”
“Oh, we had plenty of questions,” Malcolm says, “but all you had to do was look at Aristotle or hear Huntley speak to know they were undoubtedly yours.”
“She’s going to make a good queen,” Aleksandr says, looking out at the happy couple on the dance floor.
“I’d say she already has. She saved the world,” Malcolm says and then turns to Ares. “With your help, of course.”
Ares shakes his head. “She deserves all the credit.”
“The credit she doesn’t seem to want. I have a feeling, she was involved a lot more than what Lorenzo spoke of today.”
“She most definitely was. Someday, I’ll tell you all about it.” Ares grins. “But, for now, I guess I can take a little of the credit.”
“Oh, here we go,” Aleksandr jokes. “Now, you’ve bested us. You always were a braggart at poker.”
“Only because I always won!” Ares says.
“And, now that you had a hand in saving the world,” Malcolm agrees, rolling his eyes, “we’ll never hear the end of it.”
Ares looks down, overcome.
“Oh shit, you’re not getting all emotional, are you?” Aleksandr asks, his own eyes clouding with tears.
Ares looks at his friends.
He looks back at their children, dancing.
“She’s pregnant,” he says. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone. Lorenzo doesn’t even know yet. She told me as we were walking down the aisle.”
“Oh boy,” Malcolm says, his eyes becoming misty as well. “A grandchild. That makes all your sacrifices worth it. It’s funny how we joked that you were the Phoenix, that you would die and then rise from the ashes. Now, you have.”
“And what a beautiful new life it is,” Ares says.
The men hold their glasses in the air, sharing an emotional moment.
“Here’s to our futures,” Aleksandr toasts.
