My heart picks up a beat as a wave of excitement hits me with fierce joy. I spring out of bed and listen at the door, but the priestess of Amrevet-Ra has gone for now. Instead, I check the time and it’s barely sixth hour.
In my mind I start to go through some of the earliest things on the Wedding Day schedule that are happening right now. . . . For example, the Tree of Gifts is getting disassembled, and the items are—or soon will be—in the process of being delivered from the Rotunda to our Quarters. In fact, I think I can hear the servants quietly moving in the corridor outside my suite. . . . Or maybe it’s just the regular staff? I’m not even sure if the gifts will be delivered to Aeson’s residence or mine—but it hardly matters since we won’t even be looking at them until after the Wedding.
Though I do wish I’d had a chance to visit the Rotunda sometime in the days before, just to see the unique sight of it on display. After all, the Tree of Gifts is a once-in-a-lifetime artistic installation intended for the couple. But neither Aeson nor I bothered or had the time, especially after my Dad and George arrived, at which point all other interests and concerns flew out of the window.
Oh well, too late now.
The other things that are happening already are the final decorations covering the entire Imperial Palace complex and all of Poseidon. Much of it has been done already, festive structures going up all over the city throughout the week, but the final touches—the fresh flower installations, bouquets and garlands—must be done today. I’ve been informed that the work begins in the middle of the night, as massive flower deliveries arrive everywhere around the city approximately at the third hour of Ra.
It still feels weird to me to think that all of this is happening because of our Wedding. But I remind myself yet again, this is a national holiday as much as anything, the nuptials of the Imperial Crown Prince.
Knowing that all this activity is happening everywhere around me, that the Palace is awake extra early and additional staff is busy rushing around with the preparations, I try to focus on my own immediate schedule.
At seventh hour of Ra it officially begins. Servants will arrive for my spa treatments, and I will begin the grueling process of getting my body ready. And over on his side of the Quarters, Aeson will be doing the same, surrounded by his own staff. At the same time, my family and friends, many of whom will be actively participating at certain points in the Wedding, will begin getting ready also—as well as the Imperator, the Imperatris, Princess Manala, and many of Aeson’s astra daimon friends.
At approximately tenth or eleventh hour, I will be putting on the Wedding Dress, the jewelry accessories, getting my hair done, and my Face Paints applied. The priestesses and attendants will arrive, together with seamstresses (just in case their services are needed at the last minute), Consul Denu with Kem, and the designer. The whole dressing process will take at least two hours. . . . And if that sounds intimidating and terrifying, it will be.
At thirteenth hour, I will be escorted to the Wedding Ceremony venue—the Kassiopeion, a temple consecrated to the cult of the Imperial Kassiopei Dynasty. Yes, I’m serious—my Bridegroom’s Imperial Family has an actual temple, a place of worship, located on the Palace complex premises. . . .
There, I will wait in a small chamber in seclusion, while the crowds of guests arrive all through Noon Ghost Time and until the first hour of Khe. That’s when the Ceremony begins and I will emerge and take my place in it.
Meanwhile, Aeson will also be escorted to the Kassiopeion separately and he, too, will wait, isolated from me by the nuptial tradition.
Both our families will meet us there.
The Marriage Ceremony itself will be officiated by the First Priestess and First Priest of Amrevet-Ra, the Venerable Therutat Nuudri and Venerable Darumet Azai.
After the Ceremony concludes at second hour of Khe, Aeson and I, now officially married, will depart together, followed by all our family and friends, to return to the main building of the Imperial Palace for an afternoon and evening of feasting and celebration at the Imperial Wedding Reception, which has both a private component and a portion that is open to the public.
Finally, at tenth hour of Khe, Aeson and I will bid farewell to our guests and withdraw to the privacy of our own Quarters to begin our Amrevet Night.
And that’s the schedule for today.
But first, before the whirlwind begins, I take a moment to worry about my Dad and how he must be doing, especially since I didn’t see him all of yesterday. Now, it’s safe to assume that my siblings would’ve come by or otherwise contacted me to let me know if anything happened, and since no one’s banging on my door, I should feel relief.
I get the urge to run down the hall to Dad and George’s suite and check up on them, but stop myself—Aeson could be there now, and I’m not supposed to see my Bridegroom early, it would be bad luck!
Relax, Gwen, focus, focus on your own things to do. . . .
Then another stupid thought comes to me.
How did Mom know about Aeson and me? I thought my family were only told once they were rescued and safely up on the ark-ship, and not earlier? In fact, Aeson assured me long before the Games that he wanted me to be the one to tell them everything. . . . I’ll definitely have to ask my family about it—but later. Right now, I am glad Mom knew—however she found out about it.
Right now, I need to focus . . . focus!
Just as I’m driving myself insane with random, stupid, stress thoughts, a light knock sounds on my door from the interior side of my Quarters. It’s Gracie, still wearing her sleeping shirt and hastily pulled on sweatpants, barefoot, and looking equally stressed. But she immediately hides it from me with a wide smile. She’s holding a tall carafe filled with some kind of colorful drink.
“Good morning, Gwenie!” my sister says in a hushed, excited whisper. “How are you feeling this lovely morning? I brought you a protein drink to get you going! This was delivered from the Venerable One herself, with strict instructions for me to make sure you drank it! You must be starved since yesterday—”
“Starved, not so much, but going nuts with nerves, yes—thanks. And yeah, I’m okay,” I say with a smile, letting her walk past me into the bedroom.
“Here!” Gracie pours me a glass and forces it upon me. “Drink!”
“How’s Dad and everyone?” I take the glass obediently.
“Everyone’s fine!” Gracie pauses for a second. “Dad had a tiny little episode yesterday—no, no, don’t worry, he’s perfectly fine now!—so we called the med techs and they put him on oxygen for a few hours. Apparently, that worked like a charm, and he improved considerably.”
“Oh no, poor Dad!” I mumble. “I should go check on him—”
Gracie puts her hands on my shoulders and squeezes firmly. “No—stop. Dad is having eos whatsit—breakfast with the boys. He is getting ready, and says to tell you to stop worrying and relax and enjoy your day, or he will be upset! You don’t wanna make Daddy upset, do you? Right?”
I chuckle at her. “Okay, okay! All right.”
Gracie pinches me playfully on the arm. “Good, now drink like a good little Imperial Bride!”
“Where’s everyone else?” I ask, gulping down the protein drink that tastes like a pineapple and citrus punch.
“They’re all where they’re supposed to be! Which is, getting ready. Laronda texted me that she and Chiyoko are on their way with their outfits—troll boy is picking them up. Dawn and Hasmik are in the air already—Gennio’s giving them a ride here. Now—where are your maids and the rest of those high-fashion hair-and-makeup people? What time is it? OMG, what time is it?”
“Not until seventh hour,” I say. “That’s when they all arrive.”
Gracie glances at her wrist comm. “Okay, almost. . . . You’ve got time. . . . Drink!”
“Jeez! Yes, ma’am!” I laugh and obey.
I watch Gracie as she starts moving around the bedroom, picking up and shaking out my random clothes, undies and other stuff neurotical
ly, putting them in drawers, taking other things out, checking the curtains—all while mumbling, “She is getting ma-a-a-arried, she is getting ma-a-a-arried.”
I think my sister has gone a little insane too.
I don’t exactly want to ruin the mood, but now is as good time as any. So I take another gulp, then a deep breath before letting my sister know. . . .
“I finally watched Mom’s video last night,” I announce in a tone that tries to be casual but does not quite manage it.
Gracie stops singing and freezes, looking at me. “Okay—good. I’m glad,” she says. “How do you feel?”
“Okay—now.” I sigh. “Was a real mess last night. But I’m glad I watched it now. Mom was so wonderful. She even knew about Aeson! I wonder, how?”
“Oh, really?” Grace seems surprised. “We’ll have to ask Dad or George—later. Now—big breath, and finish your drink!”
I nod and take more gulps. While I drink, Gracie says thoughtfully, “She didn’t say anything about it in my video. She kept using my middle name . . . saying that I was a warrior already but I needed to remember that I was a queen. And then Mom said, it was the opposite for you—that you were a queen already and needed to remember you were a warrior.”
I listen with intensity. “We should watch each other’s videos—but only if you feel it’s okay.”
Gracie nods, with a hopeful expression. “Okay! Yes, I’d like that. . . . I think we should.”
At seventh hour, a whole army of people arrives. Gracie is asked to leave and go get ready herself while my Imperial maid Aranit ushers in half a dozen servants who start drawing a bath and preparing spa treatments. I am made to soak for half an hour in fragrant hot water to which they keep adding essential oils, minerals, flowers, and other perfumed stuff.
Then I come out of the bath and lie on a table while they work on me like cosmetic surgeons—I’m only half-kidding—and I get every extraneous hair removed from my body and every extraneous skin cell exfoliated. When they’re done, I’m smooth like a newborn, and that’s when the soothing lotions and moisturizers are applied . . . and applied . . . and applied.
The shy nerd girl inside me is screaming to be freed from this personally intrusive, utterly mad, and inhumane ordeal. . . .
They finish and I wait for another half hour. Then they send me into the shower to cleanse off the residue and wash my hair with special treatments.
At last I emerge, and maids surround me with fluffy towels. They dry my hair, and I sit in a chair wrapped in towels while my nails and toes are painted with metallic gold polish by four people—let me repeat that—four people working on me all at once. . . .
While all that is happening, around ninth hour, the priestesses arrive early, followed by Consul Denu and the entire retinue. They open the closet and start taking out the components of my Wedding Dress.
Dear lord, here we go. . . .
“My Imperial Lady Gwen, blessings be upon you on your Wedding Day,” Lady Isulat tells me, as she unrolls the delicate fabric of the first layer of my Dress, the under-sheath that must be worn directly over my skin, with only my panties underneath.
The sheath is floor length, an elegant creation of opaque fabric, but with long sleeves that slowly fade to translucence along the elbows and culminate in transparency at the wrists formed of sheer lace. It is body-hugging, starting from the softly rounded, lace trimmed bodice collar to the fitted waist, and gently flaring down past the hips into a cloud of gossamer. Its color is—
“How are you feeling this morning, My dear Imperial Lady Gwen?” Consul Denu asks me from a few feet away as he is directing Kem in setting up rows and rows of cosmetics on a special table.
“I’m doing great, thank you,” I say breathlessly with a smile, as I stand behind a privacy screen with only female attendants to see me unclothed as I put on this first, most intimate layer. I raise my arms, letting two priestesses gently pull and lower the fabric over and around me.
I extend my arms further, feeling the long sleeves slide like silk over my skin, tapering delicately at the wrists with ornamental curving shapes formed by lace.
The sheath dress clings to me, defining my chest, abdomen, and line of waist and hips, then falls loosely to the floor in an ethereal waterfall. Despite having excellent built-in bra support, the whole thing feels unobtrusive and light as a feather. The fabric itself shimmers like frost and catches the light. . . .
“It came out so perfect, so beautiful,” I whisper with delight, stepping out from behind the privacy screen now that I’m fully clothed, and catching a glimpse of me in the nearby long mirror. “I love it! I’ve loved it from the first moment I saw it at the Fitting a few days ago. . . .”
Lady Isulat smiles and is handed the second layer of my Dress by another priestess. “Are you ready, My Imperial Lady?” she asks, and unfurls the layer in its full metallic glory.
This layer is more ethereal than the sheath, the fabric almost translucent in its delicacy, and yet, possibly because of its metallic sheen, it retains its color admirably. I raise my arms again, and they gently lower the fabric over my head and all around me. It comes down, silky soft, fitting my upper body like a glove, and then again loosens and flares toward the floor, covering the sheath layer completely.
“Is this orichalcum?” I ask. “It’s so amazingly fine.”
The priestess nearest to me nods silently, carefully pulling and smoothing out the second layer over my under-layer sleeve.
“Micro-weave orichalcum threaded with a programmable nano layer,” another woman explains, this one a seamstress who adjusts the back of my collar.
“And here is the third layer,” another priestess says, approaching with yet another long fabric piece. This one is equally ethereal, and similarly shaped, but flares slightly wider on the bottom of the long skirt. It also has a bit of a train in the back, so that the skirt sweeps the ground for about a foot behind me.
I stand and turn as directed, raise my arms, and on it goes, slipping over the other two. You would think that by a third sleeve layer I would start feeling hot, but no—it breathes remarkably well and is nearly weightless.
Once again, this third, shimmering layer completely obscures the layers underneath, and it barely adds to my outline, only flares my skirt and adds a train. The priestesses fuss around me, gently pulling and adjusting the sleeves and edges of the collar and the bottom of the skirt, so that this layer lies as smoothly as the others underneath it, without any hidden folds.
“One more,” Lady Isulat says with warm energy. And she presents the fourth and final outer layer of my Wedding Dress.
I nod and smile in amazement, as once again the gossamer fabric adds hardly anything at all, and this fourth layer is put on me by the priestesses.
I move my arms, feeling no restriction, only a strange energy of spider-silk layers whispering over each other like four winds commingling, and imbuing the surface of my skin with electricity.
The skirt of this fourth layer flares even more on the bottom, and it adds an even longer train of three feet of delicate gossamer fabric sweeping the ground behind me.
“What a glorious sight, My Imperial Lady!” Consul Denu exclaims, clapping his hands together with drama and delight. “I do believe this Bridal outfit is a particular success.”
“You think so?” I say teasingly, then spin around once lightly, so that my skirts pick up air and float around me.
“There is absolutely no doubt, My Imperial Lady,” the Consul replies, then glances at the designer standing nearby with a pleased expression. “Your creation is fabulous beyond all expectations, Ter Uxmal. My congratulations on another fashion masterpiece.”
Uxmal, the designer, makes a courtly bow to us.
“I just realized there are no clasps or attachment hardware of any kind!” I suddenly observe, continuing to look at myself in the floor-length mirror. “For some reason I didn’t think of it during the Fitting.”
“Yes, none on the three outer layer
s,” a seamstress remarks. “Only a few attaching hooks on the first layer, in the back.”
“It’s stretchy enough that it doesn’t seem to need it, and yet it’s not annoyingly clingy,” I continue. “How did you manage it?”
“Voice commands were used for this special fiber cohesion,” Lady Isulat says with an almost mischievous look. “More shall be explained in a moment, along with your instructions.”
“Okay,” I say with excitement. “Now what?”
“Now comes Artistic Embellishment, my dear. Your hair, followed by cosmetics and Face Paints, then crowning adornment with jewelry, and a pair of exquisite shoes for your feet. Finally, the whole ensemble will be completed by the attachment of your veil,” Consul Denu says, with a charming turn of his wrist, and indicates to Kem and various attendants to begin their work.
I sit down in the chair again (without worry, the amazing fabric of the dress is wrinkle-free), and this time I’m surrounded by hair and makeup artists.
Aranit, Kem, and two other attendants sculpt my hair into a marvelous couture updo, winding the long strands into a complex crown of braids that rest like a halo over my head, with chandelier filaments that cascade from behind to the level of my nape in crystal-encrusted garlands. More sparkling crystals are attached in various places along the top of the braid crown. Then Aranit approaches with a bowl of pristine cut flowers—my chosen Wedding flowers, the dewa, the li-hereret, and the iyatet—and offers me a selection to be woven into my hairdo.
Oh, dear heaven, I have no idea. . . .
I stare at these perfect specimens, the choicest blossoms of their kind, then glance at Consul Denu with a look of uncertainty.
The Consul understands my confusion immediately. He looks at the bowl, ponders for a few heartbeats, then chooses specific blossoms on my behalf: a single large white dewa for the back of my head, three blue and gold metallic li-hereret blossoms for the crown over my forehead, and four tiny lavender iyatet bells interspersed between the li-hereret.
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