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I’m not ready, of course. But I smile anyway because Leesa is already sniffling, her pregnancy rendering her immune to logic or decorum. “Let’s go before you get puffy.”

“Damn these hormones.” Leesa laughs and dabs her cheeks. “My baby sister is getting married. I just can’t believe it. You look so grown up.” She takes my arm and leads me toward the corridor, Rhiann following on my other side. “If you trip, I’ll never let you live it down.”

“Hey, it’s your turn next. “I slide a good-natured glare her way. “And I hear payback’s a bitch.”

If my language offends Rhiann, she doesn’t show it. She merely walks quietly beside us, flowers in hand.

Somewhere in the palace, an orchestra is tuning up, their scales running in nervous spirals. It’s ridiculous, how grand this all is, considering the guest list fits onto a single page. I almost regret that so few people will ever see this gown, but I don’t regret the rest. If I had to endure a thousand stares, I’d never make it down the aisle or manage to speak our vows.

Two guards open the doors for us. One is Elijah, eyes wide and posture stiff. Donovan is the other. The tawny-haired guard flashes me a warm smile, a genuine gesture that helps settle my nerves.

With Rhiann and Leesa, I head for the man who will become my husband.

Agnar and Bastian, the men of our families, flank the path. The hedges are alive with birds and bees, and about two dozen chairs occupied mostly by council members line the central aisle. With the political issues we’re mired in, inviting foreign dignitaries to the wedding ceremony itself is now out of the question.

My big brother grins, but his eyes appear suspiciously glassy. “You look radiant. I wish our father was here to see you.”

Or any of the other family members we’ve lost.

Agnar keeps shooting glances over his shoulder, where Sterling waits next to the officiant.

My pulse spikes before steadying.

In the gardens, the cobblestone pathway is awash in afternoon sun.

Sterling stands at the head of our makeshift aisle, resplendent in layers of white and blue that make his wings seem almost iridescent. The sight of him sends a shock of electricity up my spine, and for a second, I’m worried I’ll actually start crying.

Until I see the way his eyes devour every inch of me, as if he’s already undressing me in his head.

My mind goes blank as we walk, save for three competing sensations. The fragrant breeze, the weight of the bouquet in my hand, and the way Sterling’s gaze holds mine all the way down the aisle like a lifeline.

The fountain comes into view, the familiar hedge behind it trimmed in the shape of two dragons.

When we reach the break in the pathway, Bastian pulls Leesa away. Agnar takes Rhiann. Everyone disappears until only Sterling and I are left standing by the fountain.

The officiant, a man with silver hair and a booming voice that could split granite, motions for us to halt. I grasp the hand Sterling offers me. This is the last time I’ll hold his hand as his intended.

You sure about this? he mouths. It’s not too late to back out.

I squeeze his hand, a knot lodging in my throat as I try to mouth back a response. So sure.

The ceremony is mercifully short. We tore out all mentions of the gods. Today of all days, I do not want them looking down on me. Not with blessings, or joy, or anything else.

Today is about Sterling and me.

But most of it’s simple, and pure, and more honest than I ever imagined a wedding could be. Sterling speaks first, and he doesn’t withhold anything. He trembles a little as he recites the ancient vows. To trust, love, and give me sanctuary in life.

Then it’s my turn.

The words sound silly, almost childish, when I say them aloud. But he doesn’t look away, not once. Not even when my voice breaks.

“You may kiss to seal your covenant.” The master steps back, and before he can finish, Sterling’s mouth is on mine, tender and urgent and impossibly sweet. His hand cradles the back of my neck, pulling me close enough that my wings threaten to burst free.

The small crowd erupts in applause, but I don’t care. I’m dizzy, high on the contact, and when I open my eyes, my husband’s staring at me with the kind of hunger that doesn’t belong in a public garden. My cheeks go nuclear. He presses his forehead to mine, and in this moment, though all isn’t right in the world, all is right in our world.

Rose appears out of nowhere, her arms encircling my waist, her hair shot through with flower petals and the persistent glow of Kin, who’s temporarily doubled in size. She doesn’t say a word, just peers up at me with wide happy eyes.

I catch Leesa watching us, her cheeks bright with tears. When I meet her gaze, she laughs and wipes her face. “You were always the brave one,” she calls. “I just tagged along for the drama.”