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The journey to Zekel had been long and boring, and Princess Ephineratera had barely set foot in the city before she was rushed to her quarters, where the handmaidens she’d brought with her dressed her in her traditional wedding robes and then accompanied her to the Grand Chapel of the palace.
The gown was entirely made of lace, woven on the needles of nuns in Sinore in one piece, with an opening in the back that fastened with innumerable tiny buttons and hooks. The neckline dipped low, its edges shaped like tiny leaves whirling in abandon; the sleeves, in contrast, were full and long, the ends trailing on the floor. The bodice fit closely, so closely that it pushed her breasts up into smooth mounds, and then split at her thighs into a billowing train that dragged on the floor behind her. In ancient Lephrata, brides and grooms had gone to the altar fully naked – the custom had been abandoned for centuries, but it was still traditional to be dressed in something transparent, or nearly so. Many now wore opaque white silk or linen, but Ephie had been determined to dress as a real Lephratan bride if she were to be bartered away to seal a peace treaty.
When she reached the chapel, though, she suddenly felt out-of-place rather than bold. Every head turned to watch the entrance of the foreign princess, and she in turn watched them. They were smooth, hard; every man and woman was dressed in a coat and breeches, most dark blue, and had their hair tied back into a severe queue. They were covered from neck to toe in several layers of silk and linen, and she could read the expressions on the faces nearest her: disgust and superiority. The marriage had not been popular and the people – the nobility, at least – had already been prepared to be aloof from the interloper, but she could see in their faces that they were now condemning her as a base trull, and that that was how they would see her for the rest of her life.
She would not let it stop her. Lifting her chin, she set one bare foot in front of the other, feeling the train slide on the polished stone, and looking neither left nor right, she strode to the altar.
Princess Hessel was waiting for her there. Dressed like the rest of her subjects and head and shoulders taller than Elphie, she cut an imposing figure, and Elphie looked up slowly to meet her eyes in expectation of seeing more loathing and mistrust. But when their gazes met, she was surprised to see instead a slight, warm smile – and even a glint of attraction. Elphie found herself smiling back, and considered that perhaps her future was not as bleak as she supposed.