Not His Princess

Amory shifted in his gold suit. It had been made a little too tight.

He looked down the aisle and to the two doors that stood there. Where was Mirella?

He'd gotten word from his spies that she'd gotten into some trouble, but he was sure she'd gotten out of it. She and her silver tongue could escape any entrapment.

He pulled his shoulders back upon hearing the doors open. He watched coolly as his betrothed stepped down the aisle, her body was draped in gold silk and her face was covered with a deep blue veil topped with a tiara. The music faded slowly and he smiled softly. A smile that slowly fell from his face.

That was not his betrothed.

He peered through the dark blue veil and narrowed his eyes. That was not Mirella behind that veil. What was this? Had Mirella truly gotten in trouble? What sort of trouble? Was she imprisoned?

He and Mirella had written to each other for years before finally deciding to meet one day. It had been love at first sight, for both of them. What had his Mirella done now?

He ignored his questions and anger for a moment and focused on the woman in front of him. He reached out his hand. He knew that if he publicly refused his bride he could spark a war. And his kingdom was in the middle of growing and rebuilding from the last war. He knew Viland was in the same condition. War would profit neither of them.

But King Absalom would answer for this.

She jumped at his touch and his lips thinned. But she did accept his hand. He saw her eyes dart from beneath the thick fabric. So who was his bride?

The priest announced their reason for being there that day and Amory watched the small woman before him. He could practically feel the anxiety rolling off of her. He was anxious as well, and angry. Where was his Mirella? She was the one who was supposed to hold his hand on this day. They'd both been anticipating it for years.

He turned to face her, as per tradition, and took hold of her other hand. He saw her eyes snap to his before looking down to his chest.

The priest went on to relay the reasons they were gathered there and how wonderful and glorious the wedding was. Amory hid his boredom behind a mask of calmness.

"Princess Mirella Vandeleur, do you take King Amory Querencia to be your husband?" The priest asked and Amory looked down to the bride.

He saw her nod a little and heard her swallow, "I do." Her timid voice was amplified by the spell the priest was using.

She sounded nothing like Mirella. Mirella had a strong, cheerful voice and her green eyes always shone with a witty or mischievous glint.

"And do you, King Amory Querencia, take Princess Mirella Vandeleur as your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do." He replied calmly.

He heard the woman's heartbeat speed up and fought not to roll his eyes. Who was standing before him? A wanton who the king and queen plucked from the streets. She looked nothing like his betrothed.

The priest raised his hands and said, "I now pronounce you man and wife. May the spirits bless your union."

Amory turned and faced the crowd who were all standing with radiant smiles. He met the king's eyes and narrowed his. He was not pleased with what had just occurred.

He led his wife down the aisle, her shorter legs in combination to her large dress made her slow him down.

As soon as they exited the building they were assaulted with rose petals. He hid his frown at the putrid smell and marched through the flurry of petals. He glanced down to see his new wife smiling and waving at the townspeople. Though her smile was hard to see through the veil. He doubted it was as radiant as his Mirella's.

Finally reaching the carriage he lifted her onto it and stepped on after her. The carriage pulled off with a jerk and he glanced over at his wife with a frown. She had a few petals in her veil, stinking up the carriage. She was as rigid as a statue next to him. Her heart was beating at a normal pace but by how her toes were tapping she was evidently nervous.

He squinted his eyes in confusion when he saw her flexing her jaw.

After a few minutes more of the silent drive, and he was nearly choking on the stink of rose, the carriage stopped. He could hear the hundreds of people standing outside the door. Without any warning the door was thrown open and daylight flooded into the carriage. He grabbed his newly wed wife's hand and they both exited the small space.

He looked across the large crowd in front of the castle with a calm gaze. He looked down at his wife and saw that she was smiling and waving at them. He rolled his eyes and followed suit, smiling and waving at the people.

They walked through the crowd, arm-in-arm, and to the castle. The doors were wide open and they entered unhindered. The courtiers and lords and ladies were all gathered indoors. The women handed his wife bouquets upon bouquets and he held his breath at the noxious scents wafting from them.

All of the men congratulated him and bowed respectfully. He narrowed his eyes when he noticed they did not pay the same respect to his wife. Although she had not been crowned yet, she was to be his queen.

He pushed the thoughts away. She was not meant to be his queen. Mirella was. And he had yet to discover where she was and why he was now married to a woman who was not his betrothed.

They sat at a long table at the far end of the feast hall. The king and queen sat next to them. He ate his meal slowly and saw his wife doing the same. Her veil made it difficult anyway.

More people than he could count arrived at the table and congratulated them and gave his wife yet more flowers. Some delivered fine goods such as jewellery, fabrics and books. Some delivered delicacies and rare tokens.

Hours passed and he understood his wife's stretching of her jaw. His ached from the constant smiles and thank yous.

When he had had enough and the gifts were ended he stood, pulling his wife up with him and walked to one of the many exits.

Without a word.