Look Beyond What You See
The Reception

“I now pwonounce you man and wife,” the priest intones, drawing enthusiastic applause from our audience. My eyes and Dmitri’s are locked, with enough affection flowing between us to make a cat sick. “You may kiss de bwide.”

My fiancé’s hands gently lift the veil from my face. I tremble with anticipation.

“Finally,” Dmitri breathes just before his lips claim mine. Complete surrender and complete bliss. The applause from the pews fades into a faint roaring noise. All that matters now is us. He dips me back until my hair touches the floor, then abruptly sweeps me off my feet as our lips separate and spins me around a couple times, his face a picture of adulation. I can’t remember ever being this happy, myself.

Once Dmitri settles me back on my feet, we join hands and run down the aisle together, as best we can in our formal wear. His groomsmen and my bridesmaids follow close behind. As requested, the guests shower us with congratulatory remarks and flower petals (in flaming hues, naturally) instead of rice (which would have gotten stuck in everything and been a nightmare to clean up). We lead the way through the halls of the Berkeley estate to the main banquet hall, which has been decorated in a fashion quite similar to the chapel. The reception feast is already laid out. According to our wishes, the crowning glory of the banquet table is not a wedding cake but rather a wedding pyramid of various sorts of fruit, studded with shortcake muffins.

Acionna materialises behind the pyramid as I approach it.

“Congratulations, daughter,” she smiles, and I know she’s congratulating me for more than just my marriage. I impulsively hug her, even though it’s probably against all sorts of rules to hug a goddess. Fortunately, Acionna chuckles warmly and returns my embrace for a moment before gently pushing me away.

“Thank you for being here. And for your help with that situation with she-who-shall-not-be-named. And for everything else,” I murmur quickly. Dmitri had gone to check on a few other things, but he’s approaching us, and I fear Acionna will not stay to be introduced.

“Of course. And don’t fret. It’s high time your husband met me.” Husband. That’s so strange. To me he is just Dmitri. The man I have chosen to spend the rest of my life with.

“Aerys, I--Oh. Hello,” Dmitri bows in greeting to Acionna, having immediately recognised her despite having never seen her before.

“No need for formalities, Dmitri. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person. Aerys has told me much about you,” Acionna greets him formally. “I would love to stay, but your guests might be disturbed by my presence, and I wouldn’t want to ruin your celebration. But I promised Aerys I’d be here for the wedding.”

“We very much appreciate that you have graced us with your presence, and you are of course welcome to stay as long as you like,” Dmitri answers her.

“As my mother,” I add to clarify, “if you don’t mind and if anyone asks questions.”

Acionna smiles broadly at this invitation. “I intended to bring your real mother, Aerys, so that the two of you could finally meet, but she could not be persuaded to come. And I am truly touched and flattered by your invitation, but alas, I have other business elsewhere. The rest of the world is proceeding with preparations for war, and you are not the only one I must support. But I do wish you the very best for the rest of your day.” She winks at me as she dissolves into mist, and I can hear her voice echo in my head: “And for tonight. No fear, Aerys. It will be better than you expect.”

“You could have told me you were inviting a goddess,” Dmitri grumbles, pretending to be upset.

“She’s the one who kept Grandfather’s funeral pyre from engulfing other parts of the room. I don’t have quite that much control yet. Everyone is thankful she was here, whether they know it yet or not,” I reply deadpan.

“I’m glad I finally got to meet her, and that she came here to support you. As concerned as we were about this, I really don’t think it could have turned out better.”

“I agree. And the best is yet to come.” The room is filling up with guests now, but the bridal party creates its own little enclave behind the wedding fruit pyramid at the banquet table.

“Spectacular show, ladies an’ gents,” Torcuil congratulates us, his first pint of beer already in hand. His sisters have chosen to be a little more classy; they’re holding flutes of champagne. “Dmitri, laddie, ye don’t suppose yer mother would mind if we turned this into a proper party? After all, it’s not like we don’t ’ave enough to celebrate.” The other groomsmen, to whom I have not been properly introduced, loudly voice their agreement and raise their own beers.

“Drink to that!” one cries.

I foresee myself sneaking out of this early.

“I think she’s dealt with all the excitement she can handle for one day,” Dmitri answers carefully, but he winks at them. I take that to mean ‘Do whatever you want; it’s not like I’ll be around to stop you.’ I’m glad he and I are on the same page.

Kyla, as she told me before the wedding she intended to do, has gone off looking for Fernando, the ‘satyr’ she was so enamoured with at the welcome banquet for our guests. I can’t say I blame her, now that she’s free. She has a lot of catching up to do wherein fun is concerned.

Predictably, as soon as everyone has entered the room and taken a seat, Wesley taps on a glass to get everyone’s attention. I’m sure he intends to make a longwinded congratulatory speech, but Torcuil takes it upon himself to rescue us from such tedium and seizes the opportunity to draw attention to us.

“Raise yer glasses to the bride an’ groom!” Torcuil shouts boisterously.

“To the bride and groom!” the room’s occupants echo enthusiastically, and we look out on a sea of raised glasses. Dmitri picks up a serving spoon and deftly scoops the raspberry top off the pyramid.

“Open up,” he grins at me. I pick up a spoon and fill it with kiwi, his favorite, and aim it at his mouth in reply. A spontaneous “awwwwwwwww” escapes the crowd as we feed each other (remarkably, without making a mess).

“Help yourselves to the food,” I invite. A line immediately forms for the filling of plates. Wesley glares with exasperation at all of us who are gathered behind the fruit pyramid.

“Who authorised you to break tradition?” Wesley demands of Torcuil. He shrugs insolently in reply.

“The ’ole day’s been a break from tradition. Normally we don’t ‘ave citizens’ executions of evil witches and their consorts at weddings,” the orange-suited troublemaker points out. “We ‘ave plenty to celebrate, an’ I fer one intend t’make certain we ’ave a proper celebration, without boring speeches and meaningless traditions.”

“Hear, hear!” Dmitri and the other groomsmen chime in. Lightning flashes in Wesley’s eyes, and then he throws up his hands in surrender.

“As you please. It’s your day, son,” Wesley mutters, eyes fixed on Dmitri.

“Thank you, Father,” my husband answers.

And from that Torcuil takes on his favourite role: Master of Revels. It is he who calls the dances, thoughtfully omitting a father-daughter dance and a mother-son dance (on account of my father being absent and Zinaida being indisposed; I’m fairly certain she went straight to bed after seeing Dmitri and me pronounced man and wife). It is he who tells me when to fling my wedding bouquet into the crowd of single women present at the reception. I untie the ribbon holding the flowers together as I fling them behind my back, hoping that more than one of the women in the crowd gets a lucky flower. May their fortunes all be as good as mine have been. When I turn around, I see that Kyla is clutching the majority of my bouquet, but both Aedammair and Aithne have their own small floral clusters, and a few other young ladies got stray blossoms. Perfect.

It’s only a few dances after my first dance with Dmitri as a married couple that he approaches me with soft hot eyes. I know what that look means. Time to go. Torcuil is clearly handling things well enough. Kyla has found Fernando and seems to be the happiest I’ve ever seen her. What reason is left for us to stay? We slip out of the reception hall without anyone taking notice, and before I know it we are standing outside the door to his suite. I kept my end of the rules; I have never been inside without being blindfolded, even though he has been in my suite with his eyes open multiple times. This time he doesn’t blindfold me. He sweeps me off my feet and carries me instead.

The room behind the door is not what I expected. His antechamber is simply furnished, reminding me quite a bit of the room I kept in the chateau where I grew up: wooden floors, whitewashed walls, bright handwoven rugs. But we don’t stay there long enough for me to see more.

His bedchamber is also surprising in that his bedcovers and all the upholstery on the furniture is black, but the pillows are various flame hues and, when he adjusts his grip on me long enough to throw back the duvet, he reveals that the sheets are also flame-hued. The room is illuminated only by candlelight and the flames in his eyes. He drops me on the bed and hovers over me for a moment, waiting.

“Tonight?” he asks huskily. I know what he wants. I want it, too.

“Tonight,” I confirm in a sultry whisper.

***~O~***

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