The evening of the reception was pale and silver, with frost dusting the windows like lace. The manor was humming with motions. Servants sweeping the corridors, florists scurrying out with bundled blooms, the kitchen clattering with echoes of copper and the scent of spiced chocolate.
I sat before the tall mirror in my bed chamber, silent beneath the soft tug of fingers weaving my hair in place. Lara worked quickly but gently, twisting warm chestnut strands into a low chignon pinned with winter Jasmine and tiny white hellebores. A few tendrils were left artfully loose to frame my face, as Coral suggested.
When I stood, the seamstress' creation awaited me. The gown was a marvel of craft and comfort. Wool-silk, soft but weighty, in shades of deep amethyst and shadowed green that shimmered in different lights. The sleeves hugged my arms with embroidered cuffs, and the structured bodice gave way to a sweeping skirt that moved like water, pooling softly at the hem. It was elegant and warm.
Laid across the dressing table was a velvet bow in deep forest green, which Lara pinned at the back of my waist. And a set of subtle yet gleaming jewelry – a pair of drop earrings set with tiny garnets, and a necklace with a single tear shaped amethyst stone.
"A gift from lady storm," Lara said. "She said it belonged to Darrell's grandmother."
The door creaked open.
I turned towards the sound, fingers hovering near my collarbone. Darrell stepped inside, pausing briefly as his gaze swept over me.
His coat was deep green, edged with amethyst embroidery so fine it seemed like mist caught on fabric. The cravat at his neck shimmered faintly, the same muted violet as my gown.
We matched.
"You aren't ready yet?" He asked.
"I was just finishing," I gestured vaguely to the mirror, to the gown, to the necklace still resting in a velvet box.
Darrell crossed the room, slow but certain, and stopped just behind me. His reflection hovered above mine in the mirror — taller, more composed, though there was a tightness to his jaw that hadn't been there yesterday.
"I didn't know we'd be matching," I said softly, watching him in the mirror.
He reached for the necklace, lifting it from it's case with a care I hadn't expected. "Mother arranged it. To present a united front."
His hands came around me, the coil weight of the amethyst brushing against my skin ashe fastened the clasp.
His fingers lingered just briefly, light against the nape of my neck. The contact sent a current down my spine, and I couldn't help the quiet breath I drew in.
"There," he said quietly.
I turned slightly, searching his face. "Thank you."
He met my eyes for a moment, "it's...fine. You look –" he paused, brow ticking just slightly. "You look okay."
I blinked. "Okay?"
He shifted, the corners of his mouth twitching as if unsure whether to offer a smile or swallow it. "I meant–" he cleared his voice. "–are you nervous?"
"Yes," I admitted. "More nervous than when we wed."
He looked surprised, "Really?"
I nodded. "Weddings are formal, controlled. But this? A hundred eyes deciding whether I belong here? That's more terrifying."
Darrell looked down for a moment, then back up. "They'll like you."
"You're sure?"
"No," he said bluntly. "But I do."
Something fluttered in my chest. He looked away quickly jaw flexing.
"We should go," he muttered. "They'll be expecting us."
He turned towards the door.
I followed, one hand resting over the amethyst at my neck, the other clutching the skirts of my gown to keep from floating off the ground.
He may have said I looked 'okay' but his eyes had said something else.
The hallway outside the chamber had gone still, save for the muffled murmur of voices rising from the ballroom below. The notes of a string quartet floated faintly through the air.
Darrell offered his arm without a word.
I hesitated only a second before slipping my hand into the crook of his elbow. His coat was warm beneath my fingers , the fabric structured and smooth – just like him.
We walked in silence, each footstep soft against the polished floor. His pace was steady, but I could feel the tension thrumming through him. The barely there stiffness in his arm, the way his jaw clenched every few steps. He was nervous too.
Or did I make him nervous? My wishful thoughts.
"You're quiet," I said eyes ahead.
"So are you."
"Trying not to trip on my own dignity."
He huffed a sound that might've been a laugh. " You're doing fine."
The staircase curved downward in a graceful arc, and the ballroom doors came into view. They were already open, the chandelier spilling into the hall light in golden waves. I could hear the crowd now– refined voices mingling, polite laughter, the clinking of glasses and the rustle of silk.
And then we stepped in.
The music swelled. Heads turned. A hush followed us like a ripple in still water. Every pair of eyes in the room seemed to rest on us.
Darrell didn't falter. His posture remained impeccable, his steps precise.
Neither did I.
Together we crossed the threshold, husband and wife. Regal, composed. Perfectly matched in shade and stature.
I felt the way they looked at us. Curious, approving, calculating, even disappointed. I couldn't tell. But I kept my chin lifted, lips neutral, hands steady.
This was the role. This was the performance.
Darrell leaned in– just slightly beneath my ear. His hot hair fanning my open neck.
"They're watching."
"I know," I whispered back. "Let them."
His arm tensed under mine –just enough for me to feel it. Then wordlessly, we descended fully into the crowd.