Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 144433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
"Maeve likes it like this," is all I say, trying not to fidget.
We stand in private quarters off of the main coronation hall in the palace. If I opened the doors, I would step out to the left of the stage, where flowers are being carefully arranged in expensive vases in preparation for the wedding. The hum of the crowd is deafening, as everyone stands in the hall, waiting for the upcoming wedding and no doubt wondering about my sudden reappearance. Soon enough, I'll go out and say my piece, but until then, I have to let the vizier fuss over me and my clothing, one last time.
The neck of my tunic feels too tight already, but it has to be fastened all the way to the top of the throat so the appropriate jewelry that shows rank can be festooned. I stand patiently as he fastens heavy necklaces with the symbols of our family line, followed by those of office. It will be the last time I wear them, and for the first time, they don't catch on my long fur and snag, pulling at individual strands. There's an advantage to my shorter mane.
Uba makes a noise of displeasure at my words, but he can't say how he truly feels. He knows I won't hear it. And for the last several days, any time a question has come up as to why I did something, it's easy to pin it on my human wife. Why did I run in the middle of the night? Maeve wanted to leave in secret. Why keep my relationship with Maeve a secret for “so many years”? Maeve wanted it that way. Why was your mane orange and chopped up? Maeve.
I almost feel guilty for it but it was Maeve's idea. "Blame me," she'd said the first night she'd arrived. "They're not going to know how to handle it if you say that. Make it seem like it's some sort of weird human fetish. That'll shut them up fast."
While I don't know if they buy that it's a fetish, it does shut down an argument. Uba fastens the medallion of heir to my breast for one last time, then steps away and sighs. "You're certain, my lord?"
He knows the truth of things. Of anyone in the palace, Uba knows why I'm truly abdicating. He knows my choices are limited. Perhaps he thinks I'm giving up too easily? It's just that...I no longer care to rule. I had a taste of freedom and now I want it back. "I'm certain."
Uba nods and tucks one last chain across my chest, finishing my dress tunic with the final adornments. "I'll leave you to practice your speech, then. It wouldn't do to stumble over your words."
My speech. As if I could forget a single word. I wrote it myself, and kept it short and to the point. Remrrrtel and his advisors have approved of it, adding some flourishes when they felt it was too short of a speech to be sincere. In it, I explain my lack of enthusiasm for the job and how my people deserve better, and how my focus has been on my human mate and our hopes to live quietly in peace, out of the public eye. I am told to smile frequently (as if I wouldn't) when I mention my wife and pay attention to her, as she will be in the front row. That this will sell the sincerity of the speech more than any words.
My foolish, scheming, wonderful Maeve. I move to the doors and peer out into the crowd, looking for a form shorter than all the others. Today she wears very little in the way of jewels and adornments, wanting to seem as demure and shy as possible. She is easy to spot, her pale blue dress simple in a sea of complex gowns, robes, and glittering jewels. Maeve is seated at the front of the hall, all right...and she is surrounded by people. As I watch, my mate blushes and manages to look shy even as she chats animatedly to a pair of elderly praxiian ladies. Several others lean close, listening in to what she has to say. A guard hovers nearby, frowning at the crush of guests.
"Human wedding customs? Oh, nothing so wonderful as this wedding," Maeve gushes. "Why, I've never seen such opulence. Heir Remrrrtel must love his princess very much. Do you know if the bride is wearing white? It's a custom back home..."
"A bride in white? Why won't they let the poor thing choose colors?" one of the ladies asks.
"Which is why a praxiian wedding is just so wonderful," Maeve continues. "And back home the bride covers her face with a veil. It's not taken off until they're both at the altar."
"What a strange custom," adds in an ambassador, this one mesakkah. "What's the point of hiding her face?"