The wedding was not what Angelica would have hoped for from her nuptials. She stood at the entrance to the church of the Masked Goddess, only recently scrubbed clean of the evidence of the funeral, and trying to ignore all the imperfections. When she had dreamed of this day as a girl, imagining the triumph of it, it had not looked like this.
There had been no time to organize things as they should be. The wedding was too hasty for that, reusing elements from previous celebrations to make ends meet. Angelica was sure that the flowers set around the walls were the same ones that had been there for the Dowager’s disposal. It was an insult in its way.
“And not the only one,” Angelica whispered to herself, her wedding mask stealing away the sound of it. Her dress was one she’d had prepared, but so much of the rest of it had been thrown together: the paltry feast to follow at the palace, the fact that her family had no time to travel to Ashton to see it all…
They weren’t the only ones. In spite of Rupert’s threats that anyone who was absent would mark themselves as a traitor, there were still plenty of empty seats. Some would not have been able to make it to the city, while others would have sought to escape before the battle that might be approaching the city. Others would have chosen to be absent, in disapproval at the choice, as a protest that the Assembly had not been consulted, or simply because they weren’t ready for such a swift wedding.
It didn’t matter. It was enough that some of the city’s nobles were there, and that Angelica was going to marry Rupert for all of them to see. It was enough that people would know that she was his wife, and their queen.
“The prince looks very handsome, my lady,” one of her attendants said to her.
“Yes,” Angelica agreed, “he does.”
A moment like this was what Rupert was made for. A moment when he could stand in front of a crowd by a masked priestess, resplendent in silk and velvet, gold embroidery shining in the candlelight. As long as he didn’t have to organize anything, or make good decisions, or show any kind of compassion, Rupert was the perfect prince.
Angelica made her way to him, the sound of harps floating along with every step. The gardeners had not been able to secure the finest red rose petals in such a short space of time, so Angelica’s attendants threw a mixture of petals instead, taking from whatever flowers could be scavenged.
She stopped in front of the altar, and it was hard in that moment not to think about the last time that she’d done this, with Sebastian there, refusing to declare his love for her. She pushed that thought away. This marriage had nothing to do with love, whatever she would say in the next few minutes.
The thing it did have to do with sat on the altar: a lightweight crown, obviously taken out of the palace’s treasury, sitting on a velvet cushion for the occasion.
“We stand in the sight of the Masked Goddess,” the high priestess said. “Unmask one another, see the truth of one another, and declare your love if you intend to marry.”
Rupert reached up for Angelica’s wedding mask, removing it and tossing it aside. Angelica took his with more grace, passing it to a waiting servant.
“Milady d’Angelica,” the high priestess said. “Do you declare your love for King Rupert of the House of Flamberg? Will you be his wife?”
“I do,” Angelica said, “and I will.”
She could feign love as easily as anything else, at least for as long as it was necessary. She would feign anything she needed to for this. She took Rupert’s hands.
“I will love you until the end of our days,” she said.
“And you, King Rupert—” the high priestess began.
“Yes, yes, I want her for my wife,” Rupert snapped. “I’m not my brother, to run out on his wedding.”
Angelica had to work hard not to let any of the anger she felt in that moment show on her face. Instead, she managed a brief laugh.
“And do you love me, my king?” she asked.
Rupert stared at her as if finding the question surprising. No, as if finding the answer to it a surprise.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do.”
There, Angelica thought as she reached out her hand and Rupert’s, letting the priestess bind them together. That satisfied what was formally required, at least. No one could say that the wedding hadn’t been properly conducted; that it wasn’t legal.
“I declare the blessing of the Masked Goddess upon you both,” the high priestess said. “May she bring you success and happiness in your endeavors, and the fruitfulness of children.”
Ah, children. It would be necessary to consummate the marriage, of course, and if she could get with Rupert’s child, then so much the better. Or perhaps not. Perhaps she could find a more suitable man for that task. Still, Angelica could tell that Rupert was growing impatient. The high priestess didn’t seem to understand that, though.
“Before we move to the next stage of the ceremony, I would like to say a few—”
“Enough,” Rupert said. “I want to crown my wife as my queen, not listen to you prattle on.”
“Rupert—” Angelica began, in a careful tone, but Rupert was already pulling free of the strip of cloth that bound them both together.
“Your majesty,” the high priestess said as he went to the crown. “Traditionally, it is my role to place the crown on your beloved’s head.”
“It’s only a tradition since my family declared it one,” Rupert snapped back. He took the crown, lifting it.
Angelica bowed her head, feeling the crown settle into place as Rupert placed it there with surprising delicacy. She could feel the faint tremble in his fingers, or maybe that was in her from the excitement of it.
“Angelica is my queen,” Rupert said, looking out at the room as if daring any man to disagree. “She is my queen because I say that she is. She speaks with my voice, and if you disobey her, you disobey me!”
He turned back to her, taking her hands.
“I know it isn’t the wedding you should have had,” he said.
Angelica shook her head. “I’m married to you. I have everything I want from my wedding.”
Rupert seemed almost as surprised by that as he had been declaring his love. It was the truth though. Angelica was the queen of the kingdom. She had all she’d worked for. There was only one more thing that was needed before this could be hers alone.
***
Angelica lay beside Rupert in the royal chambers of the palace, listening to his pants of exhaustion and trying her best to feign happiness.
“You were wonderful, my darling,” she said. “My husband.”
Rupert sat up in the bed, drawing her into a fierce kiss. “I don’t think I’ll tire of hearing you say that,” he said. “Not for as long as I live.”
Which shouldn’t be much longer, if Angelica had anything to do with it. By rights, Rupert should already have been a corpse. The only reason he still breathed was that her assassin had yet to return from dealing with the leaders of the incoming fleet, had yet to do the job that Angelica was paying her for.
“And I will never tire of being your wife,” Angelica assured him, with a smile that was actually genuine. After all, being Rupert’s wife meant that she was queen. It meant that she would continue to be queen, even after the untimely events of this evening.
She was still undecided about who to blame. Those attacking the city, perhaps, or maybe just his own madness. Either way, Rupert would certainly make a better martyr than a ruler.
She felt Rupert’s hands on her again then, drawing her back toward him. It took an effort to turn and kiss him.
“Again, my husband?” she asked.
“It is our wedding night,” Rupert pointed out. His grip tightened slightly, promising more bruises to match the ones that Angelica already had from him.
“It’s also the night before what promises to be an important battle,” Angelica replied. “As much as I want to keep you awake all of the night, I suspect that a commander needs his sleep. I wouldn’t want the city to fall because I was too demanding.”
Rupert’s hand twined in her hair, and Angelica gasped as it jerked tight. “Let the city burn for all I care. You’re what I want, and I take what I want.”
In every cruel way he could think of, Angelica thought. She glanced around, hoping that her assassin would be there, ending the need to pretend.
“What are you looking for?” Rupert demanded. Angelica cursed herself silently. She hadn’t thought he would notice, but of course he would; predators always tracked movement.
“I had arranged a surprise for you, to celebrate our wedding,” Angelica said.
“What kind of surprise?” Rupert shot back. He pulled on her hair again, apparently enjoying her sound of pain.
“The kind I thought you would like,” Angelica said. “A woman, a servant of mine, who has… displeased me.”
That was certainly true. Rose should have killed Rupert and been gone by now.
“Ah,” Rupert said, letting go of Angelica. “That has… possibilities.”
Angelica could imagine them all too easily.
“But she is not here,” Rupert said. “And you are.”
“True,” Angelica said. She moved to stand. “And I will be only too happy to fill in the time. Would you like some wine first though, husband? This has been thirsty work.”
Rupert nodded, and Angelica stood from the bed, snatching up her clothes as if to appear demure. It took her a moment to locate a decanter of wine in the unfamiliar rooms, and she had a brief moment of pleasure at the thought that she’d bedded the Dowager’s son in the old hag’s own rooms. That seemed a fitting kind of revenge.
She went to pour the wine, slipping a powder from her clothes into her palm. It took only a moment to add it to one goblet, hoping that she’d judged it right. She didn’t have the extensive skills of her assassin when it came to these things, but even so, Angelica wasn’t prepared to wait any longer. She would do this herself, and Rose could pay the penalty for her lateness afterward.
“Here you go, my husband,” she said, handing him the goblet. “Drink well. I want you refreshed for everything else to follow tonight.”
She pushed back her fear in that moment, ignoring thoughts of what might happen if Rupert guessed what she planned, or tasted some difference in the wine. Instead, she smiled and watched while he drained it, waiting until he tossed the empty goblet across the room before she allowed herself a look of triumph.
“What’s that look about?” Rupert asked. “What have you…” He coughed, and then coughed again, clutching at his throat. Angelica kept watching, enjoying this moment more than she should have.
Rupert started to his feet, and for a brief moment Angelica knew real terror. What if the poison didn’t work fast enough? What if it didn’t do all she hoped? There had been a reason she had asked an assassin to do this, after all.
No. Rupert managed one step, then another, but the third sent him down to his knees, stumbling and staring up at her with a mixture of rage and surprised hurt, as if he’d expected that this would turn out any other way.
“Oh, don’t look like that, Rupert,” Angelica said. “We both know that if I didn’t kill you, eventually, you’d have killed me. It’s not as if I loved you. You were just a means to an end.”
Thinking of that end, Angelica dressed while Rupert slumped to the floor. She would have liked to stay and watch him die, but it was better to go and make preparations.
She had power to consolidate, and a battle to win.