The transition from the solemn sanctity of the wedding hall to the reception at the Royal Palace was like stepping from a dream into a festival. The drive back had been a blur of cheering crowds lining the streets, waving their hands as they called and cheering for us.
But it was only when the heavy doors of the Grand Ballroom swung open that the reality of the celebration truly hit me.
The ballroom was a masterpiece of light and sound. The high vaulted ceilings were draped in swathes of gold and purple silk, and thousands of fairy lights had been strung between the crystal chandeliers, creating the illusion of a starry night sky indoors. Tables groaned under the weight of a feast fit, roasted boar, towers of fresh fruit, fountains of chocolate and champagne.
“Ready?” Deacon asked, his hand warm and reassuring on the small of my back.
“As I’ll ever be,” I smiled, tightening my grip on his hand.
“Ladies and Gentlemen!” the guard announced, his voice booming over the hum of conversation. “Please welcome, for the first time as husband and wife, Prince Deacon and Princess Elena!”
The room erupted. The applause was a physical wave, washing over us as we descended the grand staircase. Every head turned, every face smiling. It was intoxicating.
But beneath the joy, beneath the music and the laughter, my senses were dialed to a razor’s edge. I saw the waiters moving through the crowd, looking too efficient, and too watchful. I saw the guests near the exits, standing a little straighter than
necessary.
Deacon had kept his promise. The security was tight. Half the “staff” were actually the Royal Guards in disguise. Kaelen stood near the orchestra pit, dressed in a tuxedo that couldn’t quite hide the bulk of his earpiece and the lethal alertness in his eyes.
“Relax,” Deacon whispered against my ear, guiding me onto the polished marble floor. “We are safe. Kaelen has the perimeter locked down tighter than ever.”
“I know,” I breathed, letting my tensed shoulder drop a little, but continued, “I just… I can’t help but have this feeling she’ll pop out of nowhere at any time like some pop cake or whatever.”
Deacon chuckled, a low, dark sound. “If she does, she’ll be the shortest–lived dessert in history”
I narrowed my eyes on him but laughed nevertheless.
The orchestra then started another tune. It was a slow, and hauntingly beautiful waltz. In an instant, the crowd parted, creating a wide circle for us in the center of the room.
“May I have this dance, my Princess?” Deacon asked, bowing formally.
“You may, my Prince,” I replied, curtseying as best I could in the heavy gown.
He pulled me close, his hand firm on my waist, and we began to move. For a moment, the hundreds of watching eyes vanished. The threat of Glenda vanished. There was only the warmth of his chest, the scent of his cologne–sandalwood and rain and the steady rhythm of our hearts beating in sync.
“You are beautiful,” he murmured, spinning me gently. “I don’t think I’ve told you enough today,”
“You told me at the wedding,” I teased, looking up into his golden eyes.
“That was for the public,” he said, his gaze intense. “This is for you. I am in awe of you, Elena. Every single day.”
As we danced, I related my head against his chest and felt the beat of his fast and pounding heart that synchronized mine. At this moment, it’s like we’re the only ones in the world.
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And as the song ended, so was the spell of the romantic magic we were in. Smiling, we separated from each other and let the other guest join the dance floor.
Just like that, all my tension eased up. Maybe I was just really overthinking things out. Maybe Glenda heard about her warrant and flew already.
We made our rounds, accepting congratulations, shaking hands, and navigating the sea of well–wishers. It was exhausting but wonderful.
Then, I saw him.
Near the back of the room, standing by one of the open balcony doors, was Bryson.
He wasn’t part of the main crowd. He stood alone, holding a glass of whiskey that looked untouched. He wasn’t looking at me with the desperate longing he had shown at his own wedding, nor the pathetic pleading of the reception. He just looked… hollow.
He was watching Deacon laugh with a group of other Alphas. He was watching the way the room seemed to bend around us. He was watching the life he could have had, had he not been blinded by arrogance.
I excused myself away from them and walked toward Bryson. But not to gloat or fight, but because, strangely, I felt a need to close the book completely.
When I arrived he stiffened at his place and nervously straightened his crooked tie. With a bit lower of head, he greeted formally for the first time, “Princess.”
“Bryson,” I acknowledged while still keeping a respectful distance. “I’m surprised you came.”
“I… I wasn’t going to,” he admitted, looking down at his shoes. “But I felt I owed it to you. To witness it.”
He looked up, and his eyes were clear for the first time in years. “He looks at you like you’re the sun, Elena.”
“He does,” I agreed softly.
“I never looked at you like that,” Bryson said, the admission heavy with regret. “I was too busy looking at myself.”
He raised his glass slightly in a toast. “You deserve this. All of it. I just wanted to say… I’m sorry. Not for forgiveness. Just… so you know.”
I studied him. The anger I had carried for so long was gone. The hurt was gone. There was just a quiet, dull pity for the man who had thrown away a diamond to pick up a stone,
“Thank you, Bryson,” I said. “I hope you find peace.”
“I don’t think I will,” he replied honestly. “But I won’t cause you trouble anymore. I’m leaving after the reception. Taking a sabbatical from the pack. Elara can run things for a while. She’s better at it anyway.”
He bowed again, deeper this time, and turned to walk out onto the balcony, disappearing into the shadows of the night.
I took a deep breath, feeling lighter. It was truly over.
“Everything alright?”
Kaelen appeared at my elbow, startling me. He wasn’t looking at Bryson; he was looking at his earpiece, frowning
“Yes,” I said, turning to him. “Just saying goodbye to a ghost. Is everything okay, Kaelen?”
Kaelen pressed a finger to his ear, his expression hardening. “I’m not sure, Princess. We just lost contact with the South Gate patrol. It’s probably just interference from the storm last night, but I don’t like it.”
My stomach dropped. The lightness I had felt seconds ago evaporated. “The South Gate? That’s the service entrance.”
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“Stay here,” Kaelen commanded, his hand dropping to the weapon concealed under his jacket. “Do not leave the ballroom. I’m going to check it out.”
He moved away, melting into the crowd with terrifying speed. I looked across the room for Deacon. He was still laughing, holding a glass of champagne, unaware that the air had just shifted.
The music was still playing. The guests were still dancing. But as I looked toward the heavy service doors at the far end of the hall, the hair on my arms stood up.
The calm was over, and the storm had arrived.
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
