Gwen entered the throne room, which prompted an unexpected trumpet fanfare to play from somewhere she couldn't see. Uncomfortably aware that all eyes were upon her, she walked forward slowly and deliberately with her handmaidens, barely looking around at anyone. Instead, she focused on the decorations. Under the circumstances, it wasn't all that difficult to do.

The throne room was utterly transformed, even more so than the garden or hallways had been. Vibrant silk streamers of all colours criss-crossed along the ceiling above her, producing a pattern that undulated and shifted as you moved across the floor, appearing completely different depending on where you stood. Ornate tables and chairs had been set up everywhere you looked, and every table had at least a dozen people sitting at it. Deep red satin bunting lined the walls, framing brand new torches and lamps in expensive-looking silver wall mounts, the sheer quantity of which were illuminating the room more brightly than she'd thought possible.

Gone were the severe, dark wooden panels and archaic tapestries, as well as all the other decorations she knew her father preferred.

There was a large banquet table set up where the throne usually sat, right in front of the newly whitewashed stone wall. Her father and King Alwyn were both sitting at the table, as were several other people she didn't recognize. Given the empty seat beside her father, it wasn't hard for Gwen to figure out where she was supposed to go.

Many of the several hundred assembled guests murmured to one another as she made her way to the other side of the room. She couldn't actually make out any snippets of whispered conversation, so she had no idea if they were discussing her beautiful dress, how lovely she looked in it, or how unfair it was that someone as undeserving as Gwen was about to marry the well-liked and charming Prince Gavin, who even now was–

Gwen blinked, and for a moment her steps faltered slightly.

Prince Gavin wasn't in the room.

In the stories she'd read that had weddings, the bride was usually the last to enter. That was pretty standard, wasn't it? And yet, the chair sitting next to King Alwyn was conspicuously empty.

Perhaps she wasn't getting married today. Might Gavin have followed his heart after all, and fled the castle before they were to be wed? Or perhaps he'd left because of the various things he'd heard about Gwen? He was no stranger to most of the castle guards and other servants, after all, and had spent countless hours talking and laughing and visiting with them during his attempts to avoid her this past week. Maybe he'd been told something about her he didn't care for.

Oh, wouldn't that be perfect – her father's plans foiled by the very rumours Anifail had been spreading about her. The very thought of it actually caused the barest trace of a smile to find its way to Gwen's lips.

She continued on towards the main banquet table, the train of her dress sweeping the floor behind her as she made her way to her seat. Idly, she began to wonder how she'd even be expected to sit while wearing this awkward, detestable gown of hers. However, once she arrived at her spot she saw that a small bench had been arranged for her rather than one of the high-backed chairs on which her father and King Alwyn sat.

Gwen sat down in her seat, facing the assembled crowd, and she quickly checked it for familiar faces. Almost immediately she noticed Anifail and Rhosyn had been seated at the closest table, not twenty feet away from her.

Anifail smiled and nodded when he saw he'd caught her attention, and he raised a silver goblet towards her with a nod. Rhosyn did nothing, and merely sat beside him, staring through the table.

Choosing to ignore his presence, Gwen turned her attention away from Anifail's table and scanned the rest of the room. She noticed an altar that had been set up on a dais in the corner opposite of where she was sitting. It was being tended to by an ancient-looking vicar in red and silver robes, whose few remaining wisps of silver hair had been lightly oiled and plastered against his balding pate for the occasion. On the altar were two crystals, one of which she recognized as hers. The other, much larger crystal was Gavin's, obviously.

But what of the prince himself? Where was Gavin?

A few minutes later, as if in answer to her question, a second fanfare sounded. Not long after, Prince Gavin walked into the room, looking handsome and regal beyond words. He was wearing what appeared to be a high-ranking soldier's uniform, white officer's gloves and a dark grey coat, tastefully decorated with various lapel-pins and other trappings Gwen assumed were marks of distinction or otherwise represented his official rank.

The murmurs and whispers of those in attendance seemed to triple in volume, and Gwen's heart sank. Obviously he hadn't run off anywhere, and had probably just been delayed while getting ready for the ceremony. And now he had arrived – this unfortunate, beautiful man her father had consigned to death.

Oblivious to any reaction his appearance might have provoked from those assembled, he strode through the throne room and to the main banquet table, stiff-backed and solemn. Without a word, he walked around to his seat and sat down, his expression bleak.

He didn't so much as glance in Gwen's direction.

Once everyone at the head table had taken their seats, Bryn slowly stood up from his chair and held his arms out towards the hundreds of townspeople who had come for the feast, a sign he was about to speak. Chairs squawked noisily against the floor as everyone stood up from their seats, and complete silence fell over the room within moments.

"Fellow Calderians, honoured guests, I bid you all welcome! Today we celebrate a truly joyous occasion, one that sees my dearest daughter, Gwenwyn, wed to–"

Gwen stopped listening at that point, already more or less familiar with the sorts of things her father would be saying. In truth, she'd become rather adept at ignoring her father's ponderous speeches over the years, and was fairly thankful for her ability to do so on this particular occasion. She knew the hypocrisy of his words would be too much for her, what with this whole wedding being nothing more than an elaborate execution.

After five minutes or so of droning on and recognizing notable guests, he concluded his speech by thanking everyone assembled, resulting in dutiful clapping once it became clear to everyone he'd finished. Bryn then gestured to King Alwyn, who stood up from his chair as well, giving her father a brief nod of thanks before beginning his own speech.

"Well, we Rhegarians aren't much for ceremony when it comes right down to it," King Alwyn said, scratching his chin in a considering fashion. "I'll admit I was a tad nervous arriving here, but quickly found that the legendary hospitality of Calderia lives up to its reputation. And... hey, what am I doing talking about Rhegar and Calderia anyway? Soon both names will be but an old and dusty memory, as our two peoples unite as one and form a brand new, glorious nation!"

His words were followed by much more enthusiastic applause, as well as a few cheers. King Alwyn good-naturedly signaled for quiet, eventually calming the room down enough so that he might resume talking.

He was much better at this sort of thing than her father was, Gwen noted.

"My one lasting regret is that my beloved wife did not live long enough to bear witness to this blessed arrangement – my dearest son, Gavin, being joined in marriage with your very own Princess Gwenwyn, a sweet girl who is lovely beyond words, and who I will soon be proud to call my daughter."

There were more cheers, though they sounded a bit less enthusiastic than before.

"Now," said Alwyn once the cheers had died down, reaching down to pick up his wine glass and raising it in front of him, "let's start this feast, shall we? I swear, if I'm forced to wait much longer, why, I might waste away to nothing!" he announced, patting his ample stomach.

There was some laughter, then more cheering and applauding as everyone took their seat. King Alwyn met their cheers with an easy, relaxed smile, oblivious to the slightly vexed expression that had appeared on Bryn's own face. Possibly her father had wanted to announce the beginning of the feast himself, but Gwen suspected he was more annoyed by the slightly more enthusiastic responses Alwyn's words had elicited from the crowd.

Bryn picked up his own wine glass and held it out to Alwyn, and the two kings solemnly toasted each other before toasting all in attendance. The gesture was returned by several hundred raised goblets, followed by another cheer.

And with that, the wedding feast began.

Gwen merely sat there, not even bothering to remove her veil. She knew that despite the pangs of hunger gnawing at her stomach, she would be too anxious and upset to eat anything at all. She sat quietly, hands folded in her lap, her head bowed slightly.

The feast itself was probably like none the attendees had ever seen. Collections of truly extravagant dishes arrived at each table, and everyone was allowed to sample this or that from the platter of delicacies before the trays were whisked away by the quick-moving castle staff, only to be replaced moments later by a brand new platter loaded up with even more extraordinary something-or-others. A harpist played gentle melodies that were loud enough to be heard, but not so loud as to hinder conversation.

Plates of elaborately crafted food were placed in front of Gwen, and then removed from her place after a few minutes, untouched and barely noticed. She very quickly lost count of the quantity of dishes that had come and gone, focusing instead on her thoughts, or glancing around the room a time or two from beneath her veil. Nobody appeared to be paying her much mind, save for Anifail, who sat at his table sipping from his goblet, sending her the occasional disquieting grin. Every now and then he'd whisper something to Rhosyn, who merely continued staring through the table, looking glum. Despite how hungry she must have been, Rhosyn didn't appear to be eating.

Nor was Gavin, Gwen noticed. Untouched helpings of food were being removed one after the other from his place at the table as well. Though she couldn't actually see him with her father and Alwyn sitting between them, she suspected the prince was sitting quietly in his chair, looking bleak.

Of course he wasn't eating. Who could possibly eat when feeling this defeated, this trapped? Any hope of happiness he'd ever have was slipping through his fingers. He was forever losing his chance to be with the girl he loved.

If Gwen didn't think of something, and soon, he could possibly be losing much more than that.

"Ready to turn the burden of leadership over to these two youngsters?" Alwyn asked of Bryn at one point during the feast.

"You bet! I can't wait," said Bryn, stabbing at a platter of meat with his fork and depositing his spoils onto his plate. Then he sighed, putting on a rueful expression. "You know, I was never suited for ruling. Not at all."

"Nor I, actually. I'll be glad to give it up," Alwyn said with a nod. "Not enough hours in the day, everyone coming to me with their problems. I'm not as young as I was. I figure I'm about due for some rest and relaxation."

"I couldn't agree more," said Bryn with a sly grin. "Why, it seems every year I'm having to renegotiate trade agreements with the kingdoms to the north just to keep them from robbing me blind! Now that we'll now have access to a port and opportunities to trade with kingdoms overseas, I imagine we'll have a much easier time of it."

"Oh, to have something to actually trade again!" Alwyn laughed. "Being a port city, most of our revenue is based on excise and merchant tax. Rare is the evening that I fall asleep and don't have nightmares about being chased by a horde of numbers with big, gnashing teeth!"

The two kings shared a laugh at that, and they both entered into some light-hearted discussion involving the economics of trade. Gwen could see her father paying particular attention to King Alwyn's words, likely attempting to glean as much information from him as possible about how profitable Rhegar's port activities were.

An hour passed, and then another. Slowly, the nature of the dinner courses being brought out began to change, and soon Gwen found herself staring at a plate containing frozen grapes, as well as thin rectangular wafers of dark chocolate. A dessert course, she realized glumly. Pretty soon it would be time for–

"And now, honoured guests," Bryn called out loudly, standing from his chair, "we have come to the part of the evening that is the entire reason for tonight's joyous celebration! It's the moment I'm certain we've all been waiting for; when our two realms become one, to be ruled over equally by your new king and queen, King Gavin of Rhegar, and Queen Gwenwyn of Calderia, joined this very evening in a symbolic union, one which shall receive the blessing of the Goddess Eirene herself!"

The room erupted with cheering and hearty applause, and underneath it all Gwen could make out the sounds of violins playing once more. Her stomach cramped, and her breathing quickened.

Amid the cheering and the processional music, Bryn turned and nodded respectfully to King Alwyn, who stood up from his own chair and smiled contentedly. Then he leaned over to Gavin, who was still staring down at the table with his shoulders slumped forward in resignation, and he whispered something. Upon hearing his father's words, Gavin slowly rose to his feet, turned, and then the two of them made their way around the table towards the altar amid cheers and music that seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.

Gwen sat there, feeling helpless. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Anifail was smirking gleefully in her direction, and so she made a particular point of not looking his way. Instead she watched as Gavin, straight-backed and moving stiffly, walked over to the altar with his father.

The vicar smiled at the two of them, then nodded and said something to King Alwyn, who turned back and returned to the banquet table, an even bigger smile on his face. The violin playing seemed to increase in volume.

"Daughter," Gwen heard Bryn murmur from somewhere beside her. She looked to her right side, and saw her father's hand was extended for her to take.

Staring at the hand, Gwen remained motionless, afraid to move, her own hands still folded in her lap.

Several tense seconds passed.

"Now," said Bryn darkly, his voice little more than a whisper, "or the unhappy little girl sitting next to Captain Anifail becomes considerably more unhappy."

Bowing her head, Gwen took his hand in hers and stood up from her seat. From there, the two of them made their own way around the banquet table, towards the altar.

They encountered some difficulty making it over to the aisle, as her father accidentally stepped on the train of her dress a number of times before realizing what the problem was. The gown had also been tied especially tightly in a few places, putting uncomfortable pressure on her back and ribs, she noticed. And to top it all off, having spent several hours wearing it, she now felt like she was practically roasting alive in this cumbersome, loathsome thing. Even the simple act of walking was turned into a chore by this stupid, hated dress.

Once she'd made her way to the aisle, Gwen raised her head a little and risked a quick look towards the altar through the pale gauze of her veil.

Prince Gavin was looking directly at her for what might have been the first time since he'd arrived at the castle. No, not looking, but literally staring at Gwen with wide eyes, seeming the tiniest bit awestruck, his lips parted ever so slightly. He rather looked like a man who'd forgotten how to breathe, and seemed unable to look away from her as she slowly stepped towards him.

Okay, maybe she hated the dress a little less.

Eventually, Gavin's stunned expression gave way to a sort of profound sadness. For himself, Gwen realized, and his girlfriend. Sometimes it seemed to Gwen that the only reason she existed was to ruin other people's lives, to cause pain and make people cry, or–

She'd completely forgotten to cry!

Desperately, Gwen tried to summon tears and found she couldn't, despite how thoroughly miserable she was feeling. It was as if all the nervousness that was packed away inside of her was somehow preventing her from doing so, like she was too anxious or too scared to make the tears come!

It seemed like she'd been crying at the drop of a kerchief lately, but now that it actually mattered, she couldn't.

Gwen began to panic, her thoughts racing.

Step by slow, faltering step, Gwen and her father crept towards the altar. She felt like both condemned and executioner all at once.

By the time she was a few paces away from the altar, Gavin was no longer looking at her. His eyes were downcast, and he was standing in that familiar straight-backed way of his. Bryn released Gwen's arm, took the bouquet from her, and pantomimed a quick kiss on the cheek inches away from her veil before turning around and heading back toward the table, leaving her to take the final few shaky steps on her own. All at once, she was standing side-by-side with Gavin.

Behind the altar stood the vicar, a venerable, gentle-looking man with a wide, friendly smile. He beamed down at them both.

"Dearly beloved," the old man began in an excited, slightly wavering voice, "we are gathered here today–"