Prince braced though fear clenched his insides and walls closed in. Rather than convincing himself of wedded bliss, he tried to focus on how entertaining the changing weather could be when or if his bride might have some hand in the phenomenon.
Before his thoughts ran to more worrisome matters, his future bride waltzed through the doors, head also high, eyes unblinking. The sense of something awry barely pervaded him. She looked lovely ensconced in scores of deep emerald silks, threaded with shimmering gold. The green enhanced the brilliance of her copper locks, coiled in an elaborate coiffure. She was stunning. She trained her gaze on him as if daring him to shake her composure, meeting his eyes in belligerent splendor. A soft, knowing smile touched her lips on her slow descent.
Prince froze, locked in place, confusion rippling through him.
Where was Cinderella? Had they said her name? He scanned the perimeter of the crowd. Arnald cast him a disgusted glance and stepped up to take Lady Esmeralda's arm. The grateful look she gave Arnald should have infuriated Prince. Instead, he found himself vaguely aware of a noise resembling the snorting huff of a bull, sounding somewhere behind-one that had seen the red cape and was not so amused. The only thing missing was the stomp of its front hoof prior to its deadly gorge.
Silence filled the great hall. The herald emerged, snagging his abrupt attention. The odd tingle in the air that Prince now referred to as the "fainting possibility tingle" hovered in the ambiance.
Staunch horns blared in the marked stillness. A wave of expectant drama swept the room. Prince himself was ensnared just as sure and as fervent as the mass of onlookers. The ballroom took on a sharpness Prince had not experienced since the night he'd danced in the arms of one beloved mysterious princess. The air fairly cackled in tension. Candlelight bounced from wood waxed and shined to a radiant brilliance. Not even a rustling of skirts sounded. The trumpets pealed in call of royal splendor and the crowd waited in anticipation of the last pronouncement.
The herald shuffled to the forefront. He clicked his heels and fell into a deep respectful bow. "Lady Cinderella," he declared. Prince thought his heart had bound from his torso to hit the wood floor.
Startled by the reverberation, his hand flew to his chest. Non. The thud was there-erratic, beating fiercely. He spun, and was surprised to find a bevy of servants scurrying over to assist Lady Roche. She lay flat on her round and full-bodied face. He pushed away the twinge of guilt, and relief, that it was not he who had succumbed to the dead drop swoon.