xxxi.

Mid July, 1789,

"A LITTLE TO THE RIGHT PLEASE," ISADORA spoke, her eyes fixed on the wide gleaming looking glass as Lucy adjusted the silver bejewelled hair comb—attached to a gorgeous wave of her floor length tulle wedding veil—onto the middle of Isadora's hairdo.

The tulle encapsulated the elegance of the wedding gown, the distinct white color of the dress—arranged by the Queen mother of Angria—embodied Isadora's frame and gleamed under the lights illuminating the chambers. The dress was a cacophony of full sleeved white charmeuse—layers of it underlined with tulle at the skirts—cinched into gorgeous gathers at her waistline. The started from and gathers covered the bust of the dress in abstract lines, the square neckline sporting the curve of her breasts and the glittering diamond jewelry resting at her neck. There were placements of tiny pearls sewn into the dress, each far away from each other and providing a certain glow to the entire ensemble.

The full sleeves of the gown stopped just over her wrists, the sleeve ends cut and hemmed in shape of a beautiful triangle each, covering the top of her hands.

"Merci," Isa smiled as Lucy finished adjusting the veil to her required liking.

The girl had seemingly healed from her ailment over the course of her treatment with the royal physician, and though there were still days when the girl needed to rest hours out, her gradual progress made Isadora be thankful of yet so many things she had been granted in life. The maid curtseyed and smiled at Isa.

"Let me fetch your wedding bouquet, my lady."

And then keeping her eyes low, she walked out backwards and exited the room, a bright excitement playing on the girl's departing face.

"You look like a dream, my dear," The fairy godmother spoke into the silence then, as Isadora ran her hands gently over the bust of her dress.

The old fairy, it seemed, was her only attendant at present.

The night sky outside was glittering with stars-from the glimpses she caught from the open window in her palace chambers-though the sun had gone down merely an hour ago. The fire ball's departure transformed the sky into an artwork of jewels, and on a night such as this one—the night of her wedding—she could almost feel the stars glitter for her.

The entire royal family—consisting of the Queen mother, her husband to be, and of course, Archie-were all already at the church, alongside all the guests that were invited, leaving Isadora at the palace with a plethora of attending maids to aid her in getting ready, with the addition of a royal carriage waiting outside to take her to her wedding.

As per Queen Ariana's guidance, Isa had learned that this was Angrian tradition, for a princess-to-be—or rather, Queen-to-be, in her case—got ready for the wedding in solitude, without any of the family or guests getting a glimpse of how the bride looks like in her dress and hair before she walked down the aisle.

Isadora hadn't really immersed herself in the thought of the tradition when the Queen mother had explained, for her only concentration had been on reveling in the company of the woman herself. It seemed to Isa, that ever since her having to leave the Duke's estate for the Angrian palace because of a riot at her gates, she had been utterly confused and enamored at every time the Queen mother had spoken to her.

For someone who was supposed to have hated Isadora after what she had done, the Queen had accepted her back with open arms and Isa had sobbed in her embrace, trying and failing to say all that she had wanted to. It hadn't mattered to the royal—nothing Isa had done had mattered to the royal—when she had heard of the annulment and was convinced, by her son and King, that all was going to be as it should have been.

The renewed prospect of marriage between her son and the woman she had accepted earlier for him, had wiped the Queen mother's slate clean, and no matter how hard Isa would try, she could never be able to express her gratitude for it.

"A dream come true, I hope?" Isadora managed, her eyes on the fairy godmother behind her in the mirror.

"Because that is how I feel."

The fairy godmother's contribution to her life, after the argument they had had that night at the Duke's estate—after everything Isa had accused her of-the woman's contribution to her life had become so significant now, and more profound than Isadora could've ever believed amidst her hurt and anger.

The Duke hadn't still returned from the border, yet the fairy godmother had aided in speeding the annulment process up, getting the Duke to sign documents without any fuss. Isa didn't know how the woman had convinced such a man-with magic perhaps?—but regardless, the deed was done and title of the Duchess of Basingstoke was taken away from Isadora like it was a piece of jewelry she had worn and had accidentally gotten the clasp stuck.

The relief accompanying the change was scary, for Isadora had received nothing from the ending of the marriage. All the conditions she had set in her marriage contract had been for her and Archie's benefit in case the Duke was the one to divorce her, but nothing had played out that way and Isadora had filed for an annulment.

With the backing of her influential husband-to-be—the King of Angria—documents were produced in a fortnight and were sent to the border for the signature of the Duke.

Isa remembered the anxiety of it all making tremors travel down her spine. She remembered the fear she had felt when she had confessed everything to Zander even before he had pressed for the formation of the documents.

She remembered telling him of Archie's illegitimacy, of her friend and Archie's biological mother—Ruby Alderidge's—encounter with the Duke. She could still feel the tears she had cried when she had told him how much she feared that he would hate both Archie and her if she had let him know all this before. She had told him how much it would break her if he let Archie's illegitimacy make him love the child less—she had told him how much it would break Archie himself.

She had tried to tell him that these were the reasons she had married the Duke, for who could truly accept an illegitimate child than the child's own father?

Zander had walked out on her then, leaving her terrified in her chambers before he returned an hour later with his royal advisor and a document-already signed by him.

It was the first of the series of events in Isa's life that required official documents and signatures. Before he could summon annulment papers for her—and even before they could sign marriage papers together—he had had an adoption document sanctioned, and it bore his large signature on the golden stamped parchment.

His name was next to hers, his last name was given to Archie. The official words declared The King of Angria—Alexander Casimir the fourth—as the legal parent of Archie, and the child to be the crown prince and heir of Angria.

Isadora's hands shook even now—Zander's given canary diamond engagement ring back on her finger and catching light—as they had shook when she had read that document and signed it, falling tearfully into Zander's embrace as he had kissed her breathless and the royal advisor had taken the signed document away and left them alone.

"Nothing can coerce me into loving Archie any less than I do, Isa," He had breathed against her skin. "I will give him the whole fucking world, I promise you."

The words rang in her head even now, making her heart swell in her chest by second, as she thought of him waiting for her at the altar.

And now, having signed her annulment papers and receiving the Duke's signature on them two weeks ago, Isadora stood in her wedding gown, about to sign the last document she would have to for a while. But then again, Isa wondered, do Queens have to sign things all that much?

A small smile played on her lips.

"It is good to see you so happy," The fairy godmother ushered close, a fond look on her fair round face. "After everything that has happened."

At the mention of past events, Isa's smile faltered and she pivoted to face the old fairy, her brows furrowing as she brought both her hands together at her chest.

"Fairy godmother," She began, her voice wavering. "I've had no chance to tell you how indebted I am to you and how much I regret the harsh words I spoke to you that night."

"No—," The old woman blurted, coming close and taking Isa's hands in hers. They weren't clammy anymore and not basked in the woman's anxious perspiration. Instead, they were cool and her hold felt more calming than it had ever before.

"You mustn't speak like that," The old fairy shook her head. "I should have been more honest with you. I should have helped you make your decisions—aided you when you needed me. And it is us fairies who are indebted to you, for giving us an audience with the King of Angria."

Isadora watched the woman, the abundant red rouged cheeks covered with a layer of peach fur and edged with gentle wrinkles where the skin stretched loose holding onto the plenty muscles in the fairy's face.

Isa had asked Zander to speak to the fairy godmother, to merely listen to what she had to say, making it clear that she was not forcing him to make alliances with anyone. Despite the fairy godmother and the other fairies' desperations in face of the prospect of war, Isadora would not be the one forcing Zander for anything he didn't want to do.

Perhaps even now the fairy godmother thought that Isa would help control the King of Angria, and though Isa had realized Zander needed her to be there with him, she wouldn't control him for anyone.

Zander had sat through the meeting with the fairy godmother, one on one, courtesy of Isadora's conviction. But nothing much had come of it. The King—like any king in his situation—had suspected the onslaught of war. But he had refused anything the fairy godmother had offered. Isa didn't really know the details of all that had transpired between them two, but she had realized it had come down to nothing.

So getting through to the King of Angria, through his wife-to-be, remained perhaps the only accessible option.

Isadora understood all that, and though she respected the fairy godmother for some of her words and company, she wouldn't take a side that Zander refused to submit to—regardless of the advantages involved.

Besides, it had been weeks since any disturbance had occurred on the border of the Kingdom. No blind attacks had occurred in any town in the kingdom, even though Zander kept the guard up at all times—forcing the hefty security at the border and at Angrian towns' boundaries to stay rooted where they were. There were no new reports of attacks in other kingdoms too. A silence had wafted over the ember of war that had been threatening to light. The silence had stifled the fear in people's hearts, the talk of war was now swallowed and tongues had taken to speak of other things.

The civil unrest was soothed like an angry burn mark being covered with a cooling balm—gentle fingers smoothing out the product, thinning it out over the affected area. Zander had unsealed the town of Alopie once it was efficiently restored to it's prior state of being, and everyone in the kingdom—as well as those from the neighboring kingdoms—saw how efficiently the King of Angria had healed the injury inflicted on his realm.

If anything, the town of Alopie was stronger than it had been before, and it was now serving as a base for Angrian border protection.

If these were the reasons Zander had taken to ignoring any offer the fairy godmother had made to him, Isadora didn't blame him. For how could you still speak of war when everything was going so smoothly? How do you speak of destruction when only growth was in the air?

"Now dear, let us not get political on your wedding day," The old woman smiled, reaching her small chubby hand to pat Isa's cheek gently.

"Come," The fairy godmother exclaimed then, an excitement lighting up her eyes. "Your carriage awaits, we must make haste!"

—🥀—

Isadora wasn't sure if she had ever truly believed in destiny before, but upon seeing the lavish church hall—tall and daunting purple glass stained windows making up the entirety of the four walls of the church building washing the moonlight pouring in under a violet spell as it lit the path she was to take along the aisle—she realized maybe the belief had been somewhere inside her, quiet and patiently waiting.

She hadn't yet entered the church, but could see the mesmerizing state of it from the entrance-through the wooden door that was slightly ajar—just a few yards in front of her.

Over her head, hung the full moon. For once, the stone in the sky was so bright and abundant, she feared it would be too heavy for the sky to carry, making it fall to the ground and shatter into light and stars before she could even say 'I do' at the altar.

Behind Isadora, parked to a side was another carriage. The departing carriage. Painted in white, and adorned with white floral decorations, it was the wedding carriage she was to sit in with her husband once the ceremony was over. The carriage—she smiled as she noticed—was headed by the cream mare Zander had gifted to her, backed by four other horses. The mare was unharmed from that day in the fire at the Duke's stables—Zander had brought the mare back unharmed.

The Queen mother stood in front of Isadora—willingly breaking the Angrian royal tradition of the family not seeing the bride before she walked down the aisle-with tears in her eyes as she placed a kiss on both of Isa's cheeks and held her face.

"I'm sorry," The royal sniffled bringing a tissue to her nose delicately, her round, curvy form dazzling in a hugging bejeweled emerald dress in the moonlight.

"I'm already a mess," The woman gathered herself, glassy eyes in Isa's ebony ones. 

"You are the answer to everything I could have ever asked for my son and for our kingdom. You are the answer to everything, Isadora, and I can only be glad for my son and his realm, and thankful to be seeing this day."

Isadora didn't know what to say, so instead she embraced the Queen, kissing the royal woman's hands and willing herself not to cry.

From inside the church, she heard muffled conversations cease as the organ started playing. The strings of violins were strummed sweetly, and blissful music encapsulated the air like a magical perfume scent that had always belonged to someone else, but by the grace of destiny, belonged to her for once.

The fairy godmother, having accompanied Isa in the carriage ride to the church alongside Lucy, had disappeared as soon as Queen Ariana's embellished form was spotted waiting at the church entrance for the bride. For upon adamant insistence of her own and much swallowed distaste by Isadora's mother, Lady Tremaine, the Queen mother had wanted to be the one to give the bride away.

"Come now," Queen Ariana touched Isa's elbow gently, taking hold of her arm swiftly while she adjusted the trail of the bride's dress quickly.

"We must not keep my son waiting any further," The woman smiled, "Lord knows he has already waited enough."

And thus Isa entered the Angrian royal church, and her form was bathed in the manipulated violet light of the moon, courtesy of the tall purple stained glass windows.

At once, the hall erupted in sharp intakes of breath, muffled exclamations and gasps of admiration. The sight of her was entrancing as she walked down the lengthy path of the aisle, trapping people's gazes in a wonderous daze. It seemed to her, amidst the vision provided by the candlelit chandelier on the high ceiling and the candles lit along the walls inside the church, that the entire town of Angria was present in the numerous pews.

The wedding being held in the Angrian royal church gave access for commoners as well as nobles to attend as well, and as she had been told by the Queen mother, the town of Angria was invited to every royal wedding held at the kingdom's capital—another tradition being upheld for centuries.

Outside of the town of Angria, invitations were extended only to nobles and royals of neighboring kingdoms, and Isadora knew that people in her hometown of Toulouse back in the Kingdom of Valence, would find out about the wedding in letters and gazettes, or through word of mouth by travelers. They'd read about the occasion and wonder how it had occurred—they'd wonder how the strange Isadora Tremaine and the adopted child they had shunned, had managed to become royalty seemingly overnight.

But it hadn't happened overnight, had it? Mon Dieu, Isa's heart would testify with desperation that her destiny had taken it's sweet time. Still, she found that she had already forgiven time.

Isadora set her eyes onto her husband-to-be. The King of Angria, Alexander Casimir—dressed in a black brocade suit with silver white epaulettes resting on his shoulders and his gold crown resting on his dark groomed hair—stood boldly next to the cloaked priest with his arms pinned behind his back.

He was still yards and yards away from her, the form of him the size of her thumb as she made her way slowly along the aisle, guided by the Queen mother. Yet, despite the distance, his eyes were fixed onto her, his figure unmoving as he waited patiently. There was a glinting light in his chocolate brown irises, and the sparkle of it tugged on Isadora's heartstrings as she walked forwards, with every step being able to make out his gaze on her in it's entirety. 

His eyes radiated every emotion that he had ever made her feel—everything that he had ever said in words to her, and in this perfumed musical air of the church as she anticipated being his Queen forever, Isadora realized if she could ever be addicted to something, it would be this moment in time. 

As she neared the altar, she could make out familiar figures on the main pews in the front. On her right, she saw her mother—The Lady Tremaine's sleek, tall and aged elegant form dressed in a dark maroon gown with a solitary large diamond embedded right below her neckline, and her grey hair piled expertly on top of her head in a style that Marie Antoinette herself too would've preferred. The woman's dark red painted lips were twisted into a smile of pride—a pride that was entirely vanity for the self, as though it was all due to her that Isadora was there in a wedding dress about to marry the King of Angria, at all. Isadora fought the urge to scoff at her mother. 

Beside Lady Tremaine, sat Isa's younger sister with a sour expression on her face, Lucinda Tremaine—dressed in one too many layers of frills and lace in a bright green dress, with a matching set of green bejewelled jewelry that was entirely too much for the short girl's abundant form. Her corn curls were plastered into a do that seemed to age the girl a few years more. 

Archie stirred from where he sat, catching Isa's attention. Lucy had dressed him in his suit—a brocade set in the style of ones that Zander usually wore, except Archie's suit was a delicate sky blue and though his curly hair must have been set with mousse, it had twisted into it's natural form, making him appear too sweet for Isa to bear. 

She met his blue eyes and he was livid with his excitement on sight of her. She could tell it was taking the boy's all to follow the instructions he had been given by Queen Ariana, and not leave his seat beside Lucinda Tremaine to run towards his mama at the altar. 

On Isadora's left—in the front pews, just moments before she reached the altar—she saw the seated forms of King Reginald of Valence, the man grinning and smiling, his fondness evidently initially intended for his brother's son getting married before it was intended for the woman Zander was marrying. The King of Valence held no distaste in his manner for everything that had transpired between his nephew and himself on the topic of alliance the past month, letting all be temporarily forgotten for the moment in time. Beside the King of Valence, Isadora saw the forms of Prince Charming and his wife—Isadora's stepsister, Cinderella. 

There was nothing more than a bland familiarity between Isadora and her stepsister. Their relations had always been elaborately askew, and after Isa had signed a paper and become the Duchess of Basingstoke, she hadn't seen Cinderella at all. After all, the girl was a princess of Valence, why would Isadora be seeing her at Basingstoke, in the Kingdom of Angria, at all?

The royal family of Valence had arrived to attend the royal wedding last night, and Isadora had met them all alongside Queen Ariana, making sure her conversation with Cinderella was limited to only a plain greeting that went nowhere, before she was crossed in a conversation with Prince Charming and Zander. 

But at that moment, a step away from the altar and catching Cinderella's eyes, Isadora could not help but wonder how the girl had once referred to this all in a carriage ride in Toulouse from Prince Charming's ball. She had spoken of herself and the prince, and she had spoken of Isa and Zander. Her stepsister had spoken of both things with a wavering—hopeful—voice, and Isa had shunned her for it then. But now here they both were, living out everything Cinderella had dared to speak of. 

Perhaps this was why Isadora never knew what to say to the girl. They had never understood each other ever since the moment they were forced into each other's lives. But perhaps for that one moment in that carriage ride, they had understood each other in a profound way that neither wanted to admit, even now. 

They arrived at the altar, and the Queen mother guided her towards Zander, as he reached out to take both his bride's hands in his. Isa handed over her wedding bouquet to Queen Ariana to hold, and with a fond dismay saw that the woman's cheeks had started again to glisten with rapidly falling tears as she took the bouquet and allowed Isadora the freedom to let Zander hold both her hands. Then the Queen mother hurried off to taker her seat on the pew beside Cinderella and Prince Charming. 

In a back pew, Isadora caught sight of the blue of the fairy godmother's cloak, a smile on her small lips and the red of her cheeks lifted high on her face in admiration. 

Isadora met Zander's eyes then, unable to hold the smile from her face and the stinging from her eyes. He was grinning at her, his crystal white teeth gleaming against the bronze of his skin and the dark of his brocade suit. His eyes too were glassy, but he was not shaking as much as she was. The King of Angria wasn't shaking at all, for he was a picture of bold confidence, but with care, he caressed Isa's palm with his thumb as he held her hands, trying his best to calm her. 

Isa felt strength return to her again, as she embraced her composure, steadied by Zander's hold of her and his presence in front of her. 

The organ slowed down and the music dissolved into a lower and gentler form as the priest began the vows. Isadora heard every word the man said, yet still she felt like she was in a daze, with her eyes fixed in Zander's and her heart throbbing fully inside her chest, she repeated words after the priest. She said her vows, and watched him as he said his own, all the while his thumb caressed her palm, his eyes emanating every word he spoke, making every nerve in her body flutter wildly. 

She hadn't been with Zander—felt his body on hers and his lips against the forbidden parts of her skin—since that night when she had run from the Duke's estate and had come to the palace. She had yearned for Zander everyday for the past two weeks, and she could tell that he had wanted her too, but he had kept his focus on the paperwork, on Archie's adoption, on making sure Isa's annulment process started and ended satisfactorily. And now that they were getting married, there would be nothing coming in between them anymore. The anticipation of it made butterflied erupt in her stomach, and in realization she bit her sinful thoughts back. 

Mon Dieu, you are in front of God himself right now, Isadora, have some grace, she chastised herself. 

The I do's were said, and the sound of them seemed to flutter in the air around Isa like delicate stray petals sweetly perfumed. Zander's voice against hers, dancing a waltz in the air above them as Isadora's heart soared at the minute by minute realization. 

"I now pronounce you man and wife." The priest spoke then, closing the gilded prayer book he held in his hands. "The King and Queen of Angria." 

At the second declaration, Eugene Flammant—his thin from wrapped in a navy coat suit and breeches, with his hair tied in a velvet navy ribbon at the nape of his neck—appeared at the alter alongside an attendee holding a velvet cushion—the likes of which had once carried a glass slipper all over Toulouse in the Kingdom of Valence. Except, resting on top of this velvet cushion, was a delicate but gleaming golden crown embedded with tiny silver diamonds at a distance from each other. The crown matched that of Zander's, but it was meant to be worn by a Queen. 

The Queen mother stepped up again, having passed the wedding bouquet to Cinderella to hold, as the woman made her way to the altar and took hold of the crown from the cushion surface. 

As she turned towards the bride, Isadora dropped into a slow curtsey, her heart hammering in her chest as she felt the crown being placed on top of her head, the Queen mother fixing it neatly on top of the small comb from where Isa's veil started.

After she was done, the former Queen of Angria stepped away, and the new Queen of Angria straightened herself to her full height, her own eyes brimming with tears that matched those of the Queen mother. 

"Now, please, your majesty," The priest spoke then, a smile in his voice as he gestured to Zander after everyone else stepped away from the altar, leaving the groom and bride standing. 

"You may kiss your bride." 

Zander took hold of her hands again, and gently pulled her close. His eyes were dark with his desire, and for the first time Isa noticed that the desire that came with his desperation had softened out into a calm contentment. And she felt something similar in her bones as well. There was nothing in between them anymore, nothing and no one. He was hers, and she was his, and now nothing and no one would be able to change that. 

His hands left hers and gripped her waist as he dipped his head to press his lips obediently against hers, catching her breath. 

The guests in the church exhaled gasps of awe and admiration, and the music inside the church picked up again, filling the air around Isa with it's sweetness.

Zander kissed her again, and again, grinning in between the kiss and pressing his forehead to hers. His lips were warms against hers, and so soft. 

The music softened some more as Zander held her close, and then it was time for the couple to make their exit from the church. 

Unable to hold himself in place anymore, Archie's excited form sprinted onto the altar and he buried himself in Isadora's skirts, hugging her lower body as she put her hand on his head and willed herself not to cry. Zander laughed at Archie's excitement, taking one of the boy's hands and placing a kiss on his wrist as Archie turned away from Isa and embraced Zander next. The King of Angria took Archie in his arms, holding him up as the boy giggled. 

The Queen mother—now officially grandmother to the boy—ushered herself to the altar, a fond smile on her face as she cooed to Archie and convinced him to come with her. 

"We have to get you your basket of petals, sweetheart," The former Queen of Angria mused conspiratorially to Archie, "So that we can all shower your mama and papa in petals like we planned. Now, come, darling." 

Archie's eyes lit up at the prospect, and he nodded with happy haste, making Zander put him down as he took Queen Ariana's hand and let her guide him away from the altar. 

The guests all made to get up, a rustle of excitement and awe sounding as people made to take their places outside of the church. Zander's arm was at Isa's back, both of them standing at the altar, as he accepted the congratulations of nobles and the royals of neighboring kingdoms, as elegantly dressed men and women of sophistication and stature, neared the altar to pay their respects to the newly married King of Angria, and his Queen. 

Isa was lost in the bustle of it, her heart so full in her chest that she thought it would suffocate her entirely, and she'd let it. The night sky outside was dark and glittering, she could see that from the open door of the church in the far distance as people made their way out with basket full of petals and roses—a cacophony of satin reds and whites in brown baskets. 

But then, suddenly, a shrill scream was heard as it slashed through the magic ambience of the church, cutting the air like knife. 

Every eye in the church turned towards the form of Lucinda Tremaine—the girl in her frilly dress standing taut in the front pew on her initial seat, clutching a silver stick with a bewildered expression on her face as she snatched it to herself from another pair of hands. Isadora couldn't tell if it was Lucinda who had screamed, or the fairy godmother, who now stood in the pew behind Lucinda, a worried expression on her face, with her arms extended in shock. Neither bewilderment, nor worry, could've produced such a shrill scream—and Isa almost tried to make herself believe that the scream belonged to someone else in the church hall, but the direction it had come from was unmistakable. 

"Child, put that down!" The fairy godmother cried then, worry shifting into discomfort and desperation onto the woman's face. "It belongs to me, you must not—" 

"What were you doing with it?" Lucinda shouted at the old fairy, holding the wand away and snapping out of her bewilderment at having snatched the thing. Her shrill voice made Isa realize that it was in this very direction that scream had come from. 

"You were pointing it at the altar! I saw you. You saw something outside of the church window and then you pointed this thing at the altar! You were—you were—" The girl broke off deliriously, her tone shaking as Isadora's chest tightened. 

There were dozens of moments in Isadora's life that had enabled her to recognize every move and shift in her younger sister, and even in Cinderella. Back in Toulouse, at the chateau, Isa had always been able to see through the both of them—their pretenses, their dramatics, their child-like carelessness, even their secret hopes. And looking at Lucinda now, Isadora saw genuine alteration pinched in the girl's wide eyes and shaking hands. 

The fairy godmother was pointing her wand at the altar? At Isadora and Zander? Why? 

"I wasn't—," The old fairy stammered, her eyes meeting Zander's and Isa's with a reluctance and fear. "No, it wasn't like that. I meant no harm, only I—I think I saw—" 

"Why are you here?" Zander's voice roared in Isa's periphery then, and his arm tightened around the back of her waist protectively, his eyes pinning the fairy godmother in her spot. 

She could feel the anger radiate out of her husband's form, the muscles in his jaw and shoulders tight as his gaze hardened. 

"I don't believe me or my family extended the invitation." 

It was true, Isadora realized. She hadn't explicitly asked the fairy godmother to attend the wedding, and Zander had only met the old fairy once. Isa doubted the Queen mother was even familiar with the old woman. As far as Isadora was concerned, the fairy godmother had invited herself. But she hadn't seen it as a problem, until now. The fairy godmother could be trusted, couldn't she? Then what was this? Why had she pulled her wand out in midst of the wedding? and who did she think she saw? 

"Yes, your majesty, but I mean no harm," The old woman swallowed, pressurized under the gaze of the onlooking nobles and other curious and startled guests, as well as King Alexander Casimir's own hard gaze. 

"I only suspect that—," She struggled to continue amidst her anxiety, but her sentence was cut short when suddenly a powerful gust of wind outside broke the church door and shattered two of the tall glass windows, as it infiltrated the inside of the church hall.

Panicked screams were heard from the guests outside, and the nobles and guests still inside the church held onto their suits and dresses and Zander's arm instantly yanked Isa close.

Everything happened in a blur then, in sync with the terrified pounding of Isa's heart. The massive chandelier hanging at the church's ceiling swung with the force of the wind, an attachment breaking as it moved to it's last lifeline, before that too broke. She saw the massive glass chandelier, with it's falling candles, come down in front of her eyes. 

Zander grabbed her back before the thing could crash, making sure they both were a safe distance away. Screams were heard again following the sickening crash, and this time from inside the church as some of the guests likely came under the blow of glass and debris. Then before Isa could form a rational thought, every single candle in the church went out, plunging the hall into a deafening darkness. 

Her mind scrambled for Archie then, as her hands gripped Zander's elbow in fright. Her lips parted to scream out her son's name, but then the fairy godmother was in front of her and Zander, the tip of her wand glowing and casting shadows under the old fairy's face. 

"Your majesties, you must come with me." 

***

A/N:
ok y'all time out for a while because i've got my finals coming up, i'll get back to writing this book after my last exam so hang in theree i'm so sorryy