No matter what happens to me, no matter what the future may bring, I’ve no doubt that in Alrik’s own heart I will always remain his true intended queen.

“Adelina, are you sure?” he asks, his breath coming faster as my fingers creep toward his shirt with the sole intention of ridding him of it.

He’s trying to provide a way out, to spare me from doing something he fears I’ll regret. An attempt to do the right thing, to be noble, gallant, but the words bear no meaning, he’s as eager as I am.

I press my finger to his mouth, only to remove it a second later and replace it with my lips. “You were married to me the day I pushed you into the pond, and I was married to you the day you sent me flowers in response. Red tulips. Who would’ve thought?” I smile, pausing long enough for my lips to explore his earlobes, his neck, as my hands roam the glorious expanse of his newly bared chest.

His handsome face hovers before me, as he pushes me back onto the pillows, back onto our bed, his lips moving over me, kissing every inch of bared skin, kissing me in places I never would’ve imagined. Fingers moving quickly, deftly, removing the sparse layer of clothing standing between us, the task finally completed, he says, “Adelina?”

I nod, having never felt more certain.

Then a kiss.

A sigh.

And there is no going back.

I have done this.

We are doing this.

Our bodies moving together—melded, fused, connected as one.

And it’s every bit as glorious as I dreamed it would be, if not more.

Chapter eighteen

“My darling,” Alrik whispers, turning onto his side and peering at me, his sight aided by the stream of light sneaking in through the windows and creeping up from under the door. “Did you sleep?”

I murmur something inconsequential, not wanting him to know that I didn’t. That I couldn’t risk ruining my perfect night, the love that we made, with yet another dream that heralds the grim reality of what I’ll now face.

“How do you feel? Any regrets?” He shoots me a worried look.

“Regrets?” I shake my head and grin, pressing my lips to his forehead, the place between his brows. Capturing a stray lock of hair in my fingers and smoothing it away from his face to better see him. “What could there possibly be to regret? Are you referring to the second time? Or maybe the third?”

He smiles, maneuvers his body until it’s covering mine once again. “I was thinking more like the fourth?”

“Fourth?” I squint, as though trying to recall. “I don’t seem to remember a fourth? Is it possible I was sleeping?” I bat my eyes flirtatiously, aware of his hands already at work, already warming me, as I lift my arms to his neck and bring him back to me, voice softly teasing when I say, “Perhaps you should refresh my memory…”

When it’s over, he shows me where to wash and dress, shows me the wardrobe stuffed with new gowns he brought just for me. Telling me to choose whichever one I want for today’s secret ceremony—that they’re all beautiful, all elaborate, all appropriate enough for the woman who will one day be his queen, then he leaves, mounts his horse, and gallops away. Promising to send a maid to help me dress, something he’d failed to think of before—promising to return just as soon as all the other last-minute arrangements are taken care of.

I take my time washing, marveling at how everything can look the same on the outside, while inside everything’s changed in an irreversible way. No mater what happens from here, at least I now know what it’s like to be loved so fully, so thoroughly, so utterly and completely, it’s as though the strength of our love has also strengthened me. And that, along with the warm assurance of a freshly drawn bath and a bright and sunny new day, leave me feeling a bit silly for giving so much credence to last night’s dream.

Alrik was right. I put far too much importance on what was probably nothing more than a few deeply harbored worries coming to life in my dreams.

Still, I don’t regret my decision to lie with Alrik, not for a minute. If anything, I look forward to reliving the experience as his wife, wondering if it will feel any different.

I prolong my bath, wait for the maid to arrive, but when I’ve washed all I can, when my fingers and toes grow all wrinkled and prune-like, I decide to dry myself and make liberal use of the variety of creams and powders Alrik’s left for my use. Then I slip back into my dressing gown and attempt to pick out something to wear for the ceremony, hoping the maid will show soon to help me dress. What with all the layers and ties and things that are meant to cinch impossibly tight, it’s impossible to clothe oneself without some assistance.

And I’m just working on my hair, ridding it of snarls and tangles while wondering how I should wear it—knowing Alrik likes to see it left long and loose, flowing in soft golden waves that fall around my shoulders and tumble to my waist, but knowing that as far as the marriage is concerned, it would probably be far more appropriate to wear it braided or pinned in some complicated manner—when I hear a knock at the door and quickly move to answer it, hoping it’s the maid and that she’s good with hair too.

Barely having a chance to move past the dressing table when I see she’s let herself in. And, far from the lady’s maid I was expecting, I find my cousin Esme instead.

“Well, wel…” Her brilliant green eyes burn upon mine. Taking me in with a gaze so searing, so hate filled and angry, it takes a moment for me to gather myself, get my bearings. “It seems the rumor is true. Just look at you standing there, barely clothed.” She clucks her tongue in disgust. “You really are planning to elope with him, aren’t you?”