Chapter 6
After that, you half expected never to see them again. They had never formally said yes to the wedding invitation, after all. No matter. You threw yourself even more deeply into the planning. Abandoned the room preparations. Rearranged seating charts. You considered asking Meg, or Rosa, or even Albert—your old friend from the dining hall—to walk you down the aisle, before deciding you’d do it on your own.
No family. No pre-Choosing friends. More than ever before, you felt as though you had lived two separate lives, split by your sixteenth birthday, and without any ties to your past life, you were forced to dive headfirst into your new one.
More planning. More color palettes, cake samples, song selections. Loki took on his share of it, of course, but the two of you still somehow rarely crossed paths during the day. When you weren’t wedding planning, you were in meetings with Lady Amara, listening to her nitpick at the curricular programs you had established for her etiquette academy. And you had tried leaving the palace, attempted to take days in various cities, but it was hard to go anywhere without being noticed. You were officially a public figure now, with or without Loki.
You wondered if he understood this feeling. If this was how he had felt, when he first came to Earth. Losing his parents, leaving his realm, abandoning everything for a world that would never fit quite right.
But you didn’t quite know how to ask.
And so you never found out.
Barely a week ago, you did receive a letter from your family. The RSVP. Several months past the deadline, but all the same—they’d said yes.
Finally, they’d said yes.
So you aren’t surprised at their arrival. You had a week, after all. So their rooms are furnished, the beds made, the wardrobes filled with clothes for them to choose from for the wedding.
But there’s a difference between being unsurprised and being emotionally prepared to greet the people who essentially disowned you less than a year ago.
You don’t wear the full corset-petticoat-gown rigamarole full-time anymore. Even when you do wear dresses nowadays, you tend to default to more modern cuts. But for some reason, the looming pressure of the wedding has made you feel even more desperate for some kind of armor, some extra shield of protection—no matter how flimsy—to get you through the day. The past few days, you’ve found yourself returning to your mid-competition manner of dress, accessories and all. After all, you’ve barely been leaving the hallways near your rooms, let alone the palace walls. Who’s going to judge you for wearing a tiara around your own bedroom?
And now, as you approach the grand foyer with Meg at your elbow, you feel somewhat fortified by the clothes you’re wearing. They remind you to stand tall, to speak without stuttering, to keep your shoulders back and your head held high. They make you feel more like the almost-queen you feel you never quite managed to grow into.
The doors open, and there they are. Carlie. Erik. Dad.
Mom.
For the first time in your memory, Carlie doesn’t run forward to hug you. It shouldn’t sting as much as it does—you barely said two words to her the last time you were home, after all—and yet.
And yet.
They stand there, luggage piled at their feet. Stoic expressions on all of their faces, though the flavors vary from regretful to downright cold. Ten feet away from you. Neither side makes a move to approach for a long, long time.
You clear your throat. “I hope your travels weren’t too difficult.” Voice crisp and cold, hands clasped at your waist. You won’t lose your head, you won’t start to cry.
You won’t be the first to apologize. You just won’t.
Mom presses her lips together in a strained line that you think is supposed to be a smile. “They were very pleasant, thank you.” Her eyes flicked to the girl by your side. “This is…”
“Margaret, Ma’am.” She rushes forward to offer a hand; to your relief, your mother accepts it. All of your family does as Meg goes down the line. You find yourself reluctantly walking up behind her, though you still keep a few feet’s distance. “It is so lovely to meet all of you. (Y/N) speaks of you often.”
“She does?” you hear Carlie whisper. You’re tempted to respond to her. Instead, you rush to finish the introduction.
“Meg is my maid-of-honor. We met three years ago, when she was working as a member of the palace’s waitstaff.”
“I see.”
Another uncomfortable pause.
You’re about to abandon the small talk in favor of having them escorted to their rooms, when Mom clears her throat and speaks up again. “And where is your…” She falters, but eventually continues, “your fiancé?”
That’s the first time she’s referred to him as such. The first time any of your family has, actually.
“Yes,” Dad adds—awkwardly, but not unkindly. “We’d like to, um. Well.”
“We want to meet him,” Carlie chimes in. Erik, though silent, nods his assent.
“You…” You try to be cautious, but you can’t quite stop the small pinprick of hope that blooms behind your ribs. “I can go see what he’s—”
“Forgive me my tardiness,” you hear a voice behind you, and the warmth in your chest blossoms further. “Welcome, of course. We are both most grateful to have you here.”
He stands next to you, and you can feel his nervous energy in parallel to yours. Mom, Dad, Erik, Carlie—you’re almost too afraid to look at them, to see what they might be thinking, to hear what they’re going to say—
“The pleasure is ours.”
Mom steps forward as she speaks, and follows this up with a small smile. It is small and strained, but still it is there. Loki walks just ahead of you to meet them in the middle, and you barely choke back a laugh when he bows, kissing your mother’s hand. Dad follows, waiting his turn. He shakes hands with Loki while clapping him on the shoulder.
“Good to meet you, son.”
You make eye contact with Carlie, eyes widening as if to say, Can you believe this? And she nods, giving you a grin that’s equal parts knowing and joyful. The mood has shifted so abruptly that you’d be suspicious in other circumstances, but you don’t care. You take a few tentative steps forwards towards her before breaking into a run, and she meets you in a bone-crushing hug that nearly brings tears to your eyes. Over her shoulder, you see Erik go up for a handshake of his own, and….what else is there to say? Your worlds are coming together.
At long last, the broken pieces of your life are beginning to fit.