Epilogue

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"Do you like it?"

                In the mirror the seamstress was studying me with watery blue eyes. She and Mary had been tearing up on and off all day. Me, I didn't have time to get misty and sentimental, I was trying to eat breakfast without throwing up, trying to apply a layer of gloss over my lips stick while my hands shook like crazy, stuffing tissues and deodorant in the little pear covered, white satin clutch that went with my wedding dress.

                Now there I was, standing on the platform in the middle of my massive bedroom, eyes glued to the mirror, unable to look away from the dress.

                My wedding dress.

                It was happening now, finally, after weeks and weeks of planning and anticipation. Weeks of servants scurrying around, decorating every inch of the palace in draping white silk and orange roses. I'd picked the roses myself, dark orange mixed with red, almost fire colored.

                Each time I had asked Loki what he thought about the food, or the music or any one of the hundreds of little details about the wedding, he'd said the same thing,

                "Whatever you want, love. As long as you show up, I'll be happy."

                I'd had fun planning this, there was no doubt about it. It was like every little girl's fairy tale wedding. Literally. There was no limit to what we could do, what I could have at my wedding if I wanted it.  It was just like Loki said, anything I wanted. I had to keep pinching myself. I was getting married in a palace, what was essentially a giant, sparkling ice sculpture itself. There would be endless roses, dripping wax candles, flower petals, the best red and white wine, chains of sparkling crystals draped from pillar to pillar....a wedding for royalty.

                It was taking forever to get used to this "Queen" thing. I was still uncomfortable with being waited on by servants, and the only one I'd allowed in my room to help me dress on a regular basis was Mary. I liked to think of her as more than a servant, and she had finally started opening up to me. We chatted about which frost soldier she had a crush on and I helped her pick out her outfits, even insisting that she borrow some of mine. It had made me incredibly happy to see the shy Mary glow with pride when one of the other servants asked disbelievingly, if the Queen had been lending her clothing.

                Mary and the seamstress were sniffing and wiping their eyes behind me, I could hear them whispering to one another about how nice I looked in the dress, and all I could do was stare.  It was pure white, almost blindingly so, the strapless bodice hugging my upper torso and flaring out at the hips, ending in a long train at the back. The top was studded all over with sparkling white crystals. Mary had done my hair up in curls that framed my face, and the crown I was wearing, the delicate edges reminding me of the paper snowflakes I used to make as a child, caught the light and shimmered whenever I turned my head. My veil floated behind me when I moved, gossamer thin and halfway down my back.

                It hit me again, not for the first time that day. This was it, I was about to walk down the aisle in front of hundreds and hundreds of people. My stomach was full of butterflies and I had to curl my freshly manicured hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

                Okay, calm down. I can do this. It's no big deal.

                It couldn't be any more intimidating than the coronation ceremony, could it? That was much more formal. At least, that's what I would keep telling myself.

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