The capital had not seen such celebration in years. Banners of gold and violet fluttered above the streets, bells rang from every tower, and the people poured out in throngs, eager to glimpse the woman who had captured their prince's heart.
Drizella, however, stood before the mirror in her bridal chambers with a scowl.
"This dress weighs more than a horse," she muttered, tugging at the jeweled embroidery. "And if one more maid pokes me with a pin, I'll—"
"You'll smile and pretend you like it," Anastasia interrupted from her seat on the bed, smirking. "You're about to marry the prince, sister. Try not to threaten the seamstresses."
Drizella shot her a glare but turned back to the mirror. Her reflection startled her. For once, she did not look like the overlooked daughter, the bitter sister. She looked… regal. Fierce, yes, but regal.
A knock came at the door. It was Lady Tremaine, her stepmother, her eyes shining.
"My dear," she said softly, "you look like a queen."
Drizella's chest tightened. She swallowed her sarcasm and nodded, unable to speak.
The cathedral was packed to its rafters. Nobles filled the pews, commoners lined the streets outside, and petals carpeted the aisle like fallen stars.
Henry stood at the altar in ceremonial armor chased with gold, his bearing proud but his eyes restless, fixed on the doors.
When the music swelled and Drizella appeared, he forgot to breathe.
She walked steadily down the aisle, her chin high, her gown shimmering with every step. But her eyes—those fierce, sharp, unflinching eyes—were locked on him, and him alone.
When she reached him, Henry offered his hand. She placed hers atop it, squeezing once, and whispered just loud enough for him to hear:
"Stop staring like a fool, you'll make the crowd think you're besotted."
"I am besotted," he murmured back, lips curving.
The priest cleared his throat, and the ceremony began.
Vows were spoken, formal and binding, but Henry insisted on his own words as well.
"Drizella Tremaine," he said, his voice carrying through the vast hall, "from the day we met in that forgotten library, I have been yours. I pledge my loyalty, my honor, and my heart. No crown will weigh heavier than the promise I make to you now: to be your partner, your equal, and your fool, always."
Gasps rippled through the audience at his plain, heartfelt speech.
Drizella, cheeks warm, lifted her chin. "Well. If you insist on making a scene…" Her lips curved. "I suppose I'll keep you. But if you break this promise, Henry, I'll make certain the entire kingdom knows its prince is an idiot."
Laughter burst from the crowd, rolling like thunder, but Henry only smiled wider. "Gladly."
The priest declared them husband and wife. The cathedral erupted in cheers as Henry drew Drizella into a kiss—not gentle, but firm, sealing their bond before the world.
The banquet that followed was a blur of feasting and music. Nobles attempted to flatter Drizella, but she met each with sharp wit that left more than one courtier sputtering into their wine.
Henry stayed close at her side, amused and openly protective. More than once, he placed a steadying hand on her back, as though to remind her—and everyone else—that she was his chosen queen.
At the evening's end, when lanterns floated into the night sky, Drizella leaned against him on the balcony, watching the lights drift upward.
"So this is what it means to marry a prince," she said dryly. "Too much food, too many speeches, and strangers staring at you until your skin itches."
Henry chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple. "And yet, you endured it."
"For you," she admitted softly. "Only for you."
Henry turned, cupping her face in his hands. "And I will spend the rest of my life proving worthy of that."
Below them, the kingdom celebrated. Above them, the stars bore witness.
And within them both, a new story began—not the tale of glass slippers and false sweetness, but of loyalty, truth, and love fierce enough to burn away every lie.