The Duchess looked at her niece's expression, recognized the genuine exhaustion and fraying patience, and wisely retreated.
"Sleep well, Your Majesties," she said, and mercifully closed the door behind her.
The moment they were alone, Heena and Larus looked at each other.
And burst out laughing.
Not polite laughter. Not diplomatic chuckles. Full, unrestrained, slightly hysterical laughter born of exhaustion and relief and the sheer absurdity of the day they'd just survived.
"We did it," Heena gasped between laughs. "We actually survived."
"I can't feel my face from smiling," Larus managed, leaning against the wall for support. "I think I permanently damaged my smile muscles."
"My feet are going to fall off," Heena said, kicking off her ceremonial shoes with such force that one flew across the room. "Whoever invented those shoes hated women."
"Everything hurts," Larus agreed, slumping into a chair. "But we're married now. Officially. Legally. Irrevocably."
