The gold-tipped wings were outrageous, but Evangeline rather liked the dress. Its heart-shaped neckline was flattering to her smallish chest, while its ball gown skirt was terribly fun, made of endless layers of impossibly delicate white fabric, except for the wide train of golden feathers that flowed from her waist down the back of the dress.
“There’s nothing to be scared of,” Marisol said. “You’re about to marry a prince who adores you.”
He wouldn’t for much longer.
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
For one moment, the distant bell felt like a warning, until Evangeline remembered. One bell ringer from the choir remained in the courtyard. Not a warning, just the sound of her soft music coming to an end.
“What if he falls out of love with me?” Evangeline blurted. “What if we get married, he decides it was a mistake, and then he tosses you and me out of the North?”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Marisol said. “Most girls would have to employ magic to make someone love them the way that Apollo loves you.”
Evangeline stiffened.
“I didn’t mean to imply that you put a spell on him,” Marisol amended, cheeks flushing in a way that made Evangeline more inclined to think it had been an accident and not a barbed insinuation.
“It’s not a surprise that he loves you so much,” Marisol went on determinedly. “You’re Evangeline Fox. You haven’t even married the prince yet, and there are already fairytales about you. You’re the girl who defied the Fates and turned herself to stone, the girl who wasn’t afraid to reject a street of suitors or to bring her cursed stepsister with her to a royal ball, where she then captured the heart of a prince. Just love him the same way you live your life—love him without holding back, love him as if every day with him will be more magical than the last, love him as if he’s your destiny and the world will be better if you two are together, and he won’t be able to ever stop loving you.”
Marisol finished her speech with a hug so warm and earnest it was easy to believe she was right. Evangeline had been so consumed with what Apollo’s feelings for her might be that she hadn’t thought much about her feelings for him. She knew that she didn’t love him now, but she could love him easily. She’d felt glimmers of affection last night, and she felt even more this morning after spending the night in his arms.
They might not have had love at first, but her parents had said that some loves took time. All she needed was for him to give her time, to give her a chance. Maybe it would be rough when Jacks lifted the curse, but if Apollo let her, Evangeline’s love could be strong enough to give them both a happy ending.
Hope was not lost.
In the back of her head, a tiny voice reminded her that she was ignoring the prophecy again, but she chose not to listen. She would worry about that tomorrow.
Evangeline left her wedding suite determined to fall in love with her prince. But the day must have been cursed, or the story curse was affecting it, for she couldn’t seem to hold on to any of the memories of her wedding, even as they happened.
One moment she was stepping into Wolf Hall’s snowy yard, cool air biting her cheeks as a court of scrutinizing faces looked her way. Then she was holding Apollo’s hands as the wedding master tied her wrist to Apollo’s with silken cords. Evangeline felt her blood rushing through her veins. Her skin was on fire, and so was the prince’s, as if they were bound together by more than just a gilded rope.
“And now,” the wedding master said, loudly enough for everyone present to hear, “by my words, I join these two together. I tie not only their wrists but also their hearts. May they beat as one from this moment on. If one is pierced with an arrow, may the other bleed for them.”
“I would gladly bleed for you,” Apollo whispered. He held her hands tighter as his eyes latched on to hers with even more burning intensity, as if the flames she’d lit the first night she’d kissed him had multiplied tenfold.
She just hoped that Apollo’s spark still remained after Jacks broke his spell.
33
Now that they were wed, Evangeline kept bracing for Apollo to drop her hand, to spear her with an angry glare, to shake his head as if waking from a dream. But if anything, he held her tighter. He looked at her more reverently—as if there really had been magic in their vows and they were truly joined together.
Moments after the ceremony, they were poured into a silver sled pulled by a pack of snow-white wolves. Apollo kept her warm, holding her close as they glided to a castle of ice, built only to last for this one single night. Glowing blue and ephemeral and transcendently lovely, the sight made it easier to hope and believe that their story was just beginning.