The morning of the wedding was bustling and bright.

Paloma tried to appreciate its beauty, if nothing else. The sky was vast and cloudless, the sun enormous as it began its journey over the horizon.

The air in Paloma’s room as she awoke was cool, but it was clean and fresh and lovely. When her eyes opened for her last day as a Lis, alone and to a dimming fire, she had allowed herself a long hour to breathe in the essence of her room here at the estate.

It was the little things she knew she’d miss in the thick of the night. The duvet she had grown so fond of. The pleasant little fireplace in the corner, firewood stacked tall at its side. The strange little crystal door knob leading to the room where she took her tea.

They had all become hers. They had been gifted to her by a girl she had never met but swore she knew, and she had accepted them, slowly and hesitantly.

But like all good things for Paloma, the charming spell had to end.

Even with her morning contemplation, her day proper had still begun early. Molly “woke” her with a cup of herbal tea and washed her face with great care. She had insisted, even when Paloma tried to do it herself.

“It is the last time I will be able to do so, my lady,” Molly had said. Paloma could hear the dread and sadness in her voice, even as she tried her best to keep it even. “I would be very grateful if you would oblige.”

So she did. Paloma allowed Molly to gingerly comb her long, freshly-washed hair and cleanse the oil from her face. She was still and grateful as her nails were neatly filed and her skin was lathered with pleasant-smelling lotion.

The same physician from her first day came by to bestow her with bottles of medicine for good health and vitality, giving a jaunty tip of his hat on the way out.

Before she knew it, the family was bundling things together for their trip to the Rinne estate, which was about an hour due south.

Paloma was thankful to have the family with her. It made leaving the estate more bittersweet than agonizing. She took care not to mar her freshly washed face, the last gift she’d gotten from Molly, with tears or sniffling.

And she didn’t protest when the Duchess took her hand for the duration of the carriage ride, Artan and Duke Lis riding a quarter mile behind them with Paloma’s heavy luggage.

“You will be a beautiful bride,” the Duchess said. “But until the priest confers his approval, you are not bound, dear. You may still say ‘no.’”

“It would make trouble for you three,” Paloma said softly. Her dress was plain and breathable, but she found herself overheating, anyway. “Irina has persuaded me that Duke Rinne is someone who will not be unkind.”

“Gods knows that boy has been on the warpath since she passed.” Duchess Lis sighed, squeezing Paloma’s hand. “He’s normally quite even-tempered. Give him time.”

The rest of their ride was companionable.

Before she knew it, they had arrived.

The estate was unfathomably grand. Where the Lis estate emphasized the natural beauty of their land, filled with lush pastures, bursting with summer flowers and soft around the edges, the Rinne estate was…

Harsh.

The gardens were utilitarian and neatly trimmed into unforgiving compliance. The walls, tall and imposing, were coated in an ominous ivy.

Still, there was a savage beauty here.

As they passed through the wrought iron gates, some of the decorative touches for the event of the day became evident. White flowers cascaded down the stairs and from the lip of every window-box, making everything softer and sweeter.

In the fountain, pink petals bobbed in and out of the ripples.

At the very front was what Paloma could only imagine was the entirety of the Rinne’sstaff, lined up neatly and standing perfectly still at attention.

Paloma scarcely had time to question it before the Duchess spoke. “They’re waiting to meet their new mistress.”

Paloma jumped a bit as the carriage came to a stop. She forced herself to remain composed as the door was opened and she was led down gingerly by one gloved hand.

“My lady, we are pleased to welcome you back to the Rinne estate.”

The man who’d spoken was scarcely older than she was, but his affect was serious and stately. His hair, slicked back and dark, didn’t have even a hint of gray at the temples.

“A pleasure,” Paloma answered, hoping her voice was loud enough to carry to the others. “Thank you for making time to greet me.”

“We look forward to serving you, future Duchess Rinne!”

The remaining servants said it in unison, each falling to one knee and bowing their heads.

Paloma raised her hands. “Please, there’s no need —”

“Of course there is a need.” It was the man Paloma suspected was the butler. His voice was stern, but not unkind. “You are to be our Duchess. We are most eager to impress you now that you are a member of the residence, and no longer simply a guest.”

Paloma’s cheeks flushed, bright and self-conscious. “Yes, of course. Please accept my appreciation.”

Right.

Irina was a known quantity here, at least to some of the servants. She would need to be cautious about who she revealed her true self to.

“Please show us to the bridal suite, Reginald,” the Duchess said, winding her arm through Paloma’s. “We’ve got little time to dawdle. There’s a wedding today, after all.”

“Of course, Duchess Lis.” The butler — Reginald — gestured to the entryway of the mansion. “Please follow me.”

___

Weddings worked a little differently here than they had back home.

There were no wedding parties.

There were no objections, no handwritten vows, and no first dances for the families.

Instead, the actual marriage was a infinitesimally tiny affair. Only the first order relatives of the bride and groom were in attendance, and the ceremony took no more than fifteen minutes in a temple of pristine marble on the property.

The promise before the Gods was made to one Holy Priest alone, and it was made the same way for every couple, no matter who they were.

The big affair, the affair that made Paloma’s stomach turn in knots, was the Pronouncement.

The Pronouncement was the big party. Paloma would enter the grand ballroom on the arm of her mother and father, and she would be “accepted” by Duke Rinne.

It felt dangerously like an exchange of property, but she wasn’t prepared to fight that fight in a world she’d only recently been reborn into.

Once Duke Rinne had announced his bride, the Holy Priest would bring the approval of their matrimony directly from the Church, signed by the highest ranking official on duty.

For a ducal marriage, it was certain to be a Papal approval.

But for now, she could breathe. Because there was no wedding just yet.

Instead, there was makeup.

Paloma had scarcely gotten to the bridal suite before she was whisked away by several ladies-in-waiting.

Molly’s tender care from the morning seemed tame in comparison. They weren’t unkind, but they were efficient and purposeful in a way that spoke to the importance of their task.

There was no coddling.

Paloma was to be powdered, and plucked, and smoothed. Her skin was to be perfected with pale pigment and rouged with something much pinker. Her eyes must be wide and fanned with elongated lashes. Her hair must be adorned with dripping crystals, just so.

Paloma did not see a familiar face for hours, a feeling that made her stomach sour and uneasy.

She’d grown used to the calm of the Lis’ family. They had all simply been… there, just a stone’s throw away.

Without realizing it, they had become integral to her. By comparison, the hollow ache of this new reality, abandoned and isolated at this scary estate with a man who hated her, felt…

Terrible.

“Lady Lis.” The girl who spoke seemed scarcely older than nineteen. Her dishwater blonde hair was in a prim bun tied low against the nape of her neck. Her eyes were kind. “Are you quite alright? I know this can be overwhelming.”

“Of course,” Paloma lied, smoother than she thought possible. Perhaps 18 months as a proper aristocrat had done more for her demeanor than she thought. “As you can imagine it has been a long morning, but I do not wish to interrupt your work…?”

The girl gave a polite dip of her head. “Hanna, my lady. My name is Hanna.”

Maybe she was desperate, but something about Hanna reminded her of Molly. Paloma took what comfort she could from the feeling, tucking it away in the same place she’d left the fondness for all of the others on the Lis estate. “Yes, Hanna. Thank you. You ladies mustn’t hesitate for my sake.”

“Yes, my lady,” the girls chorused, clearly more at ease than when she had first arrived.

And in the intensifying mid-morning sun, her long hair fanned out in an impossibly beautiful cascade of brilliant golden curls that weren’t hers, Paloma Beaumont reminded herself of three very important things.

1) Stay far, far away from your husband, Einar Rinne;

2) Stay out of society proper -- it is infested waters and you are the chum;

And most important of all:

3) Never let anyone know you are a complete and utter fraud.