Air de Bourbon had imagined this day a million times over. Robert de Montmorency had arrived. The day of her wedding had arrived. 

She did not want it.

When she’d been young, she’d had a stuffed bear. The fabric had been soft and curly, brown like a summer forest, with blue sapphires for eyes. He’d had a sword of gray felt and he’d always been polite, kind, and protective. Jewel had had a stuffed wolf named Jules de Forêt who had been Robert the bear’s best friend. Together the girls had imagined thousands of hours of adventure for the boys. The bear and wolf defended everyday people, rescued chickens, and ate only cake, but never got fat. 

During the day, the girls had carried the boys to lessons and paraded them around the gardens. There would never be enough hours to tell all the stories that the boys would get up to. 

Now Robert de Montmorency was here, in the castle. He was not a stuffed bear. His hair was not brown. He did not defend common people, but he might have lived on cake, for all Air knew. The man certainly was not magically immune to getting round. 

Air sat at her dressing table, already in the lovely white gown she was to wear for the ceremony. Her new maids would be in to do her makeup the moment she called for them. They would not do it the way Jewel had and Air would not like it. 

She could not let herself cry. It would make her face puffy and red. 

If Jewel had been there, her wild little friend would probably suggest they just run away. That is what people said Jewel had done anyway. People said that Jewel had run away. 

Air knew that wasn’t true. Jewel’s mother, Alice, had lived long enough to tell them that as babies they’d been kept in the same cradle because they wouldn’t be calm without each other. No one had thought they were twins. Air was a lady. Jewel was a servant. They’d pretended to be twins anyway. When they were thirteen, Alice had been burned at the stake for witchcraft. Under the question Jewel’s mother had confessed to sleeping with the devil in the form of a huge black wolf. 

It had taken every bit of Air’s social capital to keep Jewel from being thrown into the streets as her mother’s ashes wafted through those same streets. 

Jewel had not run away, but she also was not there to do Air’s hair on this momentous day. It was wrong, but there was to be no delay, no postponement. De Montmorency had waited fourteen years to claim his bride and looking at him he probably didn’t have that many days left to enjoy his prize. That was the most cheerful thought that Air could come up with. He’d die soon, but as a wealthy married lady, she’d have the power and resources to search for Jewel. 

“Come,” she shouted. She used a touch of her magic to carry her voice, just in case the new maids had wandered in the time it took her to get her nerve up. 

They stumbled in on themselves. There were five of them, all from the south, with dark hair and eyes, long elegant fingers, and accents that made Paris feel provincial. She thought they were Venetian. They did her hair strange. They did her make up strange. She stared at the woman in her large luxurious mirror and she did not know herself. 

It was for the best. Someone else could go marry Robert not the Bear. She would go to the chemin de ronde and walk, searching the village outside the walls for the one person she wanted to see. 

The Venetian maids worked strings of black pearls into Air’s blond hair, before putting on a silk wipple, then the very latest escoffion which was more cream colored than white, even though she was a bride. Her over-dress was a lovely blue silk, edged with velvet and more pearls. It wasn’t the dress that she and Jewel had been sewing on for years, but one that her soon to be husband had brought for her. She imagined he thought he’d be picking her clothes going forward. He’d pick her friends, her books, what musicians she employed, and what she ate. 

For today, he could have his way. She lifted her arms over her head and let the maids dress her, erase her. He would eventually realize he’d married a crow, but for today, she had no fight in her. The maids put the veil over her and she was officially gone. 

There was no pain left to it. She’d been gone since Jewel didn’t come home. 

The maids lead her out, three of them behind her and one to either side, almost like they thought she’d bolt for it. It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t occurred to her. All of the maids carried daggers on their belts. Air wondered if they’d really stab her if she did try to run. She wouldn’t put it past them or their employer, her soon to be husband. Jewel would have shanked anyone for her. Those days are gone. Princess or parakeet, today there really wasn’t a lot of difference. Bigger cage, maybe. 

The main hall had been made over for the ceremony. Every nobel within ten leagues was there. Seating was to the sides and at the end of the pretty blue carpet stood Robert de Montmorency and a cardinal. 

Exactly what did marriage mean anyway? Why would god create some people only so they can live like parakeets? In that moment, one step after another, she wished for the old gods that Alice had talked about. Gods that could also be women. Gods that listened to women and left women in charge of the household. 

She might be a parakeet, but Robert de Montmorency was an old marmot, round and silvery, small beady black eyes and she felt badly for maligning marmots. If the old gods were real, surely there must be a god of marmots and must want this one back. 

Air held her head up proudly. Her father squeezed her elbow as they walked down the pretty blue carpet. If there were a god of marmots, maybe it would claim her, turn her into a furry little bother who could scurry out of this life all together. If there were such a god it gave her prayers no time. The Cardinal waiting for her was unlikely to care much for her rebellion. This was god’s plan for her life. 

She would get to the end of the blue carpet and she would say the things she was supposed to say. The marmot would lock away his parakeet and the church would pronounce how right the world was. 

She had just reached the end, let Robert take her hand.  His fingers were big and scared, calloused and strong, holding her fingers the way a hound holds a treasured bone. That’s when the glass shattered, spraying fragments of colored glass across the audience. There were screams, but Air didn’t really have any scream left in her, having long accepted that her screams or protests would have no helpful effect. 

The man who came through the shattering glass was a bear of a man with broad shoulders, a halo of brown curls, and a long sword drawn. “I object,” he shouted with a peasant accent. 

Robert drew his blade, a slender cutlass with a gold filigree hilt. “As if anyone cares, varlet!” 

The maids had all drawn their own daggers, forming a circle around Air. 

The man smirked. He wore no armor, but also no fear. The men engaged, steel clattering. The battle lasted moments until the bear was close enough to grab the marmot by his throat and shake him. The intruder threw the prince towards the cardinal and made sure neither of them got right back up. 

The big man went to a knee in front of Air. Just his presence sent the Venetian maids scurrying. He took gentle hold of Air’s hand, pulled the wedding ring from her finger and stared up at her. “Come away with me, my lady?”

There was something in the eyes, common brown eyes, but Air felt as if they knew her. She felt known, so she was nodding before she’d even thought it fully through. To run with a strange man would ruin her honor, cause her family problems, and there would be no coming back from it. At her very core though, she was not a parakeet.  She nodded. 

The man shifted, smooth as spilling ink. His body grew, shifting into that of a grand black wolf. She hiked up her skirts and threw a leg over his back. Her hands nestled deep into his thick fur and he threw them down the blue carpet, galloping like a great horse. The pads of his feet were silent though, as were the shocked nobles that watched her ride away. The god of wolves had heard her prayers.