But I also looked sad. There was no hiding it, no matter how skilled my makeup artist was. It was in my eyes, in the slight downturn of my mouth, in the tension around my shoulders.
I felt like I was going to an execution, not a wedding. This should have been the happiest day of my life—I was marrying a prince, for the God and Goddess’ sake—but it wasn’t. I just wanted to keel over and die.
Zelda, who was there throughout most of the process, came up behind me. I met her gaze in the mirror, and I was glad when she didn’t try to make up some kind of pointless flattery like “You look so beautiful!” or “You’re glowing!”
Instead, she just looked me up and down and murmured, “You should take ten, darling.”
She was right. I needed some air.
While the stylists busied themselve
