The next morning came faster than Giselle had hoped.
Her mother woke her up, rushing her into the bathroom without a word. The maids had already drawn deliciously warm rose scented water into it, with other oils in it to relax and soften her skin. After soaking for a while, she was rinsed off with cooler water and slid into the cashmere bathrobe that hung on a line beside the shower.
"Hurry up, Giselle," her mother said, watching as the maids dried her skin and hair up with a towel, "we only have four hours to get you ready."
"Isn't that more than enough time?" Giselle asked, closing her eyes as one of the maids applied a coconut-scented serum on her face.
"Be serious for once, Giselle, hours isn't nearly enough time for your skin treatment, waxing and hair treatment, not to mention you'll have to done your makeup, pedicure, manicure, assemble your wedding dress-"
"Alright, mother I get it."
It was such a hassle being royalty; but that's what Giselle got for being born into it, her sister runs away a day before her wedding and here she was taking her place. She turned to look at her mother, the lines on her face were more prominent now. She looked tired and stressed, her eyes red and lips pinched tightly as though she was holding back tears. With all the wedding preparations and stuff, Giselle almost forgot about how hard this situation must be on her parents, especially her mother. Duchess Vanderbilt was ambitious, yes, as was expected for a woman of her status. Yet in barely two days, one of her daughters had run away from home to escape her marriage and her other daughter was getting whisked away from home to save the family's face. Giselle couldn't imagine how she must be feeling.
"Mom, everything is going to be okay." she said, taking her mother's clammy hand in hers.
"I just…I don't understand what went wrong, Gigi, she was happy with the King, they've known each other since they were children. I just don't…"
"Maybe we were wrong, but I'm sure Genevieve is safe. Dad is already looking for her."
"Yes you're right. For now we focus on getting you ready for the wedding." her mother said, patting her cheek with a fond smile.
***
The wedding dress was three times heavier than Giselle had imagined.
The bodice clung to her like armor and the dress was layered in ivory silk and silver embroidery that shimmered with every breath she took. The corset made it nearly impossible to stand upright, and diamond studs and the beading scratched at her ribs, but she didn't complain. Complaining meant nothing right now. Complaining wouldn't stop the wedding either, it was either sacrifice her freedom or destroy her family's integrity in Court.
"You look beautiful," one of the younger maids whispered behind her as she stared into the gilded mirror, trying to recognize herself through the veil and diamonds.
Giselle didn't feel beautiful. She felt… like a thief. Like she had slipped into someone else's life, wearing her future like a second skin.
To her, Genevieve should be the one sitting on this velvet stool. She should be the one marrying King Fabio. And yet, here her twin was, draped in the weight of her choices.
The church bells tolled in the distance. One… two… three…
Her stomach twisted.
"It's time," her mother whispered softly. She adjusted the lace of her daughter's veil one last time and leaned in to kiss her cheek. "Remember, keep your head bowed until the High Priest announces your union. Don't speak. Let his Majesty lead."
"Got it," Giselle murmured, swallowing the rising panic.
They stepped out into the hallway where a royal guard awaited, dressed in ceremonial armor that was polished to a mirror's shine. The Duke, her father stood there too, looking ten years older, eyes dull with disappointment and pride all at once.
"You're doing the right thing," he said gruffly, offering her his arm. "For your sister. For us all."
Giselle simply nodded, because she didn't know what else to say. The seriousness of the whole situation had finally dawned on her; she was getting married and not just to anyone, but the King of Montegnera, the King of Wolves.
They arrived at the venue in nothing less than luxury, the chauffeur driving the Vanderbilts in a limousine.
The grand cathedral was overflowing with people. Nobles, dignitaries, wolves in human form dressed in royal silks. All of them waiting. Watching. For once Giselle was grateful for the thick white veil, pinned back with her straightened red hair in a severe bun. No one could see how petrified she was and most importantly, no one should be able to tell her apart from her sister until the ceremony was over and the marriage was secured. Her heart thundered in her ears, louder than the blaring pipe organ.
She couldn't clearly see his Majesty through the veil, although she could make out his dark hair and stiff suit, but she could feel him.
King Fabio. Her groom. Her sister's betrothed. Her… soulmate?
A strange ache began to build in Giselle's chest, as if something ancient and invisible was being pulled taut between them. She felt it even from across the cathedral floor. Her body reacted to his presence in ways her mind didn't understand and one thought passed through her mind. This can't be happening.
She ignored it, hoping to whatever god was listening that it was just her imagination.
The ceremony began. Giselle barely heard the words—something about loyalty, unity, the blessed bond of the Moon Goddess. The High Priest asked if they were ready. She nodded when she was meant to. Fabio said yes, a certain warmth in his voice.
He didn't recognize her. Not yet.
The time came for the ceremonial kiss as the High Priest declared them 'man and wife.'
His hands, strong and calloused, rose slowly, brushing the fabric as he lifted it, thankfully not all the way through so he wouldn't see her red locks which was vastly different from her sister's golden curls. His hands brushed against her cheeks and Giselle sucked in a tense breath.
The King went still.
His expression didn't change at first. His gaze swept over her face, brows furrowed in confusion. His eyes, a piercing steel blue, flickered briefly. Recognition? Doubt?
Then he leaned in for a kiss.
It was brief and chaste meant to seal the bond before the court.
But when his lips touched hers, the world went very, very still. Time seemed to stop. The ache in her chest exploded into something hot, burning, terrifying. A pulse. A bond. She wasn't imagining it after all.
The King stiffened and he pulled back.
For a split second, their eyes met through the veil and Giselle saw it.
Rage.
Pure, unchecked, furious rage.
The kind of rage that came from betrayal. Not confusion. Not shock.
Recognition.
"You're not her," he whispered so low only she could hear. His voice was ice.
Her heart dropped.
He knew.
Everyone clapped. The court cheered. The High Priest smiled and declared them bonded by fate and law, presenting them to the crowd as the new royal couple.
But Fabio's hand dropped from hers but his eyes never left her face. That rage didn't disappear, if anything, it seemed to deepen. Good goddess, Giselle thought forlornly, we're in deep trouble wasn't we?
He leaned in again, this time to whisper in her ear. "Where is she?"