Days went quickly, and Amaya put all her thoughts and efforts into the planning of the upcoming party.

The only other time she had seen her future husband was to discuss over what wedding present they would impart to the people of Leront, on the day of their wedding. It was to be something small and useful, so that people would keep it in their homes. After a brief clarification, it was decided that the matter was to be handled completely by the one who was also providing the necessary funds. He had been named High Commander, and he had more pressing matters to attend.

In opposition, the official event would be a short, prudent dinner that she hoped would go unnoticed by the higher nobles. The stories she had spread were fighting the ones Charles had invented, and still the truth did not fade as quickly as she would have wanted. Her love story worked better on poor, unhappy people who wanted an escape. His harlot story was a more credible one - at least as far as her portrayal was concerned - but his selfless acceptance of the upcoming wedding and his 'better man’ strategy appealed more to the higher circles. The people of Leront wanted to see a fight.

Up the royal throne stairs, she now had a reason to be next to it, watching the servants run to arrange the final details.

Her future husband materialized next to her, ready to meet with the first guests. Amaya had no idea how they were going to appear passionately in love: it was the first time they stood so near one another, ready to great people, make small talk, and present compliments.

The Southern Tower was hosting the event, mockingly referred to as ‘the most important of the year’, not because of its royal caliber, but mostly because of the rumours surrounding it. Its ceiling was covered with hundreds of lamps she had personally bought, to fight that dreadful darkness that made Roune events so sullen.

Watching the guests trying unsuccessfully to fill a room made for ten times its current population, Amaya went over their names in her head. She was comfortable with people, and the ones who did come, they had their reasons, she just had to find out what they were.

Her dress had been resized, to avoid embarrassing accidents that tended to happen when clothes were too big for a person. It had golden suns on its wine colored corset, then it let the dark red touch the floor, without interrupting it. She knew she had managed to wear it properly, as she had received many compliments, most of them sincere.

Stranded together, surrounded by of a sea of curious eyes, she and Mathias d’Athanar were the couple everyone wanted a word with. All the fake, subdued smiling made her jaw sore, and she was the only one doing the talking, with her partner in plotting made even more laconic by the commotion.

They were lucky that, in Leront, cold was considered proper.