The wedding was perfect, or so everyone tells me. All I remember is feeling beautiful in my pearl covered dress and gossamer veil, and not being able to take my eyes off Alan, in deep blue that matched his eyes and emphasized his golden hair—just like a prince out of a lore tale I thought, not for the first time. I vaguely remember all of my family around us, mother, father, Mynar and Jes, with even father looking happy.

We must have successfully repeated our vows, because we ended up standing together under the wedding arch as husband and wife, with what seemed like the entirety of Misthold standing in line to wish us luck. Even Rage and Mychl were there, although he used his weak leg as an excuse to stay seated in the back of the hall.

I do remember scandalizing everyone when we exchanged our bridal gifts. Alan gave me a dagger and sheath, worked to resemble the Sword. It was much lighter than I expected, until Alan whispered the hilt is slightly hollow. “A solid hilt made it unbalanced.” I gave him two matching blank books, one very large and capable of having all of the grimoires copied and still have blank pages. I know because I had counted the grimoire pages when Alan was out with Taver blowing up things—or trying to. The second book is smaller, easily carried with him, so he can have a selection of spells always handy. Both have rigid leather covers, lightly embossed and picked out with gold leaf.

But what is perfect, is (after the obligatory search of all the rooms and checking the window grills are secure) when the guards leave, and we shut our tower door and are alone.