The daytime portion of the wedding proceeded beautifully, without a hitch.
After the sacred ritual at the seaside shrine, Princess Lysonna appeared in a breathtaking gown designed by none other than Bertia.
The dress, which Bertia called a mermaid gown, was a bold and innovative creation. It accentuated the body's natural curves yet somehow remained utterly elegant, never crossing into immodesty.
Bertia had said she’d been inspired by the image of a mermaid, which made perfect sense. Both the Seahealby Kingdom and the Umyuve Kingdom were nations tied deeply to the sea; the motif suited them perfectly, both symbolically and culturally.
The gathered noblewomen were enchanted. Judging from their reactions, it was only a matter of time before mermaid gowns became the next great fashion among the upper classes.
Bertia, of course, was glowing with pride—until her success drew a small army of curious ladies who crowded around to question her endlessly about design details, materials, and tailoring techniques. From the look on her face, fielding that many inquiries was far more exhausting than she’d anticipated.
Later, the candle lighting ceremony, another of Bertia’s ideas, transformed the hall into a dreamscape. The curtains were drawn, dimming the room to a soft twilight, and the candles lit by the bride and groom flickered in the darkness like stars reflected on the sea. It was hauntingly beautiful.
Apparently, Bertia had originally wanted to make the hall much darker for a stronger effect, but the palace guards had vetoed the idea, citing security concerns, such as too many shadows and blind spots.
Likewise, her initial plan had been for the bride and groom to light a candle at every table, but that too had been scaled back; it would have taken far too long.
She’d been disappointed, of course, lamenting that it didn’t match her original vision. But for those of us who hadn’t seen what she’d imagined, the ceremony was already more than splendid enough.
There was, however, one small incident during the bouquet toss.
Princess Bistona and Lady Margone, as fate would have it, had gone for the bouquet at the same time, then refused to let go.
Fortunately, Crown Prince Nishikaru and Duke Margone had quickly stepped in, whisking their respective charges away before the scene could grow too scandalous.
The bouquet, in the end, was split cleanly in two—apparently torn during the struggle, with each woman stubbornly clinging to her half.
They’d apparently tried to rewrap the torn bouquet later, reshaping the two halves back into something resembling a proper arrangement. Even then, it looked so pitifully tattered that I doubted it carried any of its intended “blessing.”
The other young ladies, who had frozen in place during that unexpected skirmish, were each given one of the spare bouquets Princess Lysonna had thoughtfully prepared in advance. Their smiles as they accepted the flowers were pure and genuine.
And then—
“Hehehe! At last, the grand unveiling of the nihonshu is here!”
The night’s festivities had begun—the grand reception that served as the evening portion of the wedding.
Bertia stood there grinning, clutching a sake bottle.
At Seahealby, the feasts were known not only for their lavish cuisine but also for their abundant flow of drink. In a country famous for its love of alcohol, the banquet preparations were downright formidable.
That was exactly why we’d decided this would be the perfect stage to debut the nihonshu, a sake we’d painstakingly brewed but hadn’t had the chance to serve during the formal “san-san-ku-do” ritual earlier.
“Tia,” I murmured. “You remember the plan?”
“Of course!” she answered with excitement.
Our part was simple but ceremonial. We would approach Crown Prince Aleis and Princess Lysonna, offer our congratulations, and present them with the specially brewed sake.
After the toast, the royal couple would announce to the crowd that they had received this new sake as a gift, and then, as part of the celebration, would have it served to all the guests.
The timing had been carefully coordinated in advance. At the signal, the servants stationed by the wine casks would take their wooden mallets, crack open the lids with a resounding thud, and begin ladling out the sake for everyone in attendance.
That flourish—the dramatic breaking of the cask’s lid before serving—had been Bertia’s idea.
At first, I hadn’t understood why she wanted to do something so unusual. But when she demonstrated it, I saw it immediately. It was fresh, festive, and undeniably theatrical.
Since nihonshu was quite strong, not everyone could drink it. But even those who refrained would remember the spectacle of its presentation. And for something new we hoped to market widely one day, leaving a vivid impression was half the battle.
“Your Highness. Your Grace.”
As Bertia and I went over the final details of our little presentation one last time, a servant approached us with a polite bow.
It seemed our cue had arrived: the moment for us to approach Princess Lysonna and Crown Prince Aleis.
I gently took Bertia’s free hand, the one not clutching the bottle of nihonshu, and we began walking slowly toward the front of the hall where the newlyweds sat in seats of honor.
For the record, the reason Bertia was carrying the bottle herself wasn’t that I was being inconsiderate. Quite the opposite. Both Zeno and I had offered—several times, in fact—to carry it for her. But Bertia, brimming with excitement and pride, had shaken her head so hard.
Those unfamiliar with the story behind it tilted their heads curiously at the sight of a crown princess personally delivering a bottle of liquor. Still, I was sure they’d understand once they realized it was a heartfelt gift from one friend to another.
“Crown Prince Aleis, Princess Consort Lysonna,” I greeted warmly. “Congratulations on your marriage.”
“Crown Prince Cecil, Princess Consort Bertia,” Aleis replied immediately, rising with his bride, “we are truly grateful for your presence here today.”
We clasped hands and exchanged firm, brotherly pats on the shoulder, while beside us, Bertia and Lysonna embraced gently, their eyes glistening with emotion.
That single gesture spoke volumes to the assembled guests. Everyone watching could see the easy affection and genuine friendship that connected our two kingdoms.
The hall’s atmosphere warmed like a soft tide washing through the crowd. Well, almost everywhere.
From one direction, I could swear I heard the faint, teeth-grinding sound of Prince Ramtak trying not to explode. Probably my imagination. Probably.
Come to think of it, he’d told me just a few days ago, “When I marry, you absolutely must attend my wedding!”—and I’d deflected the comment with a polite smile before conveniently remembering I had an appointment with Aleis and slipping away.
I still wasn’t sure if he’d realized that what I really meant was “I have no intention of going.”