Nor did Miguel bother to answer his friend's questions. He might not yet call it love, but there was no doubt that he cared for Matilde and for her well-being. They had been good friends when they'd been children, always knowing they were meant to be wed. He had never thought of her as a sister, so much as a good friend, but now that they were grown, he knew those feelings had gone far deeper than that. Maksim's questions needed no reply.

"Let us go then," he told his friend. "I am ready."

Maks nodded to him. "Good man. And it's a short ceremony, so you'll be fine."

With a last squeeze to his friend's shoulder, he moved to open the door and usher the groom into the little chapel, where the High King and Queen waited, along with a few carefully chosen other witnesses. A rustle of fabric at the main door to the chapel announced the entrance of the bride, resplendent in green velvet and ivory silk, her red hair flowing down her back as she entered on the arm of the Crown Prince of Pomerania.

Miguel took his place at the front of the chapel, Maksim beside him, and turned to face the door in anticipation of the bride's arrival. He was nervous, to be sure, but he was also certain he was doing the right thing. It was what their fathers had once wanted and what his heart was yearning for. He held his breath as he waited for his bride to emerge, his stomach in knots, anxious with anticipation.

Matilde was a little pale as she stepped into the chapel, her hand steady on Prince Stephan's arm, hazel eyes immediately seeking out Miguel by the altar. This was the culmination of their fathers' combined wishes during the height of the mens' friendship, though that friendship had soured dramatically over ambitions and greed. More than that, it was her own wish to marry Miguel; the fact that their wedding brought the two warring factions to a united truce was merely a useful side effect. As she reached the altar, Marianne rose from her seat to join them, smiling at her own husband fondly.

Stephan was happy to have volunteered to escort the bride to the altar and proud she had agreed. Though he was destined to one day become High King, it was no secret that he was a romantic at heart. He had fallen in love with his own bride and was not blind to the feelings the younger couple shared, even if they had as yet gone unspoken. He offered his wife a quick wink, before handing Matilde over to Miguel with a warm and encouraging smile to them both. As for Miguel, it seemed he only had eyes for Matilde and thought she had never looked lovelier than she did here today. He offered a nervous smile as he reached for her hand, his eyes bright with his own pride and joy, his heart beating fast in anticipation.

Trembling fingers slid into Miguel's grasp as Matilde came to his side, her eyes only for him in return. A shy smile flickered at her lips as she met his gaze, warm and wanting despite her uncertainty. As the priestess began her address to the chapel, she leaned close to her groom. "You look very handsome."

Miguel tipped his head closer to hear her, a nervous but excited smile on his face. "As do you," he whispered back before realizing his mistake. "I mean beautiful. You look very ..." His gaze trailed over her a moment, not only taking in her pretty face and hair, but all of her. "Beautiful."

His blunder, embarrassing as it might be to him, seemed to calm her nerves, drawing a soft giggle to her lips as she leaned into his side. "I will not shame you as queen at your side, I hope."

Shame him' He lifted his brows at her statement. That was the least of his worries. "I have no fear of that," he assured her quietly, gaze darting briefly and nervously to the priestess, almost expecting a scolding.

They were lucky - the opening blessing was just reaching its end as their whispered conversation ended. The priestess, an elderly woman who had been Queen Catherine's confessor for many years, smiled at the young couple before her.

"King Luis of the House of Chelan, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together at the Goddess' will in the holy estate of matrimony' Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep thee only to her, so long as you both shall live?"

Miguel blinked, momentarily confused at the priestess' formal address of him. He was not accustomed to such things and had to think twice before realizing she was talking to him. His confusion only lasted a moment, however, his expression softening as he turned his gaze back to the beauty by his side.

"I wilt ....will!" he said, quickly correcting himself, obviously nervous.

This small hiccup drew indulgent smiles from those around them, a low chuckle from Maksim at Miguel's side, but the priestess smoothly moved on, asking Matilde to state her own vows.

"I, Ines Matilde, swear faithfully to have this man to my wedded husband, to live under his hand at the Goddess' will. I swear to love, comfort, honor, and obey, to be bonny and buxom in bed and at board; to keep him in sickness and in health; to cleave to no other, so long as we both shall live." Her fingers tightened on Miguel's as she spoke those words, calm and solemn despite the amusement of their witnesses.

Miguel felt his face flush with embarrassed heat at his mistake, but the priestess didn't seem to mind. Bonny and buxom in bed" he echoed in his head, blinking in further embarrassment at the visual image that rose to mind at that phrase. He was grateful, at least, that they were surrounded by friends who he hoped would forgive his nervousness. He met Matilde's gaze as she uttered that solemn vow, as though she was the only other person in the room.

The words didn't seem to have entered Matilde's mind as she spoke them; simply words that must be said in order to make their marriage legal in the eyes of the land and the Goddess. Perhaps that was just as well, though. She was nervous enough about the bedding as it was.

The priestess allowed them both a moment to compose themselves before she went on. "To claim your lady, and the allegiance of her people, lay your ring on her finger, and repeat these words," she told Miguel softly. "With this ring, I thee wed; with my body, I thee worship; and with all my worldly goods, I thee endow. In the love of the Goddess, Her wrath, and Her ruin, I take thee as mine own as long as life endures."

Miguel blinked, roused from his reverie by the priestess' instructions as he realized she could only be talking to him. "The ring, yes ..." he murmured, patting his doublet as if searching for it before remembering he'd given it to Maks for safe-keeping.

Maks caught his hand, pressing the slender band into his friend's palm with a smile. Matilde, for her part, waited patiently, reassured to know that her friend was still forgetful when plagued with nerves. It was a comforting familiarity from their childhood.

"Nevertheless, we will provide you with some refreshment once you are both settled," Stephan interjected. He knew a little something to calm their nerves wouldn't hurt, and they would probably get hungry before too long.

In fact, it was likely that Stephan knew about Maksim's little scheme, and food would be waiting for them in the outer chamber of their rooms once the blessing over the bed had taken place.

Matilde bit her lip, glancing at Miguel. "I suppose I should ....go and make ready."

Miguel frowned at her question. He hadn't had time to tell her of Maksim's scheme, but he hoped she trusted him enough to go along with the ruse. "But such a lovely dress," he said, thinking it a shame that she'd only been able to wear it for such a short while.

Summoning her best smile for him, trying to hide just how terrified she was of the bedding ceremony she thought was ahead of her, Matilde squeezed his arm gently. "I will wear it to our coronation," she promised him. "It is too fine for any other occasion."

His smile returned and he nodded his head, pleased he'd have a chance to see her in that dress once more. She was a vision, after all, and he had not had enough time to enjoy the view.

"That settled, perhaps we should continue?" Stephan suggested. He had a feeling he knew how nervous they were and would continue to be, until this was all over with.

"We should." Marianne stepped forward to take Matilde's arm. "We only need a few minutes, gentlemen, but do not try to follow us directly or I will defend the door with a warming pan."

Maksim snorted with laughter at this threat, certain his sister-in-law would follow through on it if they tried.

Stephan chuckled, as his wife led the younger woman away to ready herself for the bedding ceremony. "I assume all is ready?" he asked quietly, his question aimed at his brother.

Maksim nodded. "They are prepared and aware of the consequences should they speak out," he said, glad their parents had moved away as well. He knew his activities were tolerated, but only when the king did not know all the details.

"Very well," Stephan replied quietly, well aware of the others in the room, but talking quietly enough that they wouldn't be overheard. Most of the men present were part of the scheme, anyway. Maksim had chosen them carefully.

"What happens now?" Miguel asked quietly.

"Now?" Stephan echoed, chuckled in amusement. "Now, my dear lad, you make love to your wife," he said, squeezing Miguel's shoulder fondly.

"But first, you have a drink to calm your nerves in the company of the most respected men in the land," Maksim added, nodding to the rest of the men. It was a small selection - the High King's brother, Prince Henri; the chancellor; the Dalai's representative, Cardinal Forneau. They would be joined by Stephan and Maksim for the blessing, and then would do as they had been asked to do.

Miguel nodded, feeling his nervousness returning, not because he was intimidated by these men so much as worrying whether or not he could please his new bride.

"Come," Stephan said, his hand still on Miguel's shoulder to direct him toward the group of men who were awaiting them. "A drink will help settle your nerves."

The younger men were welcomed into the group warmly, all of whom bar one had been through this exact situation and would probably have agreed to the little exercise in subterfuge without Maksim's additional leverage. Still, it had all been agreed, and around half an hour later, they lead Miguel into his marital bedchamber, where Matilde was already lying in the bed, white as a sheet, with the blankets clutched up to her neck.

Miguel had drunk more than his usual fill of wine and was feeling its effects, but though he felt a little lightheaded, he was still far from drunk. He caught one look at Matilde, looking as white as a ghost, and turned to face his cohorts.

"Gentlemen," he said, purposely blocking view of his new bride in the bed, despite the fact that they couldn't see anything but her head sticking out of the blankets. "I'm afraid this is where we must part ways. Maksim?" he asked, allowing Maks to take charge of the small group from there.

Maks paused, leaning toward Miguel to murmur, "You have to get in beside her and let the cardinal administer the blessing. We'll take them out after that."

"Oh!" Miguel exclaimed, forgetting that part. "With or without my clothes on?" he asked, whispering back to Maks, hoping it was the latter, rather than the former. He didn't really want to shock Matilde with his nakedness all that suddenly.

"Strip down to your shirt and braes," Maks told him. "No further, we're not here for a peep show." He nodded as reassuringly as he could to both Miguel and Matilde, who was watching all this with wide eyes.

"Very well," Miguel replied, his back turned to Matilde as he shrugged out of his doublet and handed it to Maksim. The breeches were another matter and took a little more effort to get off, especially from a standing position. The prince swayed at least once, before grabbing hold of the bedpost to steady himself.

By contrast to the near silent bride and groom, the men gathered were chatting comfortably amongst themselves, apparently not at all bothered by what was happening in their presence. Maks nodded to Miguel encouragingly when the breeches finally came free. "In you get, then."

Of the group, only Stephan seemed to paying much attention, other than Maks, and from the look on his face, he looked almost as amused as his brother by the proceedings.

"In I get," Miguel echoed Maks, turning to face his bride in only his shirt and braes, still mostly covered from neck to knees. "Excusa," he murmured to Matilde as he climbed under the covers beside her.

She looked pale, still clutching the covers to her neck as he slid in beside her. The reason became very clear to him as he settled - she had been properly prepared for the bedding, utterly bare beneath the covers. Thankfully, as soon as Miguel was in, the cardinal stepped forward to bless the bed and the couple, intoning the solemn words while wafting incense over them both.

"You can ask me anything, you know that." This time, her smile was not forced, as though the flimsy covering had given her back some armor she could feel safer behind.

"Do you - do you trust me?" he asked, changing his mind about the original question he was going to ask her. He already knew the answer to this question, but it wouldn't hurt to hear it again.

She looked shocked to have been asked. "Of course I do," she rushed to assure him, drawing the goblet to her chest. "Have I done something to make you think otherwise" If I have, I did not intend to."

"No, I just ..." He trailed off with a sigh and took a seat on the bed, looking into his own goblet as if he might find the answers to his questions there. "I do care for you, Tilde. I always have," he murmured quietly. It was not quite a declaration of love, but he was slowing inching toward it.

She watched him for a moment, her fingertips trailing along the rim of her own cup. "I did not think you said it just to gain a kiss," she told him quietly. "I did not say it just to ease your mind."

"Do you think you could love me ....someday?" he asked, his voice hushed, as if he was almost afraid to ask it of her. They had said their vows, but those vows had said nothing about love.

"I love you now," she said, looking into her own cup. "I meant what I said in the garden. I have always known we would be wed, and I missed you terribly when we were parted. I just want to be a good wife to you, Migs, if you will allow me."

He looked up from the goblet, brows arching upwards in surprise at her statement. He had hoped she would love him someday, but he had not expected her to admit to it so soon. Then again, they had always assumed they'd be wed, and he has fallen in love with her long ago. It had just taken seeing her again to realize it. "You love me?" he echoed, as if he had perhaps misheard her.

She bit her lip, not daring to raise her own gaze from her cup. "Of course I do," she said softly. "You have always been dear to me. Now we are together again, I expect to love you more, knowing you better now we are both grown. Is that ....bad?"

"No!" Miguel was quick to reply. "No, of course not. It is just that ..." He paused a moment, brows furrowing as he considered how to form the right words. "I-I think I love you, too. I think I always have. Not as a sister or even a friend. After the war, I feared I would never see you again. My mother tried to interest me in other women, but ..." He broke off again, his frown deepening. "I did not want anyone but you."

Something like annoyance or jealousy flared in her expression for a brief moment, a poor portent for the relationship she might yet have with his mother once his grip on their country was secure. "Women more suitable in her eyes, no doubt," she said quietly.

"In her eyes, perhaps, but not mine," Miguel said, lifting his gaze to look at her. "I cannot imagine myself with anyone but you, Tilde, and now that we are wed, my mother will have no choice but to accept it," he said, reaching for her hand.

Her fingers curled into his as she dared to raise her eyes, though still looking down on him from where she stood. "We should give her no reason to doubt our marriage, then," she said, sounding suddenly more confident.

"We won't," he assured her, taking her hand and drawing her down beside him. He let go of her hand momentarily to take the goblet from her and set them both on the bedside table before turning to face her again. He knew the best way they could show everyone that their marriage was strong was by having a child, but that meant getting over their shyness with each other.

Easing down onto the bed beside him, Matilde was glad he turned away just long enough for her to cover her leg when the robe slipped open with that movement. She knew, in theory, what was about to happen, but there had not been time to give her a more comprehensive idea of what to expect. Whatever happened, though, she trusted Miguel with everything. She had put her life into his hands; the least she could do was try to care for him as a wife should in the marital bed.

He reached for her hands again, taking them both in his own, his eyes meeting hers. "My mother is not queen, Tilde. I will be king, and you will be queen beside me. There will be no reason to doubt our marriage, and together we will bring peace to Epirus."

"We will," she agreed. "I will try to keep the peace with your mother, Migs. I know that peace will have to begin in our own household."

"It is Alfonso who is to blame for all this. He is the one who has poisoned her heart, but she is my mother. When she sees how happy we are together, she will change her mind. I am sure of it," he told her, giving her hands a gentle squeeze.

"She was good to me when we were young," Matilde conceded, though she knew the old queen might well hold the old king's death against the daughter of the man who had delivered it. "We will be happy, won't we?"

"I hope so," Miguel replied, with a soft smile on his face. "I will do my best to make you happy," he added, hopefully. It wasn't up to his mother or anyone else to ensure their happiness, but them.

"We'll make each other happy," she corrected him, smiling as she leaned closer. "I would like to kiss you, tesoro, if I may?"

An almost shy smile flickered across his face. "I was just about to ask you the same thing," he admitted, searching her eyes as if he wanted to memorize them for all time.

She giggled, but the fear seemed to have gone from her. Shyness could be overcome, after all. "Ah, but I have already given you my answer," she pointed out teasingly. "You have yet to give me yours."

"Is that not answer enough for you, querida?" he teased back, his smile widening, as he leaned closer, almost close enough to touch his nose to hers. He hesitated a moment, as if he was waiting for permission, and then his lips were touching hers in a soft and tender kiss.

His lips found her soft laughter, the sound quickly fading as she leaned into him. One hand crept upward to curl against his cheek, teasing her fingers into his hair as, tentatively, she dared to part her lips and deepen that kiss of her own accord.

He followed her lead, taking his cues from her, as he let her deepen the kiss, his lips parting to tentatively tangle his tongue with her. He had never kissed anyone like this before, and he wasn't sure if he was doing it right, but he could only follow his instincts and hope that she'd give him further cues to go by.

He furrowed his brows at her statement. The last thing he'd been thinking about in that moment was death. He hoped that would not take place for a very long time, but they were about to walk into the veritable lion's den. "I do not believe the Goddess would bring us together only to tear us apart."

"We begin our march in a week's time," she said quietly. "And we will either die or take the throne. Whatever happens, we will do it together. This is our fight, Migs."

"It is our fight, and it is a fight I intend to win," he said, with a tone of certainty in his voice. It wasn't something he could accomplish on his own, but then, that was why he had sought help from Pomerania.

"Then we will celebrate Midsummer as King and Queen," she said, her confidence in him unshakeable. Her fingers slid down over his shoulder. "You will make a beautiful Summer King."

"Beautiful?" he echoed with a chuckle. "You are the one who is beautiful, Tilde. You have always been beautiful to me," he murmured the last part, fingers in a soft caress of her cheek.

"I was a spotty, lanky brat, and you know it," she laughed, prodding his shoulder affectionately. "I know perfectly well that you did not always find me beautiful, just as I did not always find you handsome. I thought you were a squinty swot for at least a year before we knew each other properly."

Miguel winced, but could not disagree with her assessment of him in his youth. "I was a squinty swot," he admitted sourly. He had grown into a man since then, and one she seemed to find attractive. "But you are wrong. You were always beautiful to me."

She laughed again, inching forward to kiss his lips tenderly. "That is a very loving lie," she murmured, knowing he couldn't have found her that attractive all those years ago. "Thank you."

He could not argue with that, especially given the fact she was kissing him, effortlessly rekindling his desire for her. "For what?" he asked, somewhat distractedly as he shifted closer.

"For being you," she murmured sweetly, nuzzling her nose against his. "For loving me. For wedding me. For everything you are. Thank you."

"If you truly wish to thank me, perhaps you should do it another way," he said, waggling his brows suggestively, eyes bright with playfulness. He didn't really expect her to do anything more than kiss him, but it was worth a try.

Giggling, she prodded at his stomach this time, seeking out the ticklish spots she hoped were still there. "And how would you suggest I do that, oh lord and master?"

He tensed as she prodded his stomach, doing his best to endure her teasing, which was doing unexpected things to his body that didn't involve being ticklish. "I would suggest we make love again ....wife," he said, adding the last part with a grin.

"Gently," she murmured, kissing the tip of his nose. She was a little sore, but that did not mean she did not want him as much as he wanted her.

"Gently," he echoed in agreement, before his lips found hers in a tender kiss. They had waited too long to be together, waited too long for this day, waited too long for this moment. It was a moment he wanted to last forever and ever.

But there would be other moments in the days and years to come. And they would last, if either one had anything to say about it.