Cinnamon Bun

Chapter Five Hundred and Fifteen - The Big Day

The big day dawned, and everything was going alright.

"This is terrible."

Everything was in order.

"Why did I agree to this? This is going to be a disaster."

The bride was looking pretty.

"I look like a marshmallow! Why did I stress eat so much? Why did I eat at all?"

The groom was likely just as ready.

"Did anyone go out to wake Rhawr up? He's a heavy sleeper. It would be just like that goof to sleep through the ceremony. Oh Dirt, this is going to be a spectacle."

The venue was as prepared as could be, and from the few sneak-peeks I got on the way over, it looked fit for a royal wedding.

"I bet all the nobles are laughing at us. Did we really need to cover everything in so many draperies? Are those even the right colour? Wait, what do I know about draperies? Oh, this is going to be a laughingstock for decades, isn't it?"

And overall, I was quite happy with the work my friends and I put into the entire wedding. Sure, it wasn't our usual sort of adventure, but it had proven just as hard--if not harder--than a mere dungeon delve.

I was sure that Booksie would be very appreciative of all of that... once she settled down and was in a calmer state of mind. At the moment she was pacing back and forth, chewing on her freshly manicured thumbnail, and looked like she was one 'boo!' away from a spectacular explosion.

She was, at the moment, the prettiest girl in the world, even under all the worry and wide-eyed stress. Port Royal had some fantastically talented makeup people, and they seemed very proud to be able to work their literal beautification magic on Booksie to erase any blemishes and make her best features pop. Other than a bit of lipstick, she looked like she wasn't wearing any makeup at all, which was impressive seeing as how they'd definitely worked through several jars of the stuff.

Her dress swirled around her, somehow not catching on her legs as she swept around in her pacing. There was dress magic at work here too, a gift from the tailor that had helped her into the dress this morning and warned everyone not to cast anything that might interfere with the enchantments laid into the fabric. The dress sparkled and glowed, but no more than Booksie did at the moment.

"Booksie," I said as I carefully reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. She froze, then took a deep, deep breath and let it all out.

"I'm being silly, aren't I?" she asked.

"I think it's okay to be worried," I said honestly. "It's a big day for you. But everything will be just fine. We have things in hand. It's going to be one of the best days ever. I bet in a hundred years you'll look back and still remember it fondly. You look very, very pretty, so much so that I don't think even the best painter will be able to capture it. Rhawr will be on his best behaviour, I'm sure, and the entire plaza looks fantastic. You don't have anything to worry about."

Booksie nodded, then made vague, violent gestures in the air before her. "I know! I know! It's just... urgh!"

"Do you want a hug?" I asked.

"And risk ruining the makeup and the hair and the dress?" she asked.

"I think it'd still be worth it," I said.

Booksie shook her head. "No, it's fine. Ah, I just... need a bit of air. And maybe..."

We were actually in one of the city's buildings. That was, a building owned by Port Royal. It had some offices on the floor above, but otherwise it was a space next to the plaza. At the moment, the front was hosted by a large all-white pavilion covered in golden filigree. The city had graciously let us use the space, especially since there was a decently large yard at the back where a dragon could settle down and get prettied up without being out in the spotlight that was the plaza.

I peeked out of a window looking out onto the plaza itself. It was quite packed. People, mostly local grenoils but a smattering of others, were grouped up behind a long length of cord that cut the space in half. Beyond the cord, the rest of the plaza was filled with seating facing a podium to one end where the marriage ceremony itself would be taking place.

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The square was crawling with security, mainly city guards, dressed in their best and shiniest armour, and they were often flanked by members of the Exploration Guild, their guild pins glinting in the sun as they parked themselves on rooftops and on open balconies where they had a good view of the venue.

I nodded and tugged the curtain closed. It looked like everything was in order out there. "Is there anything you like doing to calm down?" I asked.

Booksie paused, then nodded and gestured to a small satchel she'd carried with her this morning. "Can you pass me that? Or rather, give me the book inside of it?"

I nodded, picking up the bag and rifling through it. There were toiletries and a wallet and the usual sorts of things I'd expect to find in a purse. A book was tucked into the bottom. A paperback, though it really didn't have much of a cover. It was ratty and well-read, the pages crumpled up a smidge and it looked like the book had been stained a few times by spilled tea and hot chocolate.

I carefully removed the book, then twisted it this way and that. There had been a title on it once, but the title had been rubbed off by age. "This looks like an old book," I said.

"Only because I've abused it," Booksie said, with a soft smile. She extended a hand, and I gave her the book. It was strange, how she handled it so casually, yet seemed to cherish the worn pages under her fingertips. "I've read this story a dozen-and-one-times. More, probably. It's an old, old favourite of mine. I think I can quote every scene verbatim."

"Why did you read it so many times if you know it already?" I asked.

"Because the characters in this one are my friends," Booksie said.

I eyed the book. Was it magic?

Booksie giggled, and I blinked and looked up to catch her eye. "You're giving it a look," she said. "It's just a book I'm very fond of. It's not particularly well-written, but it is easy to read, and I've spent hours a day dreaming about the people in this book and the world they're from. Whenever I get a little too tense, a little too stressed, I try to find some time to sit down and give it another read. At this point it's more of a skim than anything else, really."

"Oh. Well, that's kind of nice," I said. "I guess I understand, though I've never really liked reading the same story twice."

"That's fair too," Booksie said. "I don't like doing that either, not unless a good few years have passed between readings. Long enough for me to forget what happened exactly."

"Okay then," I said. "Let's find some cushions and a clean blanket or something. I think there's a bench in the back, but it looks a bit old and rusty, and we don't want your dress covered in stains."

I grabbed both a cushion from a sofa and a thick old blanket that was laying around, then I bustled out the back with Booksie. It didn't take long for her to be bundled up and sat on the bench, the blanket drawn up around her shoulder to keep the chill at bay.

It was a smidge chilly out. Fresh fluffy snow dusted the ground, just enough to paint everything white. It wasn't actually all that cold, though. Just chilly enough to prevent the snow from melting and turn every breath into a plume of fog, but a thick blanket and a bit of magic was more than enough to keep us warm.

I looked up and noted some members of the Exploration Guild on nearby rooftops. They were keeping an eye on things. "I'll pop inside and get some tea going," I said.

"Thank you," Booksie said with a return smile. She already had her book open and was snuggling herself in to read.

I grinned, then ducked back into the building to prepare some tea. It took me a few minutes. By the time the water was done coming to a boil and I finished finding a platter to carry the tea on, Booksie had been joined by some company outside.

I think it broke some traditions to have the groom spend time with the bride, but as I peeked out of the window and discovered Rhawr's long neck wrapped around Booksie as she read from her book aloud to him, I couldn't find it in me to care much for that kind of tradition.

***