Villainus || Folkelore

Chapter 7

The Advocate's protests grow more violent each day. Demetrius insisted I stay at the palace to ensure my safety. I ignored him. Father would never allow it, and besides my Aunt Freya is helping with wedding plans and that would be much more difficult to do if I stayed in Scle. She would heartily disagree with the way Demetrius interacts with me. She wanted to send me to boarding school, but my father wouldn't let her. Though they are siblings, they are nothing alike. It drives Aunt Freya crazy. As a Queen she definitely thinks her way is the only way. Again, Father disagrees.

Today, we're choosing a wedding dress. Father— thank goodness — bowed out of this part of the wedding planning. He's been very vocal about all the other parts, but this one he thinks is entirely frivolous. I was worried he'd force me to wear something I already own, yet he surprised me by allowing a new dress to be made.

Walking through the Aeryan Palace always makes me feel small and insignificant. The walls and ceilings are open to the air, giant as they may be.

"Don't dawdle, child," Aunt Freya snaps, appearing in front of me. "The dress won't make itself."

I duck my head, hurrying to match her pace to the room she's deemed as the wedding room. It's best with people like my Father and Aunt Freya to just go with the flow. Their moods can change at the drop of a hat. A small roundish man is waiting for us in the wedding room, a long measuring tape around his neck like a scarf. His ice blue eyes suggest he's from Loch.  Why would Aunt Freya bring someone in from Loch if she has perfectly good seamstresses in Aero. Nevertheless, I step up onto the platform the seamstress motions to with an annoyingly cheery smile.

"The dress will be white, yes?" The seamstress asks, his accent solidifying my assumption of his heritage.

Aunt Freya begins to confirm, and something in me rushes to deny.

"No," I announce. Both eyes turn to face me like they forgot I was there. "I'm marrying the Night King. I can't dress like a common girl. Make it dramatic."

Aunt Freya squeaks, but the seamstress nods, digging through the trunk he brought.

"Will this do?" He asks, something like admiration gleaming in his eyes.

"Absolutely not!" Aunt Freya screeches, her face red. "You will be wearing the traditional white dress."

Tilting my head up haughtily, I stare down at her. "It's my wedding."

"Right it is," Demetrius's voice murmurs from behind me. I spin around to face him, my hands on my hips. He's lounging against the wall, looking at his fingernails.

"What are you doing here?" I hiss.

He grins up at me, knowing exactly why I didn't want him a part of the wedding plans. "It's my wedding too, love."

I hear Aunt Freya's gasp behind me and close my eyes with a sigh. This is going to be a train wreck. Demetrius takes it in stride, moving confidently to my side.

"I want my bride in the best you have, preferably not white," he tells the seamstress before facing my aunt with a pleased smirk. He's loving this.

"Your Majesty, I know you haven't been here for the majority of the planning," Aunt Freya begins. "However, there is no reason for you to burst in here, and demand for things to be your way."

Demetrius watches her, eyes narrowed slightly. Oh goodness, this can't end well. "Why not?" He asks, one brow raising.

"Why not? Why not! Like it or not, Octavia asked me to—"

"Did she ask you," Demetrius cuts in. "Or did you volunteer?"

Freya gasps, obviously offended as her face and neck become a very blotchy red. "I am just trying to be a good Aunt to Octavia," she huffs under her breath.