In stately procession, the three young women paced down the aisle, bouquets clutched tightly in their hands, Quicksilver flanked by her mother and little sister, now almost as tall as she; each seemed awed and awkward despite her finery, shooting anxious glances at the grand people about them, for they were, after all, only a squire's wife and daughter, and unused to such pomp and ceremony.

Allouette had no one but Gregory—they had never managed to find her true parents, from whom she had been kidnapped as an infant—so beside her came the king himself, Tuan Loguire, for, ever quick to prevent embarrassment when he could, he had claimed the right of escort as her liege lord.

Quickly Rod faced front again, trying to give some reassurance of his own by his mere presence. Cordelia walked with head erect, with pride, but he could feel her hesitance.

Then the young men stepped out to the center of the sanctuary, and Cordelia almost stopped, staring at Alain's magnificence. Rod gave the lad a glance, saw his eyes wide in amazement at the most beautiful sight of his life, and with a covert smile urged his daughter forward. Up the steps they went, up to Alain, who proffered his arm with a look that said he wasn't worthy.

Privately, Rod agreed, of course—no man could be good enough for Cordelia. But he knew she was really in love with the prince and had decided not to hold his royal blood against him. Not without reservations of his own, Rod let her walk from his arm and Gwen's, to take Alain's. He stood beside his wife for a moment, drinking in the sight of bride and groom, then held out his arm to Gwen. She laid hers on top of his and turned with him to walk back down the steps to the pew that awaited them. As they entered, she exchanged a tremulous smile with Queen Catharine across the aisle. For a moment, their eyes held, old friends in league again, and Rod would never have believed the dozen confrontations the two women had had, over the details of the wedding, Gwen politely and tactfully holding firm for Cordelia's choices through every one of Catharine's tantrums.

Then Toby stepped up beside Geoffrey, and Quicksilver's mother joined them in the pew as Tuan took his place beside Catharine in the lesser gilded chair. They turned back to the sanctuary, where the archbishop was coming down from the high altar, resplendent in gold and white of his own—a gilded chausable over a snowy alb, his high-peaked mitre also gilded, so that Rod wondered how the man could hold up his head with all that weight. Maybe he was really leaning on the elaborate crozier, the very ornate shepherd's crook that is a bishop's staff of office. The three couples drew up before him, Cordelia and Alain in the center, Gregory beside Allouette at their left, fairly oozing reassurance, and at the right, Geoffrey offering his arm to Quicksilver, who took it but returned a challenging glance. Her reply was a look of adoration, and she whipped her gaze back to the archbishop, almost totally unnerved.

Gwen was murmuring to Quicksilver's mother, hand in hand, projecting reassurance of her own. Rod exchanged a glance with Tuan; as one, both smiled, then turned back to the altar.

The archbishop intoned the old words in a voice that carried through the cathedral. Rod had offered a tiny microphone and public-address system, but the prelate had refused them. Somehow the words blurred in Rod's mind—he could tell only that the archbishop shifted from English to Latin and back—and felt a sudden aching wish that he could have given Gwen a wedding like this. Unfortunately, he had been a wanted man at the time, scarcely daring to show his face in a village church, let alone the cathedral of the royal capital. He squeezed her arm, gazing at her with apology—but she gave him a look that was almost merry, and he knew that she regretted nothing. She might have been married by a wandering monk instead of an archbishop, but she'd had a flower-filled glade instead of a cathedral and a crowd of elves instead of nobility. Her dress had been stitched by a score of elf-wives and had outshone even her daughter's royal gown, and the King of Elves had given her away.

Rod wondered if, in spite of all his precautions, she had guessed that Brom O'Berin was her father.

Rod glanced around, wondering if Brom was here to see his grandchildren wed—but there he was by the king and queen, of course, for his elfin nature was secret; they took him for a mortal dwarf, and he who had been jester to Catharine's father had become her privy councilor. Rod knew the gray in his hair was carefully contrived, for Brom, like all elves, would still be living when the rest of them had been a century in their graves.

He turned back to the altar, determined to banish so melancholy a thought—just in time, for the archbishop had stepped up by Cordelia and was asking, "Who gives this woman to this man?"

Last-minute panic rose in Rod, but he overrode it to say with Gwen, "My spouse and I!"

Then the archbishop moved on to Quicksilver and asked again, "Who gives this woman to this man?" and her mother and sister answered, "We do!"

On the archbishop went to Allouette, who stood rock-firm but with a trembling bouquet, and intoned, "Who gives this woman to this man?" and Tuan and Catharine answered, "As her liege and sovereign, we do!"

Then the archbishop returned to stand between the line of young women and the line of young men to ask, "Do you, Cordelia, Quicksilver, and Allouette, take Alain, Geoffrey, and Gregory for your lawfully-wedded husbands, for better or for worse, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?"

Cordelia's answer pealed forth: "I do." Quicksilver answered a beat later, "I do!" Allouette swallowed thickly but glanced at Gregory and froze, her gaze on his as she whispered, "I do."

Gregory seemed to glow.

The archbishop turned to the three young men. "Do you, Alain, Geoffrey, and Gregory, take these women Cordelia, Quicksilver, and Allouette, to be your lawfully-wedded wives, for better or for worse, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?"

Alain stammered, "I do!"

Geoffrey, his gaze burning through Quicksilver's veil, said, "I do!"

Gregory, unable to take his eyes away from the veil that hid the face he loved so well, breathed, "I do."

"Then I now pronounce you husbands and wives."

The three couples stood, unbelieving, for a few seconds.

Gently, the archbishop explained, "You may kiss the brides."

The women lifted their veils, radiant; their husbands stepped close. As their lips touched, twelve trumpets pealed their joy. The archbishop cleared his throat and turned away, taking off his mitre and handing it to an acolyte, then trudging back up the stairs to the high altar to begin the nuptial Mass, as more acolytes brought out six kneelers for the brides and the grooms.

Either the Mass was short—which Rod doubted, since it was a solemn high Mass—or his time sense had slowed down, making everything a blur; it seemed only minutes until the three couples were standing, the women relaxed and joyful with their veils folded back, and the organ burst forth in Mendelsohn's notes of rejoicing, as the three grooms, laughing and chatting with their brides, descended the stairs to the aisle and fairly floated down that long avenue to the great oaken portal.

THERE WAS MUCH more, of course—a banquet in the Great Hall of the royal palace for all the nobility; dancing afterwards, with the three young couples leading and Rod having his first waltz with Cordelia since she had grown too big to stand on his toes; the wine flowing freely and the younger nobility becoming rather rowdy, on the verge of bearing the three couples away to a bridal night that would have had spectators—a must for royal weddings in the middle ages, when virginity was vital to be sure the heir was really of the royal line. But at that point, Gwendylon wound her way magically through the throng and assembled all three couples on the dais that held the high table. The bridesmaids and other young women lined up facing them, chattering eagerly, forcing the young men back a little, and the throng began to count: "One … two … three!"