At The Town Square.
The entrance to the town square opened before her and the noise of the gathered crowd met her like a wave.
Then her father appeared.
He crossed to her quickly and pulled her into an embrace before she could speak, holding on with the kind of desperation that belongs to people who have rehearsed an apology too many times in their heads.
"I am glad to see you this happy, my dear." His voice was thick. "And I owe you more than gladness. I owe you an apology. A real one." He pulled back to look at her. "I did not stand for you the way a father should have. Instead I chose to be a slave to Camelo's demands. I chose wrong and I have carried that."
Roxanne looked at him steadily.
"I am glad you have recognised your mistake," she said, her voice neither warm nor cold but somewhere between the two. "That is something." She straightened her gloves and glanced toward the aisle ahead. "Now walk with me. I will not be late to my own wedding."
She stepped forward without waiting for his response.
The great doors parted.
What waited beyond them was not the modest gathering of a political arrangement. The entire city had come. Every seat was filled, every standing space occupied, faces stretching back as far as the eye could reach. The murmur of the crowd softened the moment she appeared in the doorway and then went quieter still as they truly looked at her.
The stares that followed her down the aisle carried no judgment in them. Only something close to awe.
Then the whispers began, threading through the crowd like wind through leaves.
"I have never seen anyone like her. Not once in my life." A pause. "It is a shame she will never truly be his wife."
Roxanne heard it. She kept walking.
Her father placed her hand into Vangelis's at the altar, the transfer quiet and ceremonial, and stepped back. Vangelis looked down at her hand in his for a moment before his eyes rose to her face.
She did not look back at him.
They turned together to face the altar as the ritual began, the officiant's voice rising to fill the space above the crowd, ancient words that had sealed unions long before either of them existed.
The city watched.
And Roxanne stood perfectly still at the centre of all of it, her butterfly pinned hair catching the light, the blue gems at her gown throwing colour across the stone floor, her gloved hands folded with quiet precision.
Mrs. Valeria moved through the preparation room with the authority of someone who trusted no one but needed everyone.
"The marital blood is in your hands alone," she said, fixing Corrine with a look that left no room for error. "I trust only you with this. Nothing goes wrong tonight. Nothing."
"Of course," Corrine replied smoothly. "You have my word."
Satisfied, Mrs. Valeria swept out of the room, leaving Corrine with the seven maids arranged around the space.
The moment the door closed, Corrine straightened.
"As head maid I am directing all of you to monitor the corridors," she said, her tone carrying just enough authority to leave no room for question. "Go. Now."
They moved without hesitation, filing out in quick succession until the room held only silence.
Corrine waited.
Then she moved to the ceremonial vessel, poured Vangelis's blood away in one steady motion and reached for the vial she had carried in from Cassius. She replaced it carefully, every movement precise and unhurried, until the vessel looked exactly as it had before.
She stepped back and surveyed the room.
Everything was as it should be.
She folded her hands and waited for the ceremony to call for her.
The moment arrived.
Corrine descended the aisle with measured steps, the silver chalice resting at the centre of the tray, its contents catching the ceremonial light as she moved. When she reached the altar she met Roxanne's eyes briefly and gave a single nod. Then she bowed and stepped back.
Vangelis lifted the chalice.
He turned to Roxanne and held it to her lips with a steadiness that betrayed nothing of what he did not know. Roxanne accepted it without hesitation, tipping her head back and drinking until it was done.
Then the maids moved.
They had been positioned and ready and they closed around her immediately, hands braced at her arms and shoulders, forming a steady circle before the reaction had even begun.
It came quickly.
Roxanne's head dropped forward. Beneath her skin the veins rose, tracing themselves across her hands, her neck, her temples in vivid green lines that pulsed with each heartbeat. Her eyes shifted, the colour bleeding out and replaced with a deep and startling silver. Her fingers curled against the nearest maid's arm.
But she did not scream.
Only a few low sounds escaped her, quiet and controlled, pressed between lips that refused to part fully.
Only a few low sounds escaped her, quiet and controlled, pressed between lips that refused to part fully. She bore it the way someone bears something they have already decided will not break them.
Then slowly, breath by breath, the green receded. The silver dissolved. Her veins settled beneath her skin and her eyes returned to their own colour.
She lifted her head.
The crowd erupted.
The applause rolled through the town square like thunder, wave after wave of it, and beneath it the whispers began weaving through the seats.
"I have never seen endurance like that in my life."
"I heard the Queen collapsed when she took it. Completely."
"And Roxanne did not even flinch."
"The brains, the beauty and now this. What does that woman not have?"
Across the square, seated at the elevated platform reserved for royalty, Fiona heard every word.
Her face did not crumble. It did not tremble. It simply darkened, slowly and completely.
Her eyes stayed fixed on Vangelis standing at the altar beside Roxanne, and whatever she had been holding carefully together behind her expression began, very quietly, to come apart.