Seven days turns out to be just enough time to learn how to smile sweetly at someone while internally planning their murder.
Grandmother Wuchen calls it "gracious diplomacy." I call it "not getting arrested at my own wedding."
The week passes in a blur of fittings, photographs, and etiquette drills that make the previous training look relaxed by comparison.
"Smile," Grandmother orders during one particularly brutal session. "Not like that, Runze. You look like you're baring your teeth."
I adjust.
"Better. That's how you should maintain that exact expression while someone insults you to your face."
She proceeds to say increasingly horrible things while I hold the smile. By day three, I've perfected it. Sweet, serene, absolutely murderous underneath.
I practice on Bael at dinner.
He notices immediately, pausing mid-bite to study my face with that calculating look.
"What?" I ask, my smile never wavering.
