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When she was little, Stella had the honor of being a flower girl at the weddings of two princesses of the Ars Goetia. She used to watch the recordings of the ceremonies over and over with sparkling eyes, dreaming of the day her own would come. For as long as she could remember, Mother had told her she was destined to marry a prince and become a real princess. Just like in the fairy tales she asked her brother Andrealphus to read her again and again. She would share her life with a prince who would love her more than anyone else and cherish her as his most precious treasure. She would lay an egg for him, and they would form a beautiful family.
When the time finally came, she did have a wedding like those she had dreamed of—no, an even better one, because her groom’s father was one of the richest and most powerful kings. She wore an enormous white dress covered in shimmering crystals, a diamond tiara, and the finest and longest veil she could have wished for. She had a cascading bouquet of white flowers brought specially from the human world, a red velvet aisle, hundreds of floral arrangements and candles, a live orchestra, and the grandest reception in decades. The Great Hall of her future palace overflowed with guests, all admiring her, wanting to take pictures with her, repeating over and over that she was the most beautiful bride they had ever seen.
She had everything she had always wanted—except for the most important thing. The prince who was supposed to be hers alone already had someone else in his heart. He himself told her so on the very day they met, back when they were both ten years old. He did so with a hopeful smile on his face, because he misunderstood something she said and thought she also had someone else, so maybe they could be friends and support each other in their arranged marriage.
In that moment, Stella was certain he was not her prince. He was not. She immediately told Mother, asked her to find someone else for her to marry, but she wouldn’t listen. She just said she knew what was best for her, so Stella should stop being spoiled and accept the arrangement. Later that day, Andre tried to comfort her, saying that Stolas would love her one day, that his supposed “love” wasn’t more than a childish infatuation, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe him.
It turned out she was right. Even Andrealphus ended up admitting it. In all the years before their marriage, Stolas never fell in love with her, never forgot whoever it was he had in his heart.
On the day of her wedding, which was supposed to be the happiest of her life, she couldn’t stop thinking she was forever closing the door on her real prince, the one who must have been waiting for her somewhere. Mother arranged for Stella to marry as soon as she turned eighteen, so she didn’t even have much time to look for him. She tried her best, though. She attended every event she was invited to, small or large, and spoke to every young Goetia she met, but none of them was the one she was searching for.
“Have you ever looked at someone and felt... something special? Like your heart might leap out of your chest, and your stomach fills with butterflies?”
That’s what Stolas told her the day they met. That was how she was supposed to know when she had found her prince. But it never happened. The day of her wedding came, and the butterflies never appeared.
Stella told Mother a thousand times she didn’t want to marry Stolas, that she had made a mistake in choosing him. She whined and begged, screamed and screeched, smashed Mother’s favorite china, even threatened to run away from home, but nothing made her change her mind. On the wedding day, Mother chose not to be near her “so she wouldn’t have to deal with more tantrums.” She didn’t help Stella put on her dress or her veil like other mothers surely would; she only came close for a moment, when Stella was ready to leave for the ceremony, to tell her to make the family proud and to not even think about making a scene.
Andrealphus stayed with Stella until it was time to walk her down the aisle. Just like her, he was furious that day. He spent the entire time Stella was getting ready grumbling along with her, cursing Mother and her future father-in-law, repeating over and over that Mother had made a mistake. The marriage was indeed very convenient for their family, but she should have chosen someone else for Stella—as if there hadn’t been other princes to marry her off to. Andre didn’t even scold her or call her a little monster, as he always did, when in a fit of rage Stella threw her shoes at the wall and tried to rip the curtains off her room. Maybe, deep down, he would have liked to do the same. But he, too, was forced to swallow his anger when it came time for the ceremony.
She had never in her life seen Andre smile more sadly than when he looked into Stolas’ eyes and gave him Stella’s hand. That small detail made her feel something strange—a warm light in her chest and a lump in her throat at the same time. But the strangest thing of all happened when Stolas took her hand and looked into her eyes. She couldn’t quite pinpoint what emotion she saw on his face—sadness, hopelessness, anguish, nerves; maybe it was all of them at once. Whatever it was, it calmed the urge Stella had felt all this time to throw the bouquet, tear off the heavy veil, and run away, pushing aside the annoying swarm of reporters who had followed her since she left home. Truly strange, because seeing Stolas had always made her more upset than anything.
Maybe, at that moment, Stella became aware for the first time that he was losing his dreams, just as she was. Maybe it was her mind’s way of helping her force a smile, to get through the ceremony without embarrassing her family, to avoid further irritating Mother.
She remembers almost nothing of the rest of the wedding. Everything passed in a whirlwind of sounds and colors, always with a doll-like smile painted on her face, one that the photographers adored. Mother even praised her for it. Stella doesn’t remember what exactly she said, only that she was very surprised at how well she was behaving.
The only thing she does remember, as if it were a recording in her mind, is the waltz she danced with Stolas. She had finally become a real princess, swaying and spinning to the rhythm of the music in her gorgeous gown and tiara, just as she’d always dreamed. If only the person holding her hand had been her prince. Tears welled in her eyes, but she quickly brushed them away with those long lashes she was so proud of. Real princesses don’t cry. Real princesses are strong. That’s what Mother always told her.
As they danced past the crowd, everywhere people exclaimed in admiration, commenting on how elegant and beautiful they looked together, how they seemed like the perfect couple.
Could that be true?
For a desperate moment, Stella wished her brother’s words from when she first got engaged could be true. That one day Stolas would become her prince, that one day they could love each other. Even if his heart belonged to someone else, even if her heart knew he wasn’t the one she had been waiting for.
Because she couldn’t live her entire life with him if it was any other way.