Mated To The Cruel Prince novel Chapter 811

Chapter 811: No One Was Coming

Islinda stood in the center of her room, surrounded by a swarm of handmaidens who fussed over her like bees around a flower. She hadn’t slept a wink the night before; her mind had been plagued with endless worries and thoughts. The day had barely begun to break when the train of servants rushed in, insisting that they were there to prepare her for the wedding.

It all felt like a surreal dream, a whirlwind of activity she couldn’t quite grasp. If she hadn’t gotten used to being undressed and prepped in front of strangers during her time at Aldric’s palace, she would have been horrified. But Islinda had grown accustomed to it, her skin now numb to the sensation of scrutiny as the servants stripped her bare.

They worked with a practiced precision, removing every trace of hair from her body before submerging her into a bath filled with a concoction of herbs, oils, and unknown ingredients that reeked of autumn spices. The water was warm, but she felt cold inside, her mind blank as the women bathed and scrubbed her, whispering praises about how beautiful she would look for Prince Andre.

When she emerged, her skin was radiant, glowing with an unnatural sheen. They draped her in a stunning gown, adorned with the warm hues of the autumn court: shades of orange, brown, and gold, interwoven with leaves that seemed almost alive. The off-shoulder design framed her elegantly, and the sheer, voluminous sleeves added a touch of ethereal beauty, making her seem less like a human bride and more like an autumn Fae princess.

As the handmaidens drew intricate patterns on her skin—tattoos laced with magic and tied to the customs of the autumn court—Islinda felt disconnected from her own body. It was all happening too fast. The makeup masked the exhaustion beneath her eyes, and by the time they were done, she looked like someone else entirely. Only her white hair remained a stubborn contrast to the autumnal motif.

The handmaidens stepped aside, making way for Queen Victoria, who entered with the regal air of a monarch used to command. Queen Victoria was not only Prince Andre’s mother but also the one tasked with giving Islinda the final touches, a role that traditionally belonged to the bride’s mother. But Islinda had no mother to perform the rites, and so the Queen had stepped in, her presence both comforting and intimidating.

"I don’t understand the rush between you and that damned son of mine, Andre," Queen Victoria said, her tone laced with annoyance as she adjusted the folds of Islinda’s dress. "But the least the both of you could have given me is more time." She fussed over Islinda’s hair, weaving golden leaves through her loose updo, and muttering to herself all the while. "It was only by sheer grace that the priest arrived this morning."

The priest’s delayed arrival was the only reason the wedding hadn’t happened yesterday. Fae customs required an autumn priest to officiate, and not even Prince Andre could bend those rules.

Islinda remained quiet, her thoughts spinning. She was painfully aware of the weight of the moment, the finality of what was about to happen. As Queen Victoria continued to fuss, Islinda forced herself to straighten up, trying to muster a semblance of control.

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