A/N: Whoa, someone needs to remind me to update. Anyway thanks for all the nice words.

An hour later, a wedding took place in the private chapel of the palace. Only a small portion of the court was there—those deemed discreet enough to keep the matter somewhat quiet, and those important enough to necessitate an invitation, lest their being left off the list caused any sort of dispute. There was, of course, a bishop presiding, the same one who had named Danielle a countess, and the same one who would afterwards crown her a princess. He was flanked by several altar boys and a younger priest. The King and Queen, in turn, were flanked by several dignitaries and ministers of government, but Jacques was noticably absent and Gerard was noticably beaming.

Danielle would have taken in these arrangements with pleasure, had her eyes been able to stray at all from her betrothed, waiting for her at the end of the aisle between the pews of the chapel. The room was intimate and private, which made the people who were there feel as if they were crowding it, but the sun was slanting through the stained glass in the warmest, most welcoming manner, and to Danielle, it was as if Henry and God were the only other ones in the room.

The look on his face was one she would remember forever: a self-satisfied, proud look that she had come to recognize these past few days as a look reserved only for her. It was a look that she could only compare with a cat who had got its cream, and she could only conclude that that prize was she. And yet, Danielle could not resent being the trophy of such a self-contented gaze, because she knew that even though the prince had had everything he had ever wanted in his short life, he had never been truly content before, except when he looked at her. But at this moment there was also an incredulity in his eyes, a boyish excitement that spoke of all the wonder he found in knowing that they would very soon belong to each other.

She remembered that look because it was the same awed and loving look that he gave her hours later, after their first night together as man and wife.

At last she had reached the altar, and he took her hand. There was reassurance in warmth in that hand, but it was not one-sided; she knew that her hand reassured him as much as his reassured her. In that sense, they clung to each other as to a life-line, because for both of them, the whole world was about to change. As was the case when she was dubbed countess, she remembered very little of the words said over her. She once again was only aware of Henry and God, in the form of light pouring in from above them to grace their clasped hands.

Afterwards, they stood, and Henry folded her arm in his. It was then that he became her strength, and she merely latched onto him. As the courtiers and ministers and priests filed out of the chapel, she tilted her chin up to him. "What are we supposed to do now?" she whispered.

He went completely still for a moment as he looked down at her. His eyes darkened so quickly and intensely that it took her breath away, and his voice was low and hoarse when he spoke. "Do I really need to explain it to you?" he queried.

Her mouth quirked, and she longed to laugh. In any other circumstance, she would have, but she realized that he was indeed quite serious. His mind was on one thing and one thing only. So she swallowed back her giggles—but not the playfulness in her eyes, and said coyly, "My Lord, you were born to privilege, and with that, comes specific obligations." At his blank look, she elucidated. "I think there were a few things your father wanted to have done before we— . . . did that."

"Oh," he said, and blinked, deflated.

"But later, we might . . ." she began, this time not so coyly, and not bothering to hide the teasing in her voice.

"Yes, later," he said firmly. He allowed himself a few brief moments before shaking his head clear of all thoughts of 'later'. "Now, if I remember correctly, my father wanted to have you coronated."

"Coronated?" Danielle asked, surprised. "But I'm only . . ."

"It's not official. That comes a while later," he explained, pulling her along as he followed his attendents down the halls of the palace. Laurent had been rolling his eyes at them to hurry for the past minute, and was pleased to finally get their attention. "You have no official position, yet, obviously. But they like to have certain assurances about the wife of the heir and the future queen, et cetera et cetera. Don't worry, you'll do fine."

"Do?" Danielle asked, suddenly horrified. "I have to do something?"

They were at the doors to the throne room once again, and Danielle realized with panic that the room was not so empty as it had been when they had so spontaneously made her a countess. "Oh yes," Henry replied off-handedly. "Later," he said significantly, "I expect you to do all sorts of things."

She swatted him. "Get your mind off later; I need help now. What am I supposed to—"

Henry shrugged, grinned, and signalled to Laurent to throw the doors open. "Let me rephrase," he whispered in her ear, before shoving her out into the room full of people. "You won't do fine. You'll do perfectly."

With that, Danielle found herself propelled into the throne room, and one more time, walking down an aisle through a crowd of people. Most of the courtiers from the chapel had appreared for the ceremony now; after all, afterwards, there was supposed to be feasting, drinking, and dancing, a circumstance few were eager to miss. But there were even more people here, partly because the chapel had been small and could only sit a limited number of people, and partly because the wedding had been private, but festivities never were, even when they were meant to be.

And so Danielle made her way through the peers of France and knelt by herself before the king and queen. In the end, it was not so hard, and she was as fine as Henry had said she would be. Francis merely made her swear fealty to France, its people, and its Crown and interests, and many things along that line, all of which sounded the same to her. And then Queen Marie bent and put her hand under Danielle's cheek, and a coronet had descended onto Danielle's brow. This surprised her, and the weight of it felt awkward, but she supposed it was something she could get used to. She had never been power hungry or wealth starved in the way of her step-mother or sister, but she did like the idea of having enough say over the land to help those less fortunate than she. Her father would be proud.

About an hour later, Danielle and Henry were all alone. That is, with half the court of France still milling around behind them in the throne room and a long train of attendents trailing after the newly-made royal couple. Danielle, who had been looking eagerly up at Prince Henry since he had taken her arm after the ceremony and led her away, was becoming embarrassed under all the eyes. "Don't you ever tire of being waited upon all the time?" she asked him suddenly, stopping in the middle of the hall and pulling his arm around so she could face him.

"Well . . ." Henry began laconically, giving her a lazy grin. "They're servants; it's what they—"

She did not move much, just one tiny step forward. It was enough, however, to completely change his body chemistry. He sucked a breath in, and flicked his eyes away from hers only once as he spoke to the others. "You may go," Henry told them briefly.

The train following them peeled off, but one lingered, apparently quite reluctant to neglect his duty. "But Sire—"

"The princess has found her chambers, it seems," Henry said, whirling around and gesturing to the double doors not two yards down the halls. "I don't believe that from now on she'll be needing any of your assisstance, tonight."

The attendent quivered, and made a grand obesience. "But Sire, it is also our duty to attend you to your chamber as well."

Henry's brows slowly rose. He regripped Danielle's arm, firmly pressing it into his side. "It is my intention not to go beyond the princess's chambers tonight, Pierre."

Pierre blinked several times in chagrin. "Very good, Sire," he replied, backing away from the prince and princess, nearly falling over himself in bows and embarrassment.

Danielle, trying to swallow a grin and not really succeeding, stood on tip toe and whispered into her husband's ear. "I wish I could dismiss mine so easily as you dismiss yours."

Henry was still scowling after Pierre, but as her lips left his ear he pulled her around in front of him, his hands finding the small of her back beneath her royal cloak and pressing her in close. His embrace was nothing, at that moment, to do with desire, and everything to do with reassurance. "As if I would spend the night anywhere else," he murmured into her hair, his thoughts still obviously with Pierre's lack of perception.

"Yes, yes," Danielle told him, patting his back. "But preferably behind the doors." He pulled back scowling, and she threw back her head and laughed, and he knew that she was right. He must get her behind the doors, because when she laughed like that, her neck was exposed to the world, and tonight he wanted her exposed only to himself; her soft, luminous body his to explore, her pale, delectable throat his to devour. He resolutely took her hand, threw open the doors, and dragged her inside.