Her voice carried across the courtyard with a projection that would have made stage performers weep with envy. Two hundred Fae nobles turned to look at her with expressions ranging from confusion to alarm to the particular facial configuration of people witnessing a diplomatic incident in real time.
Tristan's head turned. River's head turned. The officiant's hands froze in midair, still raised in the gesture of a blessing that had been interrupted by a woman in red who had apparently decided that the threshold between "before the kiss" and "married" was the ideal window for an entrance.
Vesper's eyes locked onto Tristan. "You are marrying your sister, Tristan."
The word detonated across the courtyard.
Sister.
