I begin putting on the dress Theseus, and I have chosen with the help of my maids.

“Miss, you look beautiful.” I glance at the mirror and see myself wearing a sleeveless

coral pink dress, one draping with gems and crystals. I had hoped to wear an Amazonian dress to this wedding, but Theseus said I needed to look like ‘lady’ material. Still, I wanted to feel like an Amazon for one last time. As a result, we debated for a few minutes before deciding that in compromise, my wedding dress would be a mixture of my culture’s dress and Italian nobility’s.

“Thank you, Elizabeth,” I answer with a smile, despite the growing nervousness in my mind. Did I really want to give my life away to a man I hardly know? Theseus is a fine and caring man, and he seems to love me dearly, but do I to him? He proposed to me just two weeks ago and promised me very good terms if I accepted. We spent a week together before I accepted, and by then, I had indeed slightly fallen in love with the lord, against my will. Still, it is only two weeks spent together. Just two weeks of joy and sorrow were shared. I sigh, and Alice, who never misses any of my actions, asks, “Are you nervous, Miss?” I nod, then wonder why I am answering to an 11-year-old.

“Alice, can you help me with my hair? Theseus says, flowing slightly curly hair will do,” I say, looking at myself again in the mirror.

“Yes, miss,” the girl replies. I sit down on a gold velvet chair—a thing that Italian nobility seem to treasure—and let her brush my hair while I re-adjust my dress.

“Elizabeth, when your sister married, was she happy?” I ask, well aware that she was the only one with a married sibling.

“She was happy, miss. Still is now.” I nod and try and think of the time Theseus and I spent together.

“Miss, if I may say....” Alice says, biting her lip.

“Yes?”

“I think you’ll be quite happy with Lord Theseus. He is quite powerful, rich, and loving

towards you.” She says, trailing off. I hope so.

“Your hair is done, miss.” I feel it and touch my perfectly curled-up brown hair. “Thank you, Alice and Elizabeth. One note, though, please just call me Hippolyta; I’m

more comfortable with it.” Everyone back in Themiscrya, our island, called me simply by my name. For some reason, everyone here has a title. Alice and Elizabeth look at each other, and then the latter hesitantly says, “Yes, Hippolyta.” I smile and then ask them both out. I need a dagger on me, and luckily brought quite a few and have hidden them around the lavish room. I take one from under my 3-foot high bed, and strap it with leather to my thigh, before walking out of my room, where both girls are waiting. They walk with me to the balcony where Theseus is overlooking the final touches of our wedding. It is a beautiful sight, with fresh green grass, a water fountain, and a vine entrailed gate.

“Hippolyta, you look so fair.” He says, turning to me, his brown hair glimmering despite being under shade, blue eyes emitting affection. He dismisses Alice, and Elizabeth, who both curtsy before leaving. Then he curls his fingers around mine and leads me to his study room. Plenty of times, our afternoons were shared in this vintage place, yet I still marvel at the towering bookshelves and paintings. We have no such luxury in Themiscrya, not even I, the queen. Training is life. Being a warrior is our purpose; anything unrelated is left out.

“Are you afraid, my dear?” I know what he means, but I take a second to decide to act oblivious.

“Theseus, if a person is new to a land, surely they would be anxious.”

“You took what I asked wrong, Sweetheart. I mean of our marriage.” I start to stammer but then calmly say out what is on my mind, “I love you, Theseus, but I admit I miss the Amazons. I spent my whole life living with them.” He stops and gives a sly smile, “I may have invited some of your sisters to our wedding. I told them they can visit anytime because the beautiful queen Hippolyta is here.”

“Former queen,” I correct. Before officially announcing my resignation and coming of marriage, I appointed my biological younger sister, Antiope, to be queen, “But pray you, tell me where they are.”

“They are prepping, my dear. Now is a time for just you and me.” He walks over from his desk and single handedly spins me. We sit on the brown couch, and he wraps his arms around me, getting slightly too close.

“Theseus, dear, let’s wait until we are wed,” I say, slightly sliding to the side.

“Love doesn’t wait, Hippolyta. The two couples—Lysander and Hermia have been kissing each other all morning in rejoicing at being able to marry. And Demetrius and Helena? I’d rather not mention their actions.” I cringe inwardly and allow him to plant a kiss on my cheek. I promise to myself, though, that if he gets any closer, it’s going to prompt my warrior reflexes. There is a knock on the door—thankfully. Theseus repositions himself and calls, “Come in.”

“Sir, the preparations are ready, and Lord Lysander, Demetrius, and Lady Hermia and Helena are downstairs. The wedding is planned to start.”

“Yes, yes, you may go now,” Theseus says, waving him away. He turns to me, “Sweetheart, when we are in public, can you do me the pleasure of speaking in rhyme? I know of your Amazonian ways, which speak directly, but our culture is speaking more inadvertently.” He says, all without a hint of disgust, which I appreciate. All the visitors we have ever had had commented not so nicely on our speaking methods. He extends his hand, and I slowly take it, then we descend down the spiral marble staircase.

“Lord Theseus,” Lysander says with Demetrius both doing a shallow bow, “We thank thee for your generosity.” I look at Hermia and Helena, who are both dipping a curtsy. The first is wearing a shoulder-revealing, pure white, puffy gown adorned with clear crystals and a beautifully designed visible corset. Her auburn hair is left flowing down her shoulder in curls, and there is a small chain of more white crystals from her hair. Though wearing a similar gown to Hermia, Helena has a six-meter train behind her and is wearing ivory gloves.

“Hermia, Helena, you two look exquisite,” I exclaim, walking to greet them. Even though Theseus said to be refined, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mean to his and my friends. When I had just arrived here, yet deciding whether to marry Lord Theseus, we had almost collided into each other. It wasn’t long before we met each other daily, so I was shocked I heard that they had all fled into the forest.

“Thank you, Hippolyta. You look dazzling,” Hermia says, blushing. Her blue eyes are still glossed with joy from yesterday, after Lord Egeus, her father, permitted her to marry Lysander. Helena pulls me closer to them through her satin gloves, “Hippolyta, why didn’t you choose a

more lavish gown?” I suspected she would question my choice of clothing; Helena is a woman of many clothing styles. Instead, Hermia batts Helena’s arm, “Haven’t you learned anything?”

“Perhaps so,” Helena answers, looking at Hermia. “But the wedding was originally Lord Theseus and Hippolyta’s, yet both of us are more eloquently dressed than her. It was supposed to be the other way round.” I’ve learned that Helena tends to focus on small areas to make sure others don’t look bad. She’s thoughtful under her pushy demeanor.

“Don’t worry. We all know I chose to wear a simpler gown; it reminds me of the Amazonians.” I say with a smile.

“Ladies,” Theseus calls, “The wedding is beginning.” Hermia reddens and mutters something before pulling Helena and me into a hug, “This is the next phase of our lives, my dearest friends.” This feels scary again, but I refuse to be afraid right before the ceremony.

“Yes, may our futures shine bright,” I say. Helena nods and walks over to Demetrius, Hermia to Lysander, and me to Theseus.

The wedding goes well; the dining; my short reunion with my sister, Antiope, and closest friend, Kera; and the ceremony itself, went without fault. Until now...

“Come now, what masques, what dances shall we have To wear away this long age of three hours

Between our after-supper and bedtime?

Where is our usual manager of mirth?

What revels are in hand? Is there no play

To ease the anguish of a torturing hour?

Call Philostrate.” Theseus says. A man wearing a black suit, who is around the same

age as Theseus; around his fifties walks over, and I see that he was the one my husband—it feels really awkward to use this word—dismissed earlier. So, he’s Philostrate.

“Here, mighty Theseus.” The man says with a 90o bow.

“Say, what abridgement have you for this evening?

What masque, what music? How shall we beguile

The lazy time if not with some delight?” Theseus says. I don’t get why having a play after

a wedding is the best way to deal with extra time. Even though I have never been to one, no less be a bride of one, it feels weird to focus on fictional characters, when real-life seems so much more exciting—or at least more relevant. Wouldn’t shooting arrows, or having a combat match with family and friends be a better idea?

“There is a brief how many sports are ripe.

Make choice of which your highness will see first.” Then Philostrate, reads...

“The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung.

By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.”

“We'll none of that. That have I told my love

In glory of my kinsman Hercules.” Theseus says in a bored tone. I do not want to watch

this story again; I spent an afternoon in the garden listening to Theseus explain the story, and while it may be glorious for a human, it is too cliched. I’ve heard hundreds of stories like this from my mother, friends, and fellow Amazonian warriors. I also can’t help but notice both he and Philostrate are acting upon the refined demeanor really well—I have never heard them speak in such rhyme and rhythm when alone.

“The riot of the tipsy bacchanals

Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage,” Philostrate suggests reading from the scroll. “That is an old device, and it was played

When I from Thebes came last a conqueror,” Theseus says, waving the notion away.

Philostrate looks timid for a second before proposing another play,

“The thrice-three muses mourning for the death

Of Learning, late deceased in beggary.” Theseus shakes his head, and whispers in a growl-like tone,

“That is some satire, keen and critical,

Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony.” The butler backs away just ever a little, and swallows, before hesitantly reading the bottom of the paper,

“A tedious, brief scene of young Pyramus

And his love Thisbe – very tragical mirth.” Theseus’s scrunched eyebrows separate, and he nodded,

“Merry” and “tragical”? “Tedious” and “brief”?

That is hot ice, and wondrous strange black snow. How shall we find the concord

of this discord?”

“A play there is, my lord, some ten words long,

Which is as “brief” as I have known a play.

But by ten words, my lord, it is too long,

Which makes it “tedious” for in all the play

There is not one word apt, one player fitted.

And “tragical,” my noble lord, it is,

For Pyramus therein doth kill himself,

Which, when I saw rehearsed, I must confess,

Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears,

The passion of loud laughter never shed,” Philostrates says, looking relieved.

“What are they that do play it?” Theseus asks. Philostrates immediately scans his eyes

over the scroll and then reports,

“Hard-handed men that work in Athens here Which never labored in their minds till now,

And now have toiled their unbreathed memories With this same play against your nuptial.”

“And we will hear it,” My husband declares. “No, my noble lord,

It is not for you. I have heard it over,

And it is nothing, nothing in the world,

Unless you can find sport in their intents,

Extremely stretched and conned with cruel pain,

To do you service,” Philostrate says quietly. I now know what Theseus’s answer will be

instantly. He will insist on watching the poor actors make a fool of themselves.

“I will hear that play,

For never anything can be amiss

When simpleness and duty tendee it.

Go, bring them in, and take your places, ladies.” I sigh, not wanting to spend the next hours watching actors make a fool of themselves. This is not what our Amazonian cultures

teach; despite our wars, we don’t insult or make fun of others with lower skills than ourselves. Philostrate gives a reluctant nodd, and bow before turning away to find the actors.

“I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharged,

And duty in his service perishing,” I say, biting my cheek. Theseus looks at me with shining gray eyes, and proclaims, “Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing.”

“He says they can do nothing in this kind.” I try to convince him of another play again, but without luck only to hear him talk lengthy about how we are being kind by giving them a chance. I sigh inwardly, and simply go along with his plan.

The play was officially horrible. The acting was off, and I was stuck in a seat, struggling not to laugh or feel guilty. Luckily, the wedding ends immediately after, and while maids and butlers are cleaning up the garden, I walk over to Antiope while wondering where Kera is.

“Sister, you were so beautiful out there. Still is now,” Antiope says, smiling, her dimples appearing. Antiope’s hair is brown like mine, but instead of it being long, it’s only till the ears. And she has a lot more scars than I do: as she had battled twice as much as I had.

“Antiope, this must be farewell. You will be too busy as queen to visit.” Hurt splatters over the blue eyes she and I both share. I quickly murmur out, “Of course, it is no fault of yours. I shouldn’t have broken our sacred law in the first place.” Antiope, Kera, and all my other friends tried more than plenty of times to convince me to not make the trade. I understood that many queens in the past have left their captured warriors to die at the hands of their suitor. How could I? Every time we have traded or negotiated till every Amazon was safe back, but this time it was more complicated; while we were not losing, more than one-tenth of our warriors were captured, and when Theseus and I crossed paths and fought by sword, I lost. He won, and spared me. He showed me proof that our warriors were well taken care of—not tortured, starved, or sexually harmed, but treated like normal citizens. Then a few days later, he proposed to me and offered to free all our warriors, also ceasing the war. He wouldn’t kill them, he told me, but the Italian monarchs would. I needed no evidence to know what he said was true, we’ve faced worse. So after two weeks of dating—if it was considered dating—I accepted the proposal.

“You shouldn’t have,” Antiope agrees, “but you did what you thought you needed; you sacrificed your virginity to safely bring home hundreds of Amazons.” I can feel droplets of tears trickling down my face, and the first thought I have is how embarrassing an Amazonian crying is. But then, I don’t know if I can consider myself as one anymore. I gave my life away to Theseus.

“You’ll be a wonderful queen,” I say through all the emotional tempest. “I’m so proud of you.” Antiope really would be a wonderful queen. She and I have trained together for as long as we can walk, from diving into the sea surrounding Themsicrya, identifying the stars, and in no skill is she less adept than me. She has a kind but firm heart, just like Amazonians should have. And her scars are proof that she has sacrificed and suffered everything to serve our land and people. I only got the crown because I was older.

“If Hippolyta is crying, this must be serious.” I hear Kera say, walking over and tightly hugging me. Her dark skin shines radiantly against the white satin dress she is wearing.

“Kera,” I pout, “stop mentioning it!” then immediately cry over her shoulder. I feel Antiope’s hands brush against my back, and I smile with the frantically rolling down tears. At least I get to say goodbye. I allow myself to cry for a few more minutes before gathering myself together; Theseus would probably be coming soon.

“Hippolyta,” Kera says, lifting up my chin, and then with a soft grin says, “I was talking to Theseus, and you know how I am always correct with my observations?” I nod, fanning my eyes so the redness would be less distinguishable. “While he may not be so nice to those inferior to him, he already sees you as a wife, and I believe he sees you as an equal. So trust me that he’ll love you and treat you well—better than the average way husbands treat their spouse in Italy.”

“He isn’t a bad person.” Antiope continues, wrapping her arms around me, then whispers, “I’ll find the time to visit—promise.” Letting herself go, my sister adds in a jesty but stern tone, “And if he is ever abusive, you strike back. Leave him, and come back.”

“You know much of a change this is right?” I ask, sounding hopeless, looking up into the blue sky. “From warrior queen to wife.” Kera tilts her head sideways, her gold necklace glimmers under the sun, and Antiope looks down. I haven’t told anyone what I just said, not to Helena, Hermia, and of all, not Theseus, but it doesn’t make the change any less significant. I’m used to waking at dawn to train, then to train other high-ranked warriors. We fight, wrestle, throw javelins—do everything that I don’t think I can do again, and as a result injuries, both light and severe, are common. Last time, though, when I was sitting on a tree that I had climbed—without Theseus knowing, my forearm was cut. Theseus upon seeing it later, despite my efforts to conceal it, got an infamous doctor to pour tens of ointments on the wound, all merely to make sure I don’t get an infection and that the scar is minimal. I weakly smile before pulling Antiope, and Kera to the ground into a sitting position. I’ll have to be a neat, pretty, lady-like wife. But I don’t know-how, and barely anything on what being a woman is about in this new land. Of all, everything is so stereotypical—everyone has a role to play, a way to act, to fit into the society. Hermia and Helena are dressing in elegant gowns, waltzing into rooms. Amazons, though wear nothing but a long tunic, and stride into a room—or at times if needed, fight their way into one.

“It’ll be different,” Antiope says hesitantly, looking into the sky too. “But you'll be able to adjust.” Both of us used to do this during astronomy lessons, we’d stare into the galaxy for hours, side by side without talking, each thinking, and searching for different things. Nevertheless though, looking under the same sky. The turmoil in my brain is mostly gone, I’ve never been a long-term sulker. Amazons conquer, not lose. Suddenly both Kera, and Antiope turn around to face me and kneel down on one knee.

“It was an honor to serve you as a queen. All the sacrifices you made for us will forever be remembered. May your marriage be filled with joy, and prosperity,” My sister and Kera say simultaneously, then Antiope adds, “You will always be welcome to Themyscira. And if you cannot visit, we will visit you. This is not goodbye, merely a new phase of our lives.” I crumple down to the ground in a kneeling position, too, “It was an honor to serve as your queen. May your lives be filled with prosperity and joy. And may your battles all be victorious. I’ll always cherish our friendship, Kera, and our sisterhood, Antiope.” With that, we stand up. Antiope whispers, “I love you, Hippolyta.” Kera smiles and drags us into a cuddle, “You’ll be missed.”

“I love you, too,” I answer back.

Then we separated. They don’t turn back, and neither do I. Theseus chooses this time to come and wrap his arms around me from behind, and for the first time, I don’t reluctantly return it. I return it as I would to Antiope, Kera, and all the other Amazonians.