Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Bertha gave me one last critical look, her hands smoothing the blue fabric over my shoulders, pulling at the edges of the intricate silver embroidery. “Ye’ll stand out, no doubt about that,” she said. “Not many would wear blue for something like this.”
I caught her eye in the mirror, and she hesitated before adding, “Are ye sure, Princess? It’s bold—too bold for some. Ye know how they are about tradition here.”
I sighed, glancing at my reflection. “It suits me,” I said simply, not wanting to admit the rising tension clawing at my insides.
Bertha nodded, but her frown lingered. “Just be prepared for what comes next. Emberfall weddings are as much about politics as they’re ‘bout marriage.”
Before I could respond, a knock interrupted us. My heart leapt, and Bertha gave me a knowing look before opening the door. The wives were waiting, shrouded in deep crimson gowns, hoods pulled low enough to cast shadows over their faces.
Lady Lyra stepped forward first, her eyes sharp as daggers beneath the hood. Her skin glimmered faintly in the candlelight. Her features were as stern as always, her presence commanding, the subtle clink of gold in her braids a reminder of her warlord lineage. “You’re ready?” she asked, though her tone made it clear she wasn’t expecting an answer.
I nodded, swallowing my nerves. “I am.”
Behind her, Lady Vivienne smirked, her flowing chestnut hair spilling over her shoulders like liquid fire. Though she wore the same hooded ensemble as the others, her gown revealed just enough skin to draw the eye. “I see you’ve chosen blue,” she said. “An interesting choice, darling. I thought I told you the king despises blue?”
The corners of Lyra’s lips twitched, though she kept her face neutral. “You could have asked us for guidance. But it seems you’re intent on… standing out.”
I refused to flinch. “I wasn’t aware the color of my gown was of such importance.”
Lady Isolde, who stood quietly beside Vivienne, observed me with her unreadable dark eyes. She said nothing, only nodded slightly as her gaze swept over me.
“I think she looks beautiful,” Lady Maris said softly. The rich contrast between her dark skin and the crimson gown made her look regal, though her kindness was the only warmth I felt in the room. Her golden curls, tightly coiled and framing her face, softened her presence, but even her warmth couldn’t pierce the growing tension.
In the back, Lady Therynne was absorbed in a thick book, her ink-stained fingers flipping a page before glancing up briefly. She offered me a nod of acknowledgment but quickly returned to her text, uninterested in the posturing happening around her.
Lyra’s eyes remained on me a moment longer before she turned on her heel. “Let’s go. The cathedral is ready.”
I took a steadying breath and followed them out, Rhydian falling into step beside me. His silence was a tangible thing, coiled and unspoken, and yet his presence beside me felt heavier than it should. I stole a glance at him, and my breath caught—his eyes were already on me, dark and unreadable, like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t want to admit existed.
“What?” I asked, the word sharper than I intended, my pulse fluttering under the weight of his gaze.
He didn’t answer right away. His eyes dipped briefly, tracing the fabric of my dress, before meeting mine again. A flicker of something I couldn’t name passed over his face—admiration, maybe, but laced with something else.
“You’re wearing that?” he asked, his voice low, like he was testing the words.
I blinked, heat rising to my cheeks. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s just… distracting.”
“Distracting?” I echoed, half a laugh escaping before I could stop it. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
His smile deepened, and for a moment, it softened the sharp edges of his face. “It suits you,” he said, quieter this time, the words slipping into the air between us like a confession.
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came. There was something in the way he looked at me—like he was holding back, his gaze steady but layered with something I couldn’t quite read.
“Well,” I managed, a weak attempt at nonchalance, “try not to trip over your own feet. I wouldn’t want to be blamed for that.”
He chuckled under his breath, the sound low and rough. “I’ll manage,” he murmured, his eyes lingering a beat too long before he looked ahead again.
“Something’s wrong,” I whispered. It was strange that Lady Lyra wanted to escort me.
“Everything’s wrong,” he said, his tone returning to its usual rough edge. “But we’ll deal with it.”
I bit back a retort, knowing this wasn’t the time to press him. The further we walked, the more the weight of the day settled over me, heavy and suffocating. The palace seemed colder today, its towering walls and ornate carvings looming overhead like silent witnesses to my fate.
When we reached the cathedral, I stopped short.
It was massive, far larger than I had imagined. The vaulted ceiling soared above us, supported by golden pillars that stretched toward the heavens, each one etched with intricate depictions of the sun god’s triumphs. The walls were lined with towering stained glass windows that depicted scenes of Emberfall’s history, from its founding to its greatest battles. The sunlight poured through the glass in vibrant hues of red, gold, and orange, casting the entire space in a warm, holy glow. The scent of incense hung thick in the air, mingling with the smoke of hundreds of candles that lined the aisles.
It was beautiful, yes—but it felt like a tomb.
The wives flanked me as we moved down the long aisle toward the altar, where Lady Selene stood waiting. Her white ceremonial robes shimmered in the golden light, and her golden hair was pulled back in a severe braid, as rigid as the posture she maintained. Her eyes gleamed with reverence, the same solemn intensity she carried whenever she invoked the sun god’s name.
As we approached, I felt the weight of the entire court bearing down on me. Officials and nobles filled the pews, their eyes watching me with interest. I was the outsider here, a symbol of an alliance they were forced to accept, and every move I made felt like it was being dissected.
I took a deep breath, but before I could steady myself, Lady Lyra turned to me with a smirk.
“The king won’t be joining us today,” Lyra said, her voice smooth and casual, but the gleam in her eyes gave her away. Satisfaction radiated from her like heat off a flame. “He’s been summoned to a council meeting with my father.”
I stopped dead in my tracks, the air around me seeming to still. “He’s… not coming to his own wedding?”
Lyra turned toward me, tilting her head with an exaggerated slowness that only deepened the sharpness of her smile. “The ceremony only requires your vow, Princess. The king will… receive it at his convenience.”
Her words struck like a slap, and my heart pounded as I stared at her, struggling to keep my expression steady. All week, I’d caught only fleeting glimpses of King Ciaran, like a shadow slipping just out of reach. And now, on the day that was supposed to solidify this alliance—my entire reason for being here—he couldn’t even bother to attend?
From somewhere behind her, Vivienne’s laugh floated through the air, soft and mocking. “All eyes on you, darling. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Wanted?” My voice came out sharper than I intended, and I squared my shoulders, looking between them. “What I wanted was for the king to show up to the marriage he arranged.”
Lyra stepped closer, her cold smile deepening. “And what makes you think you’re more important than a meeting with a warlord? This kingdom doesn’t revolve around you, Princess. It’s not Icespire, where a few frostbitten traditions pass for substance.”
I clenched my fists at my sides, her words biting far deeper than they should have. “I wasn’t under the impression that showing basic respect was considered a tradition.”
Vivienne gasped, her hand fluttering to her chest in mock horror. “How bold, our little Icespire princess.”
Lyra’s gaze narrowed, but her satisfaction didn’t falter—if anything, it grew. “Boldness will get you nowhere here,” she said, her tone sharper now, laced with amusement. “You’re a piece on the board, nothing more. Be grateful the ceremony is even happening at all. An alliance was negotiated for you, not by you. Remember your place.”
My throat tightened, but I forced my chin up, refusing to let her see how much the words stung. “I know exactly what my place is,” I said, my voice steady despite the heat rising in my chest. “And I know exactly what I promised when I came here. I’ve kept my word. Shame the king can’t say the same.”
Lyra’s smile thinned, her satisfaction turning to something icier, sharper. “Mind your tongue, Princess. The king’s patience is not infinite, and neither is mine.”
I clenched my fists at my sides, forcing myself not to react. Beside me, Rhydian let out a low growl, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He was angry—angrier than I had ever seen him—but this wasn’t the time or place for him to intervene.
Selene stepped forward. It was as though the king’s absence meant nothing to her. “The sun god blesses this union. His presence is enough for today.”
The words felt hollow in the vastness of the cathedral. Every eye in the room was on me, waiting for me to fall in line, to make the vow they expected. But I wasn’t going to. Not like this.
“I take promises seriously,” I said, my words carrying through the cathedral, cutting through the tension like a blade. The wives exchanged glances, and I saw the surprise flicker in Selene’s eyes.
“What are you doing?” Lyra hissed.
I turned to face her fully, my heart pounding. “I will not make a vow unless the king is here to receive it.”
A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd, shock and confusion twisting in the air. Isolde’s eyes narrowed as she glanced between me and Lyra, while Maris gave me a look that could only be described as pleading, as though she wanted to help but couldn’t.
“You will do what the ceremony demands,” Lyra said. Her black eyes flashed dangerously. “This is not your choice.”
I met her gaze, refusing to back down. “Yes, it is. If King Ciaran cannot be bothered to attend his own wedding, then there is no wedding.”
The silence that followed was thick, almost unbearable. The tension between me and the wives, the officials, the priests—it was a powder keg waiting to explode. Even Maris, who rarely showed any sign of doubt, looked uncertain.
“You have no right to make this decision,” Lyra said. “You’ll regret this.”
I forced my chin up, my spine straightening. “Perhaps. But I’m not making a vow to a king who won’t even show up.”
Rhydian stepped closer, his presence a solid wall beside me. “She’s right,” he said. “She’s not making a vow unless the king is here.”
The officials shifted uncomfortably in their seats, their whispers growing louder. Even the wives seemed unsure, their confidence shaken. For the first time since I arrived in Emberfall, I felt like I had control.
Lyra’s cold, menacing laugh filled the cathedral as she stepped closer, her eyes gleaming with barely contained fury. The other wives lingered behind her, watching silently, their expressions unreadable but clearly enjoying the spectacle. The tension in the air thickened, and the flickering candlelight warped and twisted as the shadows in the room seemed to come alive.
“You think you can disturb him whenever you please?” Lyra asked. “You think you can waltz into King Ciaran’s life and demand his attention, his time? You’re nothing but a cold, pathetic girl from a dead kingdom, and you mean nothing here.”
Her braid, woven with gold rings that jingled softly with every movement, swung behind her like the tail of a serpent as she advanced, her presence dark and suffocating. The shadows in the corners of the room stretched and twisted, warping unnaturally, as if alive.
I stood my ground, but I could feel the creeping fear rise in my chest. The air felt heavy, cold, and suffocating. Lyra’s magic—umbrafyre—was crawling toward me, slithering like a living thing. The shadows coiled around my ankles first, cold as death, snaking up my legs, holding me in place.
“You planned this,” I managed to say, panting as the shadows tightened around my wrists and throat. “You wanted him to stay away from the ceremony.”
Lyra smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Of course I did. I have more claim to him than you ever will. You don’t deserve to stand in his presence, and I won’t let you ruin what we have.”
The shadows tightened, cold and merciless, squeezing the breath from my lungs as they snaked up my body. I struggled against the darkness. It wasn’t just the physical weight of her magic—it was the way it fed off my fear.
“I’m protecting him from you,” Lyra hissed, stepping even closer, her words filled with venom. “I’ve seen girls like you before—desperate to take what doesn’t belong to them.”
The shadows crawled higher, and my vision blurred as my chest tightened. I could feel the ice inside me stir, but it was sluggish, too weak to fight against the crushing force of her darkness. The frost spread across the floor in thin, fragile tendrils, but it was no match for the cold, choking grip of her umbrafyre.
“You don’t belong here,” Lyra spat, her eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. “You never did.”
I tried to push back, summoning what little strength I had left, but her magic only tightened, squeezing until my vision began to fade.
Suddenly, the doors to the cathedral burst open with a thunderous crash.
King Ciaran stormed in, his amber eyes blazing with fury. The room was instantly flooded with light—brighter than the midday sun. His presence was overpowering, his power crackling in the air like lightning, and the shadows recoiled from him as if burned by the very force of his magic.
“I’m trying to discuss important matters,” Ciaran said, “and I’m told you refuse to go through with the ceremony. And now I walk in to find my wives fighting amongst themselves?” His gaze swept across the room, settling on me—crumpled on the floor, breathless under the weight of Lyra’s magic.
Lyra’s umbrafyre snapped back in an instant, the shadows retreating as Ciaran’s power surged. She stumbled back, her face paling as she dropped to one knee, bowing her head in submission.
“My king,” Lyra began. “She—she defied you. I was?—”
“Enough,” Ciaran snapped, cutting her off as he stepped forward. His amber eyes blazed with fury as his power flared, making the candles flicker violently. “What is happening here?”
Lyra kept her head bowed, her hands clenched at her sides. “She refused the wedding,” she said. “I was protecting you. She’s a threat?—”
“A threat?” Ciaran’s voice was a dangerous whisper. “To what? To you?”
He turned to look at me, his gaze softening only slightly as he took in my trembling form. I could barely push myself to my knees, my limbs shaking from the strain of Lyra’s magic. Rhydian was by my side in an instant, his strong arms steadying me, his presence a shield between me and the king’s fury. I could feel the tension radiating from him, the protectiveness in every movement, though he said nothing.
Ciaran’s eyes snapped to Rhydian for a brief moment, noting the way he positioned himself so closely to me, but his attention quickly returned to Lyra. “You act without my command?”
Lyra flinched but kept her head bowed. “I was protecting you, my king. She refused?—”
“You know the rules,” Ciaran repeated. The light around him flared again, and Lyra’s trembling became more pronounced.
I forced myself to stand, though my legs felt like jelly beneath me. “I didn’t refuse,” I said. “I don’t make promises to absent people.”
Ciaran’s amber eyes snapped to mine, narrowing. “What did you say?”
I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “I—I take promises seriously. I won’t make a vow to someone who isn’t there to receive it.”
For a moment, there was silence. Ciaran’s gaze locked onto mine, his amber eyes unblinking. The intensity of his stare made my skin prickle, but I held his gaze, refusing to look away.
“Promises are important to you?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yes. Promises are… s-special to me.”
The faintest flicker of surprise crossed his face, but it was gone before I could fully register it. He turned back to Lyra, who was still kneeling at his feet, her face pale and her body trembling under the weight of his fury.
“Get out,” Ciaran ordered.
Lyra rose slowly, her movements stiff and mechanical. She cast one final, venomous glance in my direction before turning and leaving the cathedral, the doors slamming behind her with a loud, echoing thud.
King Ciaran turned slowly, his eyes sweeping across the gathered nobles who had silently witnessed the spectacle unfold. Their faces were blank, but I could sense the ripple of unease passing through them—no one dared move, not even a whisper breaking the silence.
The king’s eyes burned with restrained fury as he addressed the room. “Let this be a reminder to all of you,” he began, the light of the stained glass catching on the gold threads in his dark hair. “The purpose of this union—of any union—is not for personal power, ambition, or petty rivalries. We stand on the fringe of war, and it is imperative that Emberfall unites with Icespire to secure our future. Without unity, we will be left vulnerable. Weak.”
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the court. “The Dragon King waits for our downfall. Our enemies are watching, waiting for the moment we fracture. But we will not. This alliance will ensure our survival. And it will begin today.”
The nobles murmured their agreement, though I could still feel the tension simmering beneath the surface. His words were powerful, but the spectacle they had just witnessed—the king’s wives turning against one another—had left its mark. Unity was not something that could be forged in the heat of anger and jealousy.
Ciaran’s eyes snapped back to me, still trembling slightly from the aftershocks of Lyra’s magic. He stepped closer, his presence suffocating, and for a moment, I thought he might strike.
Without another word, he jerked me forward, dragging me away from Rhydian. My heart pounded, but I had no choice but to follow as he led me to where Selene stood, her face serene but her eyes gleaming with intensity. She stepped forward, the beads of her prayer chain clicking softly in her hand, and raised her arms in solemn reverence as she took her place between us.
The nobles leaned in slightly, eager to watch what would unfold next. King Ciaran didn’t look at me, his face as impassive as stone, while Selene began the ceremony.
“The sun god blesses this union,” she began. “May his light guide you, Princess Aeliana, as you pledge your eternal service to Emberfall and its king.”
Her lips curved into something that could have been a smile—or a warning.
“Bow to the king, and pledge yourself.”
My heart hammered in my chest, but I did as instructed. The cold stone of the cathedral floor pressed against my knees as I knelt before King Ciaran, lowering myself fully until my forehead nearly touched the ground. The silence in the room was deafening, and I could feel the eyes of the nobles watching me, judging me.
Selene’s voice continued, unwavering. “You will now make your vow to Emberfall, to its king, and to the sun god. Pledge your body, your mind, and your soul to the service of the king.”
I closed my eyes, forcing the words out. “I vow my loyalty to Emberfall,” I began. “My body is for the king’s use, as he sees fit. I offer him my strength, my service, and my obedience.”
The words tasted like ash on my tongue, each one more demeaning than the last. I could feel the weight of them pressing down on me as I knelt there. I wanted to scream, to rage against the indignity of it, but I forced myself to stay still, to endure.
“I pledge my mind,” I continued, “to serve the king’s will. My thoughts, my decisions, will align with his, for his wisdom is greater than mine.”
My hands trembled slightly as I pressed them to the floor, the cold seeping into my skin. The vow was more than words; it was a complete surrender. A promise to serve not just as a wife, but as a tool, an extension of King Ciaran’s power.
“I offer my soul,” I finished. “To the sun god, to the king, to Emberfall. May I live in his light and serve in his shadow.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. I could feel the eyes of the court burning into me, waiting for me to falter, to break. I refused. My heart pounded, and a wave of shame coursed through me, but I kept my head bowed.
Selene raised her hands again. “This union is blessed by the sun god. You are bound to Emberfall, Princess Aeliana. You will serve your king faithfully, with all that you are.”
I didn’t look up. I couldn’t. My body shook with the effort of staying still, of keeping the rage and humiliation locked away where no one could see it. I had just made a vow of complete servitude, a vow that had stripped me of my identity, my power.
But I wasn’t done yet.
Slowly, I raised my head, the cold from the stone floor still clinging to my skin. My eyes flicked to King Ciaran, who stood there watching me. I could feel the tension between us, the anger simmering beneath the surface.
“There is… another tradition,” I said as I stood up. “From my homeland. In Icespire, we bind our hands in ice at weddings. It’s a symbol of unity, of eternal strength. It’s something I always imagined… for my wedding.”
Ciaran’s gaze narrowed slightly, but he didn’t pull away. “And you want this now?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice growing firmer. “Now.”
Without waiting for his permission, I reached for his hand, my fingers trembling slightly as they wrapped around his. His skin was warm beneath mine, but I didn’t let go. The cold inside me stirred, and I felt the sensation of frost creeping through my veins. The ice formed quickly, wrapping around our hands in intricate patterns, delicate and beautiful, but unyielding.
The temperature in the room dropped as the frost spread, the shimmering ice casting a pale glow beneath the cathedral’s golden light. The cold wrapped around our hands, binding us together in a way that felt more real than the vows I had just spoken. The ice was mine—my power, my control.
I glanced up at King Ciaran, expecting anger or mockery, but instead, his eyes locked onto mine. The space between us seemed to tighten, the air growing heavy with a tension that had nothing to do with politics.
He didn’t pull away. He didn’t speak. His fingers twitched, and for a moment, I thought I felt him squeeze my hand. My breath hitched, the heat of his body burning through the cold that bound us together.
For a heartbeat, we stood frozen, our hands entwined in ice, and the space between us crackled. I could feel my pulse quicken, my skin prickling under his gaze. His eyes bore into mine, and the cold suddenly felt more like a fire.
Consuming.
Dangerous.
I had imagined this moment for so long—my wedding, the binding of hands, a promise of unity. But this… this was different. Darker. More real than anything I had ever prepared for.
Ciaran’s lips parted slightly, as if he were about to speak, but then he stopped. His grip tightened briefly, and the look in his eyes deepened.
Then, with a sudden jerk, he pulled his hand free, shattering the ice between us. A crack echoed through the cathedral, and shards fell to the ground, sparkling like broken glass.
“Are we done?” he asked.
I swallowed, forcing myself to nod. “Yes.”
Ciaran’s eyes remained on me for a moment longer, but whatever had passed between us was gone, replaced by the cold indifference he had worn when he first entered the room.
Without another word, he turned and stormed out of the cathedral, his dark cloak billowing behind him. The nobles watched in silence, their whispers beginning to ripple through the room, but I remained where I was, my heart pounding in my chest, the shattered ice at my feet a bitter reminder of the vows I had made.