46. Chapter 46
Chapter 46
A gown the color of falling dusk skimmed Aurelia’s body.
Sleeves of deep charcoal bled into indigo, kissing her skin down to her wrists. Dashes spiraled down her arm, visible through the sheer fabric. The plunging neckline displayed the sunburst now etched there—a scaled down version of the one that spanned Ven’s chest—the rays ending just below her breasts and wrapping around her ribcage. She turned in the mirror, the length of the prayer to Fate inked down her spine exposed in the low back of the dress.
It was late last night when Aurelia had quietly knocked on the door to Nira and Embra’s shared chambers, but thankfully the Wraith had still been awake. She might have lost her nerve getting the tattoos otherwise.
In front of the softly glowing fire, Nira had swirled three ruby drops into the black ink. The blood of all the Wraiths that came before you, the dark female had said before she pressed the needle to Aurelia’s skin.
Ven stepped behind her in the mirror, fingertips brushing the nape of her neck as he buttoned the delicate closure at her shoulders.
The gown was simple in its elegance, but finely made. Overlapping panels of deep violet and midnight blue cascaded down into sweeping skirts that sighed against the floor. The fabric gathered at one hip, displaying the dagger gleaming darkly there—the twin to the one Ven wore. The only request she’d made of the seamstress before giving her carte blanche to design the breathtaking gown.
It would have been daring once—but she’d come to own her body, not as an object for others, but as a vessel for herself.
Ven's touch was feather-light against the still tender skin as his eyes lifted to meet hers in their shared reflection. Crimson, setting off her gold—further contrasted by the deep blue kohl she’d used to line them.
His hands lingered on her skin before he turned, shrugging on his tailored jacket. But she caught the apprehension etching a crease between his black brows.
“What is it?” She stepped toward him, cupping her palms on either side of his face.
“Even after all this time—” He shook his head, hooking the clasps of his jacket. “I still don’t know if I’ll be accepted.”
Her hand dropped, smoothing the velvet across his hard chest, black, save for the white crest of the Court of Shadow. A raven. Simple, but striking against his dark hair, picking out the bronze flecks of his eyes.
“I begged Karro to take it when we returned from the war—” His voice was hushed with the admission. “The crown—the throne.”
She stilled at the words, the vulnerability in his usually controlled demeanor.
“I raged at him—but he refused." He swallowed. "The only time he’s refused me of anything . . ." he said softly. “It would have been so easy for him.” Ven’s eyes lifted to hers, as if she could absolve him of some imagined crime. “I always envied him of that—He was adored. Respected. He never had to fight for his place here . . .”
Not like me.
The words hung unspoken in the air between them. Even after all this time—Ven still felt he had to prove himself to his people.
“And he chose you,” she quietly countered. “Just as Nira and Seth chose you—just as I chose you," she murmured. "The Wraiths have followed you for three hundred years as their Commander—they will follow you as their King,"
The crowd of Wraiths parted as Ven and Aurelia walked to the front of the hall.
The Blood Folk were stoic, somber as they gave shallow dips of their dark heads in deference to him—to her.
The glimpse of vulnerability he’d shown her moments ago was nowhere to be seen as Ven faced his people. The mask of the Wraith Commander sliding back into place as he scanned the crowded room.
“It’s been long since our people have tasted battle—” Ven’s voice was thick with the weight of his words, hanging heavy in the air. “But it has once again been brought to our doorstep.” Some of the Wraiths shifted, spines straightening. “You answered the call three hundred years ago when you knew the outcome was likely death.” Ven’s crimson eyes lifted, marking the faces of his people— their people. “And I’d ask you to answer it again.”
His words died away in the resounding silence.
It was for her that Ven had finally taken this step to claim the throne—the crown. But the Blood Folk were not a docile people, and there were still families within the court that had denied his mother's claim—and might deny his.
“I will answer your call,” a voice boomed.
Karro stepped forward, his heavy broadsword laid flat across his palms as he cut through the center of the room.
The crowd split in two as he knelt at Ven’s feet, his face uncharacteristically solemn as he dropped his gaze to the stone floor, offering up Flamecleaver.
He could have chosen any moment to gift the blade to Ven—but there had been purpose behind this—to show the entire court that he supported Ven’s claim to the throne.
That Ven was the true heir to the crown.
Karro put a fist to his chest. “My King.”
Nira and Seth stepped forward, bowing their heads and dropping to their knees.
His friends, his blood—they supported him, pushed him to take this title that he had denied his entire life.
Would the others?
It was the quiet fear that Ven rarely spoke aloud, even to her.
One of the Wraiths at the front of the crowd stepped forward, his mouth a solemn line as he dropped to a knee, slowly pounding a fist against his chest—the only sound in the otherwise silent hall. Until the female next to him added hers to the beating rhythm.
Valea stood apart from the others, a flash of silver stark against the black, but even his half-sister bent her knee.
And one by one—every dark head bowed.
A low, steady beat of pounding fists rumbled across the floor.
And as a single tear rolled down Ven’s cheek, he made no move to wipe it away as he looked out at them.
His people.
Nira came forward, bringing with her the delicate crown matching the one already gracing Ven's head.
Aurelia dropped to a knee, her dress puddling at her feet as she lowered her eyes before her king.
The crown glittered darkly as Ven lifted the circlet of iron and placed it on her head. Heavier than she'd expected.
A moment later, Ven’s fingertips were beneath her chin, lifting her face to meet his eyes.
“You bow for no one,” he murmured.