Chapter 44
Caelan
Evening fell, and the Cygnet Moon rose high above the canvas city, its silvery-blue halo reflecting fractals of light across the frozen pond and fresh powdery snow.
The blanket created a peaceful quiet, as it muffled voices and the footsteps of people who occasionally wandered off the cleared pathways.
Nobles, merchants, and wealthy citizens gathered at the city center in their warm coats.
Many of the women carried fur-lined muffs for their delicate hands, and fluffy hats perched on their heads.
Caelan didn’t blame them. He stuffed his own hands deeper into his coat pockets as his breath misted in front of him.
Caelan entered the tent and strode down the aisle.
He smiled and occasionally nodded to acknowledge a favored friend or key ally.
As the crowd settled in around him, no one spoke above a whisper, but the excitement in the room was palpable.
The musicians played, and the crowd’s energy rose with every chord struck.
Caelan took his place on the dais, hands clasped loosely in front, chin held high.
His squared shoulders rose as he took a shaky breath in response to a shift in the music.
The traditional bride’s march filled the room, and his heart pounded against his chest.
The silks were pulled aside, revealing a bundled-up Elara.
She stepped inside, and her attendants removed her hood and cloak.
A collective gasp of appreciation arose from the crowd.
Elara had selected a dress with red flowers.
Iris had braided Elara’s hair high, and delicate crystal strands hung from a crown of branches and fell over her face.
Even as Caelan’s breath left his lungs, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Many older attendees widened their eyes, appalled that she had forgone a traditional veil and modest gown.
Her dress revealed an ample spread of skin from arms, shoulders, chest, and bosom.
Caelan licked his dry lips, focusing his gaze on her beautiful face.
She was no innocent, helpless woman being married off to a lord of a higher station.
No, she was a queen with her crown, marrying the man she loved for the betterment of the continent.
Caelan’s heart swelled with pride. Elara refused to hide, to submit for the sake of tradition.
He admired her boldness, and any who would question or challenge her would never have the courage to match hers.
Elara glided down the aisle, never breaking her eye contact with Caelan.
A genuine smile, intended solely for him, brightened her features.
Greedily, he took her in, and in that moment, the world faded, leaving him simply a man about to wed his love.
He could almost forget the battle that was coming.
Almost.
As she reached the dais, Caelan shook his head to clear his mind and gather his thoughts before stepping down and offering her his arm.
He helped her up onto the dais—he didn’t know how she’d made walking in her heavy gown look effortless—and they stood facing each other.
He wrapped his calloused hands around her smooth ones, interlacing their fingers.
Their hearts pounded hard enough that he could feel her frantic pulse echoing his own.
This was the sort of love that inspired paintings and the songs his mother had sung. The nation would record this moment in its history, but Caelan would cherish it. One of his thumbs traced a circle on the back of Elara’s hand, keeping him grounded, present in the moment.
“Silence, please. Welcome, one and all, to the sacred union of Princess Elara Evensong of Valoria and Captain Caelan Stormrider of Veilkeep.” The officiant held his arms out wide, his long gray sleeves draping onto the ground in front of him.
As he spoke, his tall pillar hat bobbed.
He had a long white beard and hair to match, his eyes glowing with pride.
As the officiant continued his speech, Elara’s smile fell and her eyes widened, tears pooling at their edges.
Caelan traced her gaze to the front row, where Sera’s illusions of her family were sitting beside his father.
A searing pang of guilt and sadness struck him that her family couldn’t be here to witness her wedding.
Caelan squeezed her hands in reassurance.
“Hey,” he whispered. “It’s going to be all right. I’ve got you.” He held her hand to his lips, and the audience’s collective sigh washed over them.
“I know,” she said, her smile returning, smaller than before. “I love you, Caelan, no matter what.”
“I love you too. We can do this.”
“All rise,” the officiant boomed, and the audience stood in unison. “Your Highness, if you please?”
Elara held out her hand, palm up. With a slim silver knife, the officiant sliced the outer edge.
She grimaced—putting on a show for the crowd—then squeezed her fist to encourage fat droplets of blood to fall into the wide brass bowl at their feet.
Caelan was next, doing his best not to flinch at the knife’s sting.
Tink. Tink. Tink.
The blood vow sealed his fate. One prison traded for another.
Soon he would become the king of Serendith.
The weight of responsibility settled onto his shoulders.
But at least he wouldn’t be alone. It was a good thing he never wanted to be free of her—his heart had been hers from the first time she’d punched him in the jaw in their filthy training room.
“By the mingling of your lifeblood, two streams have become one river. Before the stars, the realm, and all who bear witness here today, your bond is sealed. From this day until your last, you are bound not only by blood and oath, but by essence itself. May the stars guide you.”
“May the stars guide us,” Caelan and Elara echoed in unison.
The officiant lifted the bowl high to the cheers of the crowd.
After wrapping their hands in clean linen, the couple turned to face their guests.
The royal newlyweds stood on the dais as the nobles lined up in the aisle, waiting for their turns to kiss the bride’s cheeks and wish the couple well.
Meanwhile, servants repositioned the benches, clearing a space for dancing.
Caelan counted those among them who were in his ranks and double-checked the exit points.
Servers passed silver trays of drinks to those who had finished paying their respects to the couple, while the musicians indulged in a raucous melody.
Elara was more patient than Caelan in managing the guests.
She was kind but firm, fending off requests for audiences with the king or less savory favors.
“Not now,” she’d say with a wave of her hand.
“Let me enjoy my husband for the evening, and perhaps my father will hear your request during the next council gathering.” With her dazzling smile outshining even her dress, it was impossible for them not to be enamored with her and walk away satisfied, even if they hadn’t gotten what they’d wanted.
Caelan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, antsy from standing in one place for so long.
He nodded amicably at each set of guests and even shook hands with those he was genuinely friends with.
He pretended to be interested in the drinks and the conversation, but his skin crawled in anticipation.
Caelan, though accustomed to attention at parties, found this unparalleled.
He was used to the advances of beautiful women—and the occasional gentleman—but not the advances of politicians.
Elara rubbed his shoulder, and he leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.
“Almost there,” she said. “How are you feeling?” She scanned the room, no doubt wondering where his soldiers were stationed.
“Ready to get out of these ridiculous clothes,” he said, tugging at his stiff collar. “And to get you out of that dress.” Teasing her distracted him from his fear. Elara’s blush gave him something to look forward to when this night was over.
Once they’d chatted with the last members of the line, Iris whisked them away to a private corner of the tent.
A small table had been prepared with two of the place settings that Elara had chosen, plates overflowing with a selection of the food being passed around on trays and served with white gloves.
Caelan stuck his finger into a saucy dish and brought it to his lips, then caught Elara staring at him and checked to make sure no one else was in earshot.
“All of my men are in place. Jalin and Kaz too,” he said.
Elara nodded, the movement almost imperceptible in her headdress. “Sera and I are ready too. After our first dance, you and I will corner your father, and she will blind him.”
“And I’ll take care of the rest.”
“If anything goes wrong . . .” Elara began.
“If anything goes wrong, my men will evacuate the tent, and I’ll fight him.” Caelan’s knuckles turned white as his grip on a spoon threatened to bend the metal.
I won’t fail you this time. His silent promise, a firm knot in his chest, gave him the courage he needed for the upcoming confrontation.