Chapter 38 Morgana
Morgana
“Do you think it’s too much?” I ask, shifting in front of the mirror.
“No,” Phaia says, tutting. “It’s perfect.”
“Yes, it’s too much,” Tira corrects as she grins at me. “But that’s the point. It’s your wedding day, stupid. You have to go over the top.”
I smile, drifting my hands over the embroidered bodice of my dress up to the neckline that sits lightly across my collarbones, the delicate lace giving the impression that the dress melts into my skin.
In reality, it curves up around my arms and over my shoulders, from which a cascade of soft gold fabric falls.
Every inch of it is embroidered with sparkling suns and stars.
The dress is a statement, a proud acknowledgment of my celestial abilities, and a proclamation that solari no longer have to hide in the dark.
There are people in Trova who I know will be slow to accept our kind.
You can’t erase half a century’s prejudice overnight, but it starts with me refusing to be ashamed of who I am—of what I was born to be.
I look over to Damia leaning against the wall with a bored expression. To be honest, I’m surprised she even agreed to be in my bridal party at all, but I suspect Corrin talked her into it.
“What about you?” I ask her.
“Don’t listen to what she says,” Phaia interrupts before she can answer. “Damia hates anything you can’t swing a sword in.”
I don’t bother pointing out that Damia is, in fact, wearing a dress today. Albeit one so dark it looks nearly black, with skirts that don’t restrict her movements and still allow for a big sword to be strapped to her hip. She straightens, frowning at Phaia.
“Actually, I think you look great,” she says to me. “The captain will love it.”
Phaia gapes at her, and I smile in thanks.
“I’m coming in!” calls a voice at the door. “Everyone better be decent.”
I turn to look at Harman, extremely smart in a high-collared jacket with gold brocade at the shoulders. He walks into the room, only a slight stiffness giving away any sign of the injury he suffered four months ago.
“Wow,” he smiles at me, taking in the dress.
“You like it?” I ask.
“You do the Angevires proud,” he says.
“And the Sandales too?” I ask. I don’t know what my parents would think of my gown, but I care what he thinks.
“Definitely the Sandales,” he says softly, leaning down to hug me. When he straightens up, he looks around at us all. “Are you ready to go?”
I nod, and he offers me his elbow.
“See you at the sanctuary,” Tira grins as she, Phaia, and Damia hurry past us.
“You look like a prince, Harman,” I say as he escorts me along the palace corridors. “Really.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Al said something similar. I suppose I should look the part, if I’m going to be living in a palace.”
“You don’t mind?” I ask, biting my lip. “Do you miss the Hand?”
He looks down at me with wide eyes, like he’s surprised I even have to ask the question.
“Morgana, I got everything I wanted. The Hand of Ralus was created to end the Temple, to bring freedom of faith back to Trova. And we have—or at least, we’re well on our way.
And it’s not like I never get to speak to my old friends.
With my new job and a certain best man, my life will never be dull. ”
I nod, pleased. I knew that Harman would languish away as a nobleman if he didn’t have a way to put his skills to use.
For the last four months, he’s been taking over Trova’s intelligence network, using his Hand contacts to establish spies across Trova and set up an espionage unit from Elmere.
The war is over, but it’s still useful to have eyes across the country, watching for trouble so we’re ready if it comes.
We cross a courtyard and arrive at the palace sanctuary.
The ancient stone building towers above us, the bricks much darker than the rest of the castle.
It’s been on this site since long before the War of the Laurels.
It’s probably older than the palace itself.
I take in the image of the scythe of Ethira engraved over the doorway.
But we’ve added more symbols now: fire, water, air, and earth, as well as the sun and moon.
Now all the major gods sit side by side, no one above the other.
“Are you nervous?” Harman asks as we move toward the doors.
I shake my head. “I don’t think I’ve been less nervous for anything ever.”
My legs feel wobbly and my head a little dizzy, but only because I’m so excited. Ever since Leon asked me the question, I’ve been ready for this moment. Now I just close my eyes and listen for his heartbeat, thudding steadily on the other side of the doors.
When we step through those doors, I’m overwhelmed by a sea of faces—the whole court gathered to see the Trovian queen wed the prince of Filusia. I look past them all, searching for him. There at the front, beside a beaming Alastor, he waits for me.
I smile as my gaze meets a pair of fathomless gray eyes.
Leon
I’m not sure I’ll remember the vows, or much of the ceremony that takes place on the best day of my life.
I’m too busy looking at Ana, watching every small shift in her expression and absorbing every new layer of joy that washes over me across the mooring.
That’s what I care about. The words and the rituals are important, of course, but I already know I’m tied to this woman until the end of my days.
Without magic, without moorings or entwined souls, I’d still be there, by her side, because it’s the only place I want to be.
She arrived in the sanctuary looking like Lusteris descended to earth, floating down the aisle as an ethereal vision. The sunlight streaming through the windows hit the sparkles of her dress and refracted it a thousand times across the sanctuary, bathing us all in her light.
That’s what she is, really—a sun that lights up the world around her, pulling people into her orbit just with the power of her heart.
I think I say as much as we exchange the rings, and then the priest announces us husband and wife, and I get to kiss her for the thousandth time, thinking how the thousand next times will be just as good.
“So that went well,” she says to me as we walk down the aisle, waving and smiling at the cheering guests. “Did you like the priest?”
“Yes,” I say, glancing back at the ancient man who officiated. “But he’s no cleric. Where did you find him?”
“He used to run the sanctuary in Otscold. Lots of Trova’s remote places have people like that—lay preachers instead of actual Temple employees. He never went much in for the Ethiran stuff.”
“So you’re telling me he’s not officially a priest?” I ask, amused. “Are we actually even married?”
“Yes!” Ana replies, laughing at me as we exit the sanctuary. “I made him one. I can do that now.”
I shrug. “It’s all a formality anyway.”
She knows what I mean, that I’ve already bound myself to her in much better ways.
“Not just a formality,” she says with a raised brow as we let the guests surge from the sanctuary and toss flower petals over us. “There’s also the small matter of this ceremony making you the king of Trova.”
“Ah yes,” I say, “that.”
General Becane makes way for us through the crowds, escorting us toward the palace’s great hall as our guests fall into step behind us.
“I suppose it’s a little ironic,” I say, thinking it over, “considering how I ran from taking over Fairon’s responsibilities. And now I’ve ended up on a throne anyway.”
We arrive at the hall, but Ana stops before we step through the doors.
“General Becane, would you mind showing the guests inside?” she asks. “The king and I just need a moment.”
Then she grabs my hand and whisks me off down a side corridor.
“What are you doing?” I ask, but I’m answered when she pulls us into an alcove. I let her push me up against the wall as she stands on her toes and wraps her arms around my neck.
This kiss is much less chaste than the one we shared in the sanctuary.
Her lips move hungrily against mine, awakening a slow, pleasant heat through my body.
I slip my hands beneath the swaths of fabric that make up her cape, finding the curve of her behind and sliding my hands over it with an appreciative noise.
She presses herself up harder against me, sighing against my mouth.
“I needed that,” she says. “But we should get back to the great hall. If we’re gone too long, people will get ideas.”
I draw back. “I seem to remember this being your idea,” I point out.
She grins, dropping another peck on my lips. “I just wanted to make it clear that this whole king thing will be so worth your time.”
“Everything’s worth it for you, Ana,” I say.
“I know,” she replies with an unworried smile. “But you should know you can be as involved or as uninvolved as you want. It doesn’t need to be too taxing for you. In fact, if you don’t want to go and sit up there right now while everyone bows and congratulates us, you don’t have to.”
“And miss the opportunity to show my new wife off to all of Trova? Not likely. Besides, I don’t mind if serving my queen is a little taxing.”
I run my hands over her body again so she gets my precise meaning, and she grins.
“Oh, you don’t, do you?” she asks and laughs as I dip her back in my arms, leaning over to plant one last kiss on her lips—for now, anyway.
The hall is laid out sumptuously for the wedding banquet, the long tables arranged around the central point where Ana and I sit.
After the hundreds of courtiers have feasted and the band has begun to play, we start the process of receiving each of the guests so they can pay homage to their new queen, and even newer king.
Honestly, all the nobles start blending together after a while.
I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to learn their faces and names when I’m not quite so distracted, but for now, I just nod politely as they move past in an endless line.
Eventually, however, a familiar face steps up in front of our table.