Chapter 36
Evan
The following days went by peacefully, and I fulfilled my promise to Genevieve by visiting the flower shop each morning. I embraced the routine of caring for the jasmine and assisting her with the flood of orders coming in.
Gregory refused to let me out of his sight though. On the first morning, he followed me to the shop, his presence a massive, brooding shape among the delicate blossoms, clearly intent on standing guard all day.
Genevieve put a stop to that immediately. “An alpha hovering like a nervous hen does no one any good, Gregory,” she’d said, poking him with a bundle of dried lavender. “And you’re frightening my customers. If you won’t leave, make yourself useful.”
When Gregory first picked up a heavy crate of vases, tension radiated from every corner of the shop. Several people flinched, glancing at his clenched fists as if expecting fire.
The cords in Gregory’s neck strained taut. With a sigh, he started hauling the heaviest boxes and lifting the thickest garlands to beams no one else could reach.
The initial anxiety eventually dissolved.
Villagers offered him ale, and men asked his opinion on the structural integrity of an arch.
They treated him with immense, almost sacred respect.
It became clear that here, in Mossfen, their nervousness and fear were because they also didn’t see him as just a warrior or the man who’d nearly scorched the square, but as something more, separate and much higher than them.
Unlike the awe they showed Gregory, their kindness toward me was simple and direct.
They treated me as Evan, the person they knew from the shop.
Warm smiles greeted me as I helped string garlands of climbing roses and other vivid blossoms between the cottage beams. Even though Mossfen was already overflowing with flowers, these new arrangements added a beautiful touch to the village.
The day of the Blessing arrived, and true to her word, Lyra practically dragged me to Adam’s house right at noon to get ready.
I sat at the small wooden vanity in Adam’s guest room, and sunlight traced the features I was still learning—the freckles scattered across the nose, the vibrant ginger hair, the softer lines.
The reflection staring back still gave me a jolt, but it was becoming mine.
Lyra worked her magic, styling my shoulder-length hair into a braided bun while letting wavy strands escape to frame my cheeks.
She dressed me in detached linen sleeves, pale beige and full, that gathered at my wrists and were pinned at the shoulders.
A structured bodice of the same creamy color, embroidered with swirling red thread, cinched my waist above dark, fitted trousers.
The effect was distinctly ceremonial. I might as well have been preparing for my own wedding. My chest tightened at the thought.
Lyra nudged my shoulder. “So? What do you think?”
Mud stains and torn fabric from before, from the day Gregory lost control, flashed in my memory. “It’s beautiful, Lyra. I’m afraid I’ll ruin these too.”
“Don’t you worry about that. Papa’s clothes deserve to be worn, especially today. Enjoy yourself. It’s a celebration!”
Despite her enthusiasm, a strange sensation crept over me, and I rubbed my arms. “Something feels off. A bit cold.”
“Cold? Let me check.” Lyra pressed her knuckles against my forehead.
A golden pulse of magic emanated from her touch, gone as soon as it appeared.
She pulled back and analyzed me. “Hmm. You don’t feel feverish.
Maybe it’s nerves?” Her cheeks turned red as she averted her gaze briefly, then spun around with a flourish.
“Well, no time for nerves! I’m ready too!” she announced, striking a quick pose. She wore a dress in a pale shade of sunshine, decorated with white ribbons on the bodice and tiny embroidered flowers along the hem of her flowing skirt. “Today I’ll meet the alpha meant to win my heart!”
She laughed and gestured toward the door. “Father and Gregory are waiting downstairs.”
I rose and smoothed the bodice’s front. I caught my reflection one last time, my face redder than usual, and I cupped my jaw, trying to dismiss the lingering chill. “It’s nothing,” I said, more to myself than to her, as I followed Lyra out the archway.
She skipped down the stairs ahead of me, and when we reached the bottom landing, I noticed Gregory waiting by the large window in the main room below. Lyra turned and swept her arms toward me. “My lord, I present Evan Ashwyck, now of the Dax house!”
His back was to us, but he spun around at Lyra’s announcement, and my next breath lodged somewhere between my ribs. He was clean-shaven, the rough stubble gone. His jaw was sharply defined, and the small, dark mole high on his left cheek was visible again, stark against his smooth skin.
His deep blue doublet was nothing short of regal, fitted to show every line of muscle, with dark leather accents along the seams and shoulders. The sleeves had intricate stitching, ending in delicate, white ruffles at his wrists, which matched the high collar framing his strong features.
His gaze locked onto mine, and I gave a small, hesitant bow, a faint smile on my lips. Gregory’s face softened, and he extended a hand toward me.
I moved closer and accepted his offer. He wrapped his fingers around mine, holding them gently. After lifting my hand to kiss my knuckles, he swept me close, circling my waist.
Gregory dipped his head, brushing his nose against my cheek, his breath warming my ear. “Beautiful.” The word sent a jolt through me.
“Oh, for the Mother Goddess’s sake, don’t start!” Lyra groaned from the bottom of the stairs, fanning herself. “Keep your mating rituals private, please!”
Gregory and I both laughed at her outburst, and Adam chuckled as he appeared in the doorway leading outside, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Lyra, leave the young couple be. You’re acting like a bitter old lady already.”
Our laughter died down as Adam placed the cloth on a nearby table. He regarded Gregory and me, his eyes glinting with affection. “The horses are ready. Time to go.”
Mounting Thunder was easier this time, though my muscles still ached, and I settled in front of Gregory, his body a constant warmth against my back. Adam helped Lyra onto her mare, and in moments, we were moving, leaving the seclusion of Adam’s yard behind.
The ride passed in a fleeting moment, Thunder’s gait soothing me into contentment.
As we neared the edge of the village, the flower fields on either side were empty of workers.
Yet the blooms blazed with a new vibrancy, their colors so vivid under the open sky that they seemed almost surreal.
Then the familiar wooden arch came into view, the carved letters spelling “Mossfen” decorated with fresh red blossoms.
Passing beneath the arch, we plunged straight into the celebration. People lined the path, all attention on us, and some bowed low while others clapped. Pink and red rose petals showered down, blanketing our shoulders, their scent mingling with the village’s perfume.
Tensing under all the attention, I leaned back, shrinking into Gregory’s sturdy frame and hiding against the rough fabric of his blue doublet. He tightened his arm around me, and he brushed his lips against the top of my hair. “It’s alright,” he said reassuringly. “They’re welcoming us as mates.”
Oh. This was a wedding. At least their version of one.
I never pictured myself in a ceremony like this.
Marriage had been another item on the endless list of experiences I’d convinced myself I didn’t need.
And yet, riding through a shower of petals with Gregory, knowing he was with me and the entire village was bearing witness, sent a warmth blooming inside me—something that felt dangerously close to joy.
We arrived at the center of the gathering where the crowd was thickest, music drifting from somewhere nearby, and Gregory brought Thunder to a smooth stop. He dismounted first and reached up, his hands spanning my hips to lift me down.
“Evan!” Finn, the little boy who’d given me the rose before, darted forward. He gave a clumsy little bow. “I can take Thunder, if you please.”
Gregory grinned down at him. “Thank you, Finn.”
The boy nodded, taking the reins and leading the big warhorse away. Adam and Lyra dismounted nearby, handing their mounts to eager helpers.
Bright ribbons were strung between buildings, stalls filled with food and crafts lined the edges, and the square hummed with music and lively chatter. A full-blown festival surrounded us.
“Come on!” Lyra grabbed my wrist and Gregory’s arm, leading us into the crowd. “Let’s enjoy it!”
She dragged us from booth to booth where people thrust food upon us—roasted meats dripping with savory juices, unusual fruits that burst with unfamiliar sweet flavors, and breads baked with herbs.
Tributes, Lyra explained, offerings for the Blessing.
I tried everything and loved the strange textures and tastes.
One stall was piled high with glistening honey cakes. My mouth watered, and I picked one up. The sticky sweetness melted on my tongue.
Gregory leaned close, his mouth near mine. “Let me try.”
He kissed me, and the taste of honey mixed with his scent. A pleasant dizziness washed over me, unrelated to the sun. When he broke away, his eyes darkened with heat, and my pulse thudded, though I couldn’t help but smile.
We continued through the busy square, sampling treats and soaking up the bliss as the afternoon slipped into evening.
The festive sounds dimmed, the music quieting and the pleasant chatter lessening.
People moved away from the stalls and began walking toward the square’s widest part, forming a growing crowd.
A loud “tap, tap” echoed over the stones, silencing the crowd. The ground in the middle of the square quaked, and a dark rock pillar shot up from the cobblestones, rising like a stage to tower above everyone.