Chapter XXIII Petals
XXIII Petals
The capital of Roharra stretches ahead of us, the city sprawling in a valley with a hill surrounded by a glittering river in the center.
Magnar’s keep rises at the top, dark and menacing in the distance, its towers like jagged shards of obsidian.
This is no castle, built for strategic advantage but also luxury.
The Agnidari keep is a warning and a threat to anyone who considers taking it.
I shiver.
The city is so utterly different from Farneer’s capital, which climbs the hill with the castle at the top, the buildings pale and rarely taller than three floors, streets cobbled and narrow apart from the main tract.
Here, the buildings are slim and tall, built from dark gray and black rock. All houses have windows, the glazing glittering in the late morning sunlight. The city doesn’t look like it has sprawled organically, with more streets and buildings added in when the need arose.
From where we stand at the edge of the valley, I can clearly point out the main arteries crossing at right angle with smaller streets running parallel.
Trees grow here and there, and smoke curls over slim, black chimneys.
The city looks symmetrical, neat. Like it was planned from the start to make the most logical shape, easy to navigate, easy to thrive in.
“How do you like it?” Khay asks, his palms loose on the reins, his body solid at my back.
“It’s different,” I say honestly. “It looks scary.”
He snuffs out a small laugh. “It is to anyone who tries to hurt us. You’re safe, little diamond. You are the queen of this, and tonight, all of Roharra will know it.”
I don’t feel like a queen. If anything, I’m an impostor.
As we ride through the city, many Agnidari who are out working or running errands stop to bow and salute their king, some breaking into cheers welcoming him home.
When they see me, their smiles freeze, eyes growing wary or menacing.
Khay whistles a cheerful tune, seemingly unaware of the hostile looks thrown our way.
The further in we ride, the more my skin chills. There is not a human in sight. I am the only representative of my race here, and once we reach the keep, I’ll be further away from home than ever.
Except, I shouldn’t call Farneer that anymore.
“Almost home, my lady,” Khay whispers, pulling me into him. “Relax. We’ll take care of you.”
When the gates of the keep close behind us with a deep, metallic clang, we are faced with a few dozen Agnidari soldiers and servants manning the keep.
They stand in even rows in the courtyard, all welcoming Magnar with deep bows.
He dismounts and goes over to speak with a few men dressed in black clothes embroidered with red thread.
All of them wear their hair braided back, and none spare me a glance.
Khay hops off and helps me dismount. I do my best to stand tall, the way I was taught, and not fidget.
My usual anxieties—do I look regal, did I behave properly, have I shamed my title and kingdom?
—are ramped up to unbearable levels because I have no idea how to act.
Do I speak to the servants? Do I ignore them?
For all I know, my human manners will offend the Agnidari.
“I’ll show you to your room,” Khay says cheerfully, unaware of my paralyzing anxiety.
He takes my hand and pulls me into the keep, its corridors tall and narrow, high windows tipped with sharp arches letting in the early afternoon sunlight.
The floors are black, walls dark gray and barren save for candle and torch sconces.
Soon, I lose my way, corridor after corridor blurring into one, the staircases narrow and unadorned.
Khay walks with a bounce, meanwhile, I do my best not to drag my feet.
“Magnar will oversee the ceremony preparations,” he explains. “But I’ll be with you, and I bet Raduna and Arvi will find excuses to look in. Do you know what you’re going to do tonight?”
He shoots me a sultry look, but I only manage to shake my head, my throat too tight to speak. The ceremony. I don’t even know what an Agnidari wedding looks like. I don’t know what will be expected of me. Oh, gods.
“And this is the queen’s bedroom,” Khay says, opening a tall door with a flourish. “Magnar is just down the corridor, and our rooms are on either side of you and him.”
I stop on the threshold, my heart stuttering from surprise. The more of the keep I saw, the more I expected my bedroom to resemble a dungeon cell rather than a royal chamber. The room looks nothing like the luxuries back home, true, but it’s not a cell, either.
It’s larger than my apartments back in Farneer.
I step inside with a sigh of awe, looking left and right.
The stone walls are covered with tapestries in muted colors, green, blue, and a honeyed sort of yellow.
The stone floor can’t be seen from under dark brown carpets that are so thick, my feet sink into the wool.
My room has five tall, beautiful windows, three of them colored with stained glass. Early afternoon sunlight slants in, painting the carpet red and green.
On the far right stands the bed. I finally understand what the knights meant about the queen’s bed, because it’s enormous, taking up almost one length of the room. It looks like ten people could sleep in there comfortably, lying side by side.
“Why are you so quiet?” Khay asks after clearing his throat. “Do you hate it?”
I shake my head, turning to take in a large fireplace with an ornate frame decorated with intricate whorls of black and brown, and soft, comfortable ottomans sprawling around a low table.
There is a large desk by a window, a bookcase, and an enormous wardrobe built into the wall.
A narrow door in the corner is ajar, showing me a glimpse of a bathroom with a warm, wooden floor and walls covered with green and blue tiles.
I turn to Khay, who studies me with a worried frown.
“We can make changes,” he says, curling his fingers in a nervous gesture.
“We… We spent a lot of time here between conquests. The windows were Magnar’s idea.
I painted the details on the fireplace. Raduna took care of the tapestries, and Arvi got the bed remade.
The previous one was smaller, and we… We had this idea that once we had our queen, we might…
Just stay with her every night. It depends on what you’ll want, of course.
We were just daydreaming. There is… Well, there’s room for a crib. And anything else you might want.”
I turn away, looking at the room again. He’s right—it looks like a lot of thought went into this. It’s soft, warm, cozy. A place to rest, to finally let go. A place to be content.
This finally makes me understand what having a queen means to Magnar and his knights. They’ve been at war for ten years, they’ve conquered kingdom after kingdom to give their people a chance at good, abundant lives, and they were disappointed time and again, finding only dead princesses.
This room was a promise. One day, they would have a queen and the war would end.
That day is today.
“I love it,” I say, choking on the tightness in my throat.
“But Khay, I don’t deserve it. I won’t be a good queen.
I don’t even know your wedding customs. I’ll shame you tonight.
Magnar will be a laughingstock for marrying someone like me.
And the Table of Kings… They’ll find a way to make this marriage mean nothing.
You saw what they are capable of. You’ll be stuck with me in the end, but you won’t get anything you’ve fought so hard for.
And you’ll regret this. All of you will regret having me. ”
It all spills out, this huge torrent of fear and shame, and Khay listens patiently, his face soft and unsmiling. When I’m done, my breath rushing out as I begin to take out my pins with shaking hands, he comes over and gently grips my wrists.
“If Arvi were here, he’d put you over his knee and spank your pretty ass for saying things like that,” he says with a small laugh.
I freeze, cheeks instantly heating, and Khay’s smile widens. I gape at him, my thoughts derailed, the flood of anxiety turned away.
“Now listen,” he says, growing serious. “You will be a good queen, one who blunders sometimes, or gets overwhelmed, and has hard days, too, because that’s inevitable.
But I got to know you pretty well. You’re smart, curious, and you learn fast. You will do just fine, and we’ll help you, because that’s what we’re here for.
Do you think Magnar never fucks up? Of course he does.
Then he fixes things and learns from his mistakes, becoming an even better king thanks to that. ”
He lifts my chin, and I stare into his dark eyes, crushing hope filling my chest until I can’t breathe. He has to be wrong, I know, and yet… What if he’s right?
“You are enough, my lady. Now, as to your other concerns. Magnar controls four of the Eleven Kingdoms. This is enough to achieve his goals without a seat at the Table. It will be harder, but we’ll figure it out if necessary.
Our wedding customs are quite simple. You only need to show up and look beautiful, which you always do, and then paint a few symbols on Magnar’s skin.
A bride never sees the symbols before the ceremony, which is normal.
Magnar will choose the ones he wants and explain their meaning. That is all.”
There’s a knock on the door, and Raduna comes in, bearing two large trays of food. Behind him follows Arvi with a similar load. They put them down on the table, and the room fills with the tantalizing scent of roast meat.
“Told you,” Khay snickers. “Let’s eat and then wash.”
“Your wedding robes will be here soon,” Raduna adds, stroking the back of my hand. “I heard the seamstresses are sewing on the final round of gems.”
My knights keep me distracted for the rest of the day, talking, helping me dress, bringing me snacks. Khay leaves a few times to assist Magnar, but I’m never alone. When the sun begins to set, music drifts in from the courtyard, rhythmic drumbeats mixing with guttural, fast-paced singing.
My hands begin to shake, and Raduna takes them in his and kisses my knuckles.
“You will do amazing, my queen. Just do what feels right and try to enjoy it. This is, after all, your wedding. One that isn’t forced on you.”
I look at myself in the floor length mirror in my room.
The dress is unlike anything I’ve worn before, the skirts full and heavy with real rubies and sapphires glittering at the hem and in the folds, silvery gems cascading down in dozens of slim, twining whorls.
The bodice is tight and shiny with jewels.
My breasts are covered, but barely, and my arms and shoulders are bare.
My face is hidden behind a diaphanous veil made of a thin, red fabric that lets me see through.
My hair is down, tamed with Vardi’s hair essence, and it glistens beautifully in the firelight. My feet are bare. It’s a strange mixture of being dressed yet not, domestic, yet on display. It makes my heart pound.
When I lift the hem of the skirt and look at my feet, biting the inside of my lip, Arvi comes to stand behind me. He clears his throat, and our eyes meet in the mirror. His eyes are dark and huge in his serious face.
“We will carry you until we reach the rose carpet. My queen.”
His voice is tight, throat bobbing as he swallows, and I understand I’m not the only nervous one. My knights crowd around me, all elegant, yet not too buttoned up. Arvi wears a black shirt glittering with sapphires, the blue gems matching the color of the tattoos gleaming on his skull.
Khay’s hair is loose like mine, a few front sections gathered back and braided.
His shirt is gray, a beautiful ruby pin, twin to the one he gave me, glittering at his breast. Raduna has let his hair out of the braids.
It’s soft and wavy, cascading down his back.
His shirt is a warm shade of cream, the buttons made of obsidian.
“Magnar is waiting outside,” he says, voice tight just like Arvi’s. “May I?”
I nod, and Raduna picks me up gently. I put my arms around his neck. When we step out of the bedroom, I gasp. The corridor glitters with hundreds of candles, their light golden in the falling dusk.
Drums beat steadily outside, growing fainter and then louder as we meander through the keep. When we reach the first staircase, Raduna hands me over to Khay, who smiles and kisses my forehead. I change hands again a few corridors down, and Arvi takes me in his arms.
“Here,” he whispers when we reach the foot of the main staircase. “Go to your husband, my queen. Go to your king.”
He lets me down, my feet pressing into soft flower petals.
They are deep red and black, a thick carpet of them rolling over the stone floor to the open doors leading outside.
Magnar stands in the courtyard by a tall fire blazing in an enormous metal dish that gleams red from the heat.
He wears a blood-red vest, a pair of dark trousers, and nothing else.
His feet are bare like mine, gray toes tipped with short, black nails.
I take a deep breath and follow the path of petals.
As I step out through the door, the vista of the courtyard opens.
The space is packed with Agnidari, their faces looking sharp in the flickering light from many fires.
Some grin, others watch me with narrowed eyes.
There are women, too, their hair intricately braided.
Some nod when they catch my eye, others bare their teeth in unfriendly smiles.
I swallow thickly and keep going, the drums so loud, their beats reverberate in my very marrow.
It doesn’t feel like a wedding, but an execution.