49 #2
Every steel sconce along the stone walls had been lit. Every eye fell upon us.
The only sound came from the scratch of my gown trailing across stone, the tap of my slippers, and Raxon’s booted steps.
Three even lines of warriors stretched right down each wall.
Commanders, captains, and council members stood at the front. I surmised the other wolves had been carefully selected for the ceremony. Their uniforms and golden eyes set them apart from the remaining guests. There were few, and they stood before the warriors in dark finery.
Except for Princess Celestine, who shone near the dais beside Strenard in her yellow gown. A sunburst amid night.
I tried to return her reassuring smile. But Dusk screeched and flapped her wings when I passed them. I looked away before I was tempted to settle her. Before I did something even worse than that—such as crying or fleeing.
My eyes found him then.
Voran stood next to the dais, dressed in his typical black attire. He didn’t look at us. With his hands behind his back, his booted feet braced, and his clean-shaven chin high, he stared down the long length of the throne room.
A relief, really. If he looked at me, I might have crumbled.
On the other side of the throne was my father. Save for some of his personal guards, who stood by the wall in the corner, he had indeed come alone.
The sight of him caused my throat to constrict.
Despite his cruelly kept secrets, he was still my father.
He was still the father who’d helped me capture the castle cats so I could hold them.
He was still the father who’d placed his crown on my head during events and laughed with his friends as it fell to my nose.
He was still the father who’d let me sleep on my mother’s side of their bed during the moons after she’d taken her life.
Looking at him hurt for all of those reasons.
And because I now couldn’t help but wonder if my mother had discovered the mate he’d never rejected before she left us.
The thought was so jarring, it distracted as we came to a stop before the dais, where the high priestess waited.
Her slender hands cupped an ancient-looking goblet, the rim inlaid with four stones. Citrine for Valadorn, gold for Moongold, emerald for Cloverleaf, and sapphire for Coraldeen.
I faced King Raxon, the skirt of my gown curling away from the dais.
“We are gathered here this evening to unite Raxon, King of Valadorn, and Ayla, Princess of Cloverleaf, as husband and wife.” Priestess Nellassa’s voice carried easily in the echoing room. “Doing so will remove the title of princess from Ayla Cloverleaf forevermore and replace it with queen.”
My spine straightened.
“Beloved Mother, we call upon you to enjoy this monumental moment in time, and to bless this sacred union with your divine protection.”
The high priestess let silence linger long enough that my eyes nearly wandered the room. Forcing them to Raxon’s chest, I counted the jewels lining it.
“Blood spiller,” the priestess said. “Come forth.”
Voran’s scent dizzied as he came to stand mere feet from us. With a deep bow, he presented a small dagger. Engraved in the gleaming hilt were conch shells. The ceremonial dagger, used for all highborn weddings.
The priestess extended the goblet between the king and me, and I flinched when Voran took my hand. Mercifully, not the hand still healing from being cut open yesterday. He sliced from one side of my palm to the other—quickly across my lifeline—then folded my fingers into a fist.
The priestess collected my blood into the goblet. “We begin with the king’s vows.”
Raxon cleared his throat, squared at the shoulders, and said far louder than necessary, “I, Raxon Valadorn, thirty-eighth king of Valadorn, vow to preserve and protect this divinely ordained union for as long as blood warms my veins.”
He took the offered goblet and drank my blood in one swig.
It was then that my hands began to shake.
This was truly happening. My father could not object. Voran would not object. Rather, he dragged the blade across his uncle’s palm like a well-tamed monster.
Raxon curled his fingers into a fist.
His blood fell into the goblet as High Priestess Nellassa said, “It is now time for the princess’s vows.”
My knees wobbled. “I…” Swallowing, I tried to start again. Tried and failed and said, “I apologize. I cannot seem to remember the words.”
I remembered them. I just couldn’t bring myself to say them.
I had to. I knew I had no choice. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t possibly marry this king, and that I was expected to…
I made the mistake of looking at Voran.
His jaw clenched as our gazes locked.
Tears instantly clouded my eyes. I closed them. It didn’t help. Like drawings upon book pages falling from fingers in quick and vibrant splashes, memories turned through my mind.
Hiding in his room and among bookshelves. Fear transforming into forbidden longing. Laughter and moans muffled by stolen kisses. Sly smiles and secret glances. Learning to read as we learned how to make one another groan and—
A garbled shout and gasps opened my eyes.
Voran now stood before me—blocked me as something splattered my gown. A clink and clatter drew my wide eyes to the throne room floor.
The king’s crown. Raxon stumbled, swayed, then collapsed beside it.