Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
The library of Solmiris stretched in endless golden arches, the air thick with the scent of parchment and ink. The halls were silent at this late hour, save for the soft crackle of torches and the rustle of pages.
Val-Theris sat hunched over a long oak table, scrolls unrolled around him in neat, disciplined stacks. His fingers traced looping Lunarethian script, his lips moving soundlessly as he tried again to shape words not native to his tongue.
He had been this studious since he returned from the border and though the syllables were still clumsy, he pressed on, learning both the language and all he could of their courting rituals.
Here he learned that in Lunareth, lovers did not kneel before one another but stood side by side, facing the moon.
That a man did not ask for a woman’s hand with a ring like in Seraveth—he offered her a promise cloth, woven with his own hands, to show he would work for her comfort.
This cloth was also part of a birthing ceremony, to be the first linen that touches the skin of a newborn as a blessing; for love would be the first thing they came in contact with.
Marriage vows were not spoken to priests in Lunareth, but whispered under open sky where the stars themselves could hear.
It was meant to be a private, intimate affair.
It was a stark contrast to the lavish, public ceremonies they had adopted in his kingdom.
Val-Theris read every word, again and again, until the letters blurred. His fingers were smudged with ink from where he had traced their prayers, his hair falling into his eyes as he leaned closer to commit each fragment to memory.
Rohannes found him there once, long after midnight, his cloak draped over his shoulders, brows furrowed at the sight of his king muttering foreign words to himself.
“Your Majesty,” he said gently, “Seraveth has traditions of its own. Would they not serve?”
Val-Theris did not look up, his voice soft but certain.
“Jesenia is not Seraveth,” he murmured. “She should not be forced into my people’s rites, certainly not after the way her and her people have been treated by mine.
I have asked her once already, and she did not see it as an act of devotion.
I shall not make that mistake again. When I ask her for eternity, it will be in her language, by her traditions, so there is no doubt it is her I love, not the idea of her. ”
He closed his eyes, whispering the vow once more under his breath, stumbling over the Lunarethian consonants but refusing to stop until the words came smoother.
And in that vast library, the Angel-King of Seraveth spent weeks devoting himself to learning how to love Jesenia properly.
As time went on, he became more comfortable with the words falling from his tongue, but with no one to practice speaking with, it kept him trapped in his studies for longer than he intended.
And of course, Jesenia began to notice.
The library was hushed as always, nothing but the sound of wind from the open terrace fluttering through loose pages lining the shelves.
Val-Theris stood deep in the aisles, a scroll of Lunareth Moon Prayer clutched in his hand, quietly whispering the words and simultaneously translating in his head.
At the end, he began fumbling the syllables, his voice growing louder at his own frustration.
He heard a soft laugh behind him, and turned to find Jesenia hiding in the shadows, her face laced with amusement. Her shawl was loose on her shoulders, and her hair fell down her back in soft waves. Her eyes glinted with mischief.
“You just said ‘my life is your goat’,” she teased.
For the first time in his memory, Val-Theris felt the rise of embarrassment in his cheeks. “I…” His pale hair fell into his eyes as he fumbled to roll the parchment and put it away on a shelf. “It was not my intention.”
Jesenia laughed softly and crossed the space between them, the light of a lantern above their heads warming her face. She placed her hands on his chest. “Perhaps not, but it was very charming.”
“Charming?” he huffed, still embarrassed.
He looked down at her, wings shifting awkwardly at his back, bumping against the rows of books.
He thought it was a curse, the way his usual poise always crumbled under her gaze, but he did not care.
His hands tenderly found her waist and pulled her closer.
“Your language resists me after all these weeks of study.”
“You’ve been studying my language? Why?”
“Because it is yours.”
Her smile softened. “Well.” She reached for the scroll once more, unfurling it. “Allow me to help, otherwise I fear you shall fill Solmiris with goats.”
She led them to the table at the center of the library, placing the scroll between them as they sat side-by-side on the bench. Jesenia took Val-Theris’s hand in hers and guided his fingers to trace the text as she repeated the phrases. Her voice was slow and clear, her accent gentle.
He followed along, a dutiful student trusting his tutor. Val-Theris let his free arm wrap around Jesenia, pulling her closer, sharing warmth. As they came to the last verse of the prayer, the air between them thickened into something deeper—charged with their closeness and so many unspoken words.
Val-Theris’s eyes shifted downward to the shape of Jesenia’s lips, and he could not resist leaning forward and touching them with his own. When they parted, he confidently repeated the line he had been trying to say before.
“My life is yours.”
Jesenia smiled faintly against his lips. “There,” she said lightly. “No goats.”
His thumb circled lightly on her lower back, and he stared at the girl at his side like a lovesick fool, the corner of his mouth curled subtly, but certain.
It was late, and the palace gardens were hushed beneath the silver wash of moonlight. The roses swayed faintly in the breeze, their petals glimmering like spilled stars. Jesenia stood among them, shawl pulled close, her eyes turned skyward.
“Jesenia,” Val-Theris said softly, his voice low but sure.
She turned, surprised to see him. He had been distracted lately, busy with his duties. He stood before her without his cloak of state, without the guards or Rohannes at his side. Only himself, his golden hair catching the moonlight, and his wings folded close.
“I could not sleep.” she said gently. He did not respond, but she could see it in his eyes that he came for her intentionally. He held out something folded carefully in his hands.
It was a strip of deep blue cloth, handwoven, uneven in its stitching but clearly labored over. The edges were frayed from where his fingers had worked it raw, but woven through its center was a pattern: Seraveth’s golden thread knotted into Lunareth’s crescent motif.
“Seraveth offers rings,” Val-Theris said, his voice unsteady. “But Lunareth offers a promise cloth. I thought…” His pale eyes lifted to hers, raw and uncertain. “You deserve better than my politics, and I’m sorry I did not show you that before.”
Her breath caught as she reached for the cloth, her fingers brushing his.
“You made this?” she whispered, feeling over the delicate stitching.
He nodded, wings shuddering faintly. “I honor you, Jesenia. Not as a queen to silence my council. Not as a refugee to soothe my guilt. But as the woman I cannot breathe without.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she held the cloth against her heart, the fabric clutched in her hands.
“You are not my burden. You are my choice. My vow. My future,” Val-Theris said, fierce and trembling.
“I want to marry you with only the moon and stars as our witness, where my love for you is not some public spectacle to be judged by those blinded by prejudice. I want it to be yours and only yours.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper as he carefully pronounced her native language. “My life is yours.”
This time, he spoke the words perfectly.
For a long moment, the garden was silent save for the rustle of roses in the wind. Jesenia’s tears slipped freely now, but her smile was luminous.
“Yes,” she whispered, her hand finding his, squeezing it. “Yes, Val-Theris. My life is yours.”
He bowed his head, relief breaking across his features like dawn, and pressed his forehead to hers, his wings folding around them both as though to hide them from the watching world.
And for that one fragile moment, in the moonlit garden, the only thing that mattered was each other.