Chapter 68 James
James
The storm had mercifully ceased, although Aren had frowned at the sky and said the calm was only a precursor for worse when James had asked.
Given Ahnna’s ability to judge the weather, James suspected the king was right, but he relished the still air anyway, breathing in the thick humidity as they stood in a clearing near the island’s summit.
Torches surrounded them, flickering and dancing, a pathway of them leading down to the house where Ahnna was getting ready. “How much longer?”
“How would I know?” Aren responded, handing his infant daughter over to his grandmother, who had been staring at James like he was shit she’d found on the bottom of her shoe. “Lara can be ready in a blink of an eye or take three hours lacquering her nails just so. Want another drink?”
Alcohol was already buzzing through James’s veins, so he shook his head and fussed with the cuff of the shirt he’d borrowed from Aren.
All his clothes were borrowed from the king, who was fortunately about the same size as him, but he felt underdressed and abruptly certain that Ahnna would take one look at him and inform everyone that she’d changed her mind.
“Nervous?” Jor asked, clapping him hard on the back. “Because you should be. This is no Harendellian lady that you can ship off to the country home to spend her days with needlework and dinner parties.”
“No,” James murmured, searching the shadows between the trees for signs of motion coming up the path. “Ahnna is untamable.”
“He has a way with words when he bothers to speak,” Aren muttered, but James didn’t hear whatever else he said, because he caught sight of Lara coming up the path. Ithicana’s queen nodded once at the drummers next to the torches, then walked to her husband’s side.
“Your Grace,” James muttered, but his focus was on the path, his heart hammering with anticipation. Only for it to skip a beat entirely as Ahnna appeared, the drummers taking up a fierce beat that somehow echoed Ithicana’s storms.
She carried a torch, and in the firelight, the love of his life was as wild as he’d ever seen her.
Her hair was pulled back from her face, revealing the sharp lines of her cheeks and jaw, her eyes shadowed dark with kohl and making her appear almost feline.
An impression that only grew with each step she took, silent and steady as a predator, the long lengths of blue silk forming her skirt swirling to reveal the endless legs that haunted his dreams. Her waist was bare from just below her breasts to just below her hip bones, the flat plane of her stomach entirely exposed, and God help him, James wanted to close the distance between them.
To take her somewhere alone and finally make Ahnna Kertell his, and his alone, but Jor closed a hand on his arm. “Steady now, lad.”
Standing still was one of the hardest things James had ever had to do, but he stood his ground as Ahnna made her way up the path and handed the torch to Aren. She held out her hand to James, her skin soft against his as he bowed low. “Your Highness.”
“Your Grace.” Her knees began to bend in a curtsy, but he met her gaze and shook his head. “You bend the knee to no one, Princess. Least of all me.”
It felt as though everyone else disappeared, leaving them alone in a circle of torchlight, and he fought the urge to fall to his knees before this woman who had a spine of steel and yet the kindest heart he’d ever known. But then Jor stepped forward, the drums falling silent.
“Do you, James Ashford, heir to the Twisted Throne and rightful king of Harendell, swear to fight by this woman’s side, to defend her to your dying breath, to cherish her body and none other, and to be loyal to her as long as you both live?”
It felt like a lie to hear himself called that. A false promise for a future he wasn’t sure he could give her. It was only because fighting for the crown was the same as fighting for Ahnna that he said, “I do.”
“Do you, Ahnna Kertell, princess of Ithicana, swear to fight by this man’s side, to defend him to your dying breath, to cherish his body and none other, and to be loyal to him as long as you both live?”
Her fingers tightened on his, her eyes gleaming in the torchlight. “I do. I swear it.”
Jor extracted a knife, then took hold of James’s hand, slicing a shallow line across his palm before doing the same to Ahnna’s.
He pressed their bloody hands together, then shouted, “Behold the rightful rulers of Harendell! May those who stand against them bleed and those who stand at their backs scream in triumph on the day they reclaim the Twisted Throne. All hail!”
All around them, Ithicanians bowed low, Aren and Lara inclining their heads, and it felt impossible to breathe. The weight of kingdoms, the weight of countless lives, all rested upon his shoulders. The torchlight spun.
“James.” Ahnna’s voice cut through the rushing roar of blood in his ears, and his gaze focused on her beautiful face. A face to go to war over, if he’d ever seen one, but it was the fire that burned within her that would see them win this.
Slipping his arm around her waist and cupping his bloody palm against her cheek, he bent and kissed his wife.
His queen.
All around them, Ithicanians shouted and lifted their weapons into the air, but they’d celebrate a chance at a future alone tonight. Moving his hand to Ahnna’s back, he lifted her into his arms and started down the path.
“Where are we going?” she said with a laugh. “The feast is up there.”
“Enough with Ithicana’s customs,” he replied. “It’s time to show you one of Cardiff’s.”