9. Till death do us part
Till death do us part
Before she’d taken ten steps, a soft but firm hand slid around her arm, linking them with surprising familiarity.
“There you are, my queen,” a voice chimed, smooth and rich with excitement.
Sorcha turned in surprise, finding herself face to face with a strikingly beautiful woman.
Korat. She was shorter than Sorcha but carried herself with the air of someone who owned any room she entered.
Her silver-tipped, blue-gray hair shimmered in the light, her large jade-colored eyes twinkling with mischief.
Her skin held a warm, golden hue, a stark contrast to the wintery colors of the Cait Sidhe court, and her energy was both playful and astute, as if she were always two steps ahead of everyone else.
Korat squeezed Sorcha’s arm, her smile radiant.
“You have much to decide, and I have much to do. So, come with me.” Callan smiled and turned away.
Sorcha had barely time to protest before she was gently but insistently led through the castle’s winding corridors, past rooms buzzing with hurried activity, and into a grand chamber unlike any she’d ever seen.
It was filled with gowns, not just gowns but masterpieces.
Fabrics of every imaginable shade draped from golden racks, spilling onto velvet-covered tables.
Blues as brilliant as the ocean, hues of amethyst and ruby reds that gleamed like polished gemstones, and golds so rich they looked spun from sunlight itself.
Sheer fabrics glistened with dustings of silver and gold, while others were covered in impossibly delicate embroidery woven with starbursts and constellations, stitched into lace so fine it could have been crafted by magic.
Korat turned to Sorcha with a knowing smile. “Maelan requested these gowns be brought out for you,” she explained.
Sorcha blinked in surprise. “He did?”
Korat hummed, her fingers gliding over one of the dresses. “He has excellent taste. He mentioned your fondness for the stars.”
She lifted a piece of sheer fabric, holding it so the candlelight illuminated the fine golden and silver dust woven within.
“This one,” she murmured, “is as light as air.” Next, she reached for a heavier fabric, adorned with millions of tiny, glistening pearls.
“Pure magic,” she mused, her fingers tracing the exquisite material.
Sorcha was captivated by the beauty surrounding her, her eyes darting all over the room. Korat noticed she clearly overwhelmed by the creasing lines in forehead and the way her hands fidgeted with fabric in her hands.
She grinned, observing Sorcha’s reaction. “I understand. You look as though you’re about to dart away like a startled cat.”
Sorcha let out a soft laugh, shaking her head.
Korat’s eyes twinkled. “Don’t worry, I won’t sew you into the dress permanently.” She moved closer, tilting her head to assess Sorcha. “The real question is… do you wish to shine like the stars, or do you wish to be the stars?”
Sorcha gazed at the gowns, at the dazzling choices laid out before her, and for the first time since this entire whirlwind began, a quiet sense of excitement bloomed within her.
Korat clapped her hands once. “I have it.”
Sorcha, still gazing at the sea of shimmering fabrics, startled and blinked. “What?”
The seamstress’s green eyes sparkled. “Your dress.”
She turned and glided toward a mannequin draped in a piece of deep, impossibly rich blue fabric. “This,” she said, lifting it carefully, “is for you.”
Sorcha stepped forward, mesmerized. It was like gazing into the midnight sky, a canvas of endless blue, dusted with the faintest shimmer of silver, like moonlight scattered across the heavens. Korat moved to the bodice, smoothing the fabric.
“The top will be fitted perfectly, sculpted to every curve.” Her fingers traced the center, where the neckline plunged almost scandalously low, nearly to the navel. “This,” she added with a mischievous grin, “is where the real magic happens.”
She lifted another piece of sheer gossamer, the thin overlay, woven with countless tiny, diamond-like embellishments.
The pieces caught the light, scattering tiny rainbows across the room.
“This will form the sleeves,” Korat explained, “and the middle of the neckline will be a Veil of starlight, delicate yet bold.”
Sorcha swallowed, running a hesitant hand over the sheer material. It was impossibly soft, softer than silk, like what she imagined touching a cloud would be like.
Pleased with her reaction, Korat continued.
“The skirt will flow,” she gestured downward, “fitted at your hips, then spilling out into a cascade of movement, like the night unfolding. And at the very ends…” She reached for a piece of embroidery, silver and intricate, woven into swirling celestial patterns.
“A final touch,” she murmured, her smile softening. “For a queen who carries the stars.”
Korat, sensing her hesitation, softened her voice. “What do you think?”
Sorcha traced a single silver-threaded star at the hem.
“I think,” she whispered, “Maelan has good taste.”
Korat replied “Oh, he does. He was very… particular.” Her gaze twinkled with mischief. “Said something about you needing to look like the sky itself bowed to you.”
“So. Shall we make you into a goddess?”
Sorcha smiled. “Yes.”
Silk draped over the furniture, ribbons, and flowers adorned every surface, and the air was laced with the scent of rare Cait Sidhe oils, like narcissus and frangipani.
The perfume was a combination of honey, coconut, and apricot.
Inside the grand dressing room, all of it faded into the background.
Sorcha stood before an ornate mirror, still as the attendants fussed over her final touches.
Her gown shimmered like a midnight sky kissed with silver dust, the deep blue fabric cascading over her frame, cinched at the waist before flowing into a subtle, embroidered train.
Her hair flowed down, its thick waves curling softly, and silver blossoms from the sacred tree held the sides in place.
They glowed faintly, as if touched by the same magic that had marked her.
Korat’s final touch had been the makeup, a delicate, feline sweep of charcoal, lining Sorcha’s striking eyes, a subtle wing that enhanced the deep, shifting hues of blue, green, and gold.
Korat tinted her lips with cherry powder, a red stain that was both soft and striking.
She hardly recognized herself. Sorcha exhaled slowly, running her fingertips over the silver embroidery at her hips.
“It’s done,” Korat proudly announced, stepping back to admire her. “You’re ready.”
A knock sounded at the door and before Sorcha could speak, Kyron stepped inside.
Korat’s gaze flicked between them, reading the shift in the air instantly. With a knowing glance, she gestured for the other attendants to follow her, whispering, “Give them a moment.”
The door clicked shut behind them. Kyron just stood in entrance of the room as Sorcha turned, meeting his eyes.
For a long moment, he simply stared. His eyes drank in the sight of her, the gown, the silver blossoms in her hair, the way the candlelight caught on the faint shimmer of the embroidered train.
His throat bobbed. “You look…You look beautiful, Sorcha.”
She folded her hands in front of her, watching him carefully. “Thank you,” was all she could manage to say.
He shifted, darkness flickering across his expression. His hands clenched at his sides before he forced himself to relax them. “I don’t like this,” he said abruptly, voice low, rough.
Sorcha sighed, already knowing where this was going. “Kyron ”
She sighed, stepping closer. “Then don’t but I need to do this.”
He stared at her. Then, before she could react, his hands were on her waist, pulling her close.
He searched her face, his breath uneven. “I should have told you,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
Sorcha swallowed. “Told me what?”
His fingers tightened slightly. “That —”
A knock at the door interrupted them.
Kyron tensed, jaw clenching as the moment shattered between them.
On the other side, Korat’s voice was a low whisper. “I hate to break up whatever’s happening in here, but it’s time.”
As Kyron turned to leave, he smiled at her, his fingers brushed against hers for the briefest second, grabbing hold for a moment before he let them slip away. Sorcha was left standing there, heart pounding as the doors opened, and the court was waiting.
Sorcha stepped forward into the courtyard, the hush of thousands settling over her like a wave.
The entire kingdom had gathered, Cait Sidhe of every rank, standing shoulder to shoulder, their eyes fixed upon her.
Torches lined the pathway, casting golden light across the stone, while above, the night sky stretched wide and infinite, a sea of stars mirroring the constellations embroidered into her gown.
She forced herself to keep moving; her breathing began to speed up and dizziness crept in.
The moonlight cast a faint glow on the silver blossoms of the sacred tree where Maelan stood.
An elder Cait Sidhe, dressed in exquisite ceremonial robes, stood beside him.
As they watched her approach, Maelan’s face contorted into a look of sheer surprise and awe.
He stood among thousands, but in that moment, she knew she was the only one he saw.
The white tunic he wore fit perfectly, hugging his broad frame, its collar dusted in gold, the hems of his sleeves and edges adorned with constellations that shimmered faintly in the firelight.
Golden embroidery similarly traced his black pants.
A thick gold armband gleamed on his biceps, and around his neck, a heavy chain held a moonstone, pale and luminous, mirroring the light of the sacred tree above him.
Sorcha swallowed hard, her hands clasped together tightly in front of her.
So tightly her hands bloomed a deep red color.
Her gown whispered against the stone as she stepped forward, the deep blue fabric catching the light, silver dust sparkling overlaid with stardust. The path seemed endless and at the same time too short.
Maelan’s gaze never wavered, and as she came to a stop before him, he took her hands, his fingers warm against hers.
In a voice low, meant for her and her alone, he whispered, “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Sorcha’s heart skipped a beat. Her thoughts scrambled and unfocused; a headache ebbed in the corner of her mind. One thing ran through her head as she stood there “gods I could use that wine now.”
The elder began to speak the rites, his voice steady, loudly carrying through the courtyard.
Looking at Maelan, she noticed that the delicate golden constellations embroidered into his tunic mirrored the swirling hues of her own gown.
The realization sent a warmth through her, bringing a small smile to her lips.
As if he could read the thoughts in her mind, Maelan smiled.
The Elder’s words finished, and silence swept over the space.
Suddenly, Sorcha was aware this was the part where they were supposed to kiss and Maelan hadn’t moved.
Everyone was watching, eyes starting to wander to each other and whispers began.
Sorcha took a deep breath and leaned in.
Their lips met soft and tentative at first, but then, Maelan moved as if he snapped out of a daze.
His hand slid to her waist, pulling her flush against him.
The warmth of him, the solidness of his body, sent a shock through her.
His other hand trailed to the small of her back, pressing her deeper into him as he claimed her mouth in a kiss no longer meant for the spectacle.
The crowd erupted into cheers, but Sorcha barely heard them, barely felt anything but him.
When he finally pulled away, she stood there, breathless, startled, still reeling from the intensity of it.
Maelan grinned, utterly unrepentant, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Cat got your tongue?” he murmured, his voice rich with amusement.
Sorcha huffed, her lips twitching as she pressed a hand to his chest, giving him a light shove.
He chuckled at her flustered expression, fingers still wrapped around hers as he turned to the crowd.
With an easy, regal grace, he lifted their joined hands high, acknowledging the kingdom that had just witnessed their union.
One last lingering glance at her before he led her forward, guiding her toward the great dining hall where the celebration awaited.