Chapter 33 Easton
Easton
Seeing which dress Feray picked, I dig through the suits I brought with me.
I have a black silk tunic with gold and red embroidery.
Hand-sewn phoenixes in flight adorn the black silk.
I stare at it and draw in a deep breath.
It’s the tunic of the prince of the fallen Dusk Court.
The same court the basilisks now control because they killed off my entire species by turning them to stone.
My diadem rests in my pack, a single gold circlet with a blood ruby in the center.
Ornate gold feathers adorn the sides, the eyes of the feathers resting on either side of the ruby.
A soft rapt sounds at the door, and I turn to look at it. “Enter.” The door swings open, and it’s Diaval. He joins me, looking at what I picked out, and rests a hand on my shoulder. He knows how tough it is for me to expose where I came from and who I used to be.
I take a moment to steady myself, feeling the weight of my past pressing down on me. Diaval’s presence is a slight comfort, a reminder that I’m not alone in this. The room feels charged with unspoken memories, the air heavy with the scent of old wood and the faintest hint of incense.
“Are you sure about this?” Diaval’s voice is low, almost a whisper, as if he’s afraid to disturb the fragile peace we’ve found.
I nod, my eyes never leaving the tunic. “It’s time,” I say, though my voice wavers slightly. “For Feray’s sake, they need to know who I am. Who I once was.”
Diaval squeezes my shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “Then let’s show them,” he says, a hint of determination in his tone. “Let’s show them the might of the Dusk Court.”
I take another deep breath, feeling the familiar fire of resolve igniting within me.
The basilisks may have taken everything from me, but they haven’t taken my spirit.
I am the last prince of the Dusk Court, and tonight, I will wear my heritage with pride.
Diaval helps me get ready, ensuring not a hair is out of place as he sets the diadem upon my head.
I swear the thing weighs more now than it did a thousand years ago.
“There’s only one reason I’m doing this,” I whisper as I move to stand before the mirror.
“A royal marriage and mating will trump anything they might say. You’re keeping our mate safe the best way you know how to,” Diaval says, making one final adjustment to the diadem.
“Do you have the rings?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
I entrusted him with the magical wedding bands I had forged.
Each band contains something from each mate and Feray.
We had discussed in secret with the guys the possibility of me having to expose myself for who I truly am.
They were in shock, which was to be expected.
I explained in depth why I hid my true identity.
Khal confirmed my worst fears. The basilisks have my family and friends on display throughout the old castle.
One day, I would like to burn it to the ground.
“I do. You know she’s not going to be thrilled about having to put you over everyone else,” Diaval says, palming the rings.
Nodding, I motion to the door. “We need to get started before the sun gets much higher.” Diaval leads me out into the main part of the house, and my breath catches in my lungs.
Feray looks ethereal; the crimson and gold of the gown makes her hair look like it’s on fire.
She turns, and her eyes widen as she sees me looking regal.
“Oh, my.” Her breathy tone makes me smile, and I bow at the waist to her.
“Allow me to formally introduce myself.” I pause for dramatic effect as I stand tall. “I am Prince Easton Alexander Bennu, the last Prince of the fallen Dusk Court.” I bow only slightly this time in Feray’s direction, and she drops into a curtsy, lowering her head and eyes to the floor.
“Your highness...” She remains low until I come to stand before her and place the side of my index finger under her chin to raise her gaze.
“You bow to no one, Feray, not even me. Your kingdom still stands, and we are going to reclaim it together.” I help her stand up and hold both of her hands.
“To further strengthen your claim to the throne and to negate court protocols, I’m going to marry you and Easton,” Diaval says, and just as he finishes the sentence, Feray gets ready to protest.
“We were already made aware this may need to be done,” Torben says with a smile. “You have my blessing as first mate.” He steps forward, kisses Feray, and then shakes my hand.
“My species totally dicked Easton’s family over. The very least I can do is give my blessing for my mate to marry her other mate to secure her birthright,” Khal says playfully, then kisses Feray next.
“Now that, that’s out of the way, let’s get the show on the road,” Diaval announces, holding the rings out in front of him in his open palms. The blackened metal catches the light, gleaming with an otherworldly promise.
He starts the ceremony in Old Draconic, his voice resonating with power.
With each syllable that escapes his lips, the rings glow brighter, pulsating with a magic that makes the air around us hum with energy.
This is no ordinary blessing. It’s an enchantment that will bind the rings to us, allowing them to shift with the wearer.
As he finishes the incantation, Diaval smiles, the glow from the rings illuminating his face.
He offers each of us a ring, his eyes twinkling with ancient knowledge and something akin to pride.
“This isn’t a typical marriage where I am expected to forge a bond between the two,” he says, glancing between Feray and me.
“Since the bond already exists, and this is more a formality than anything else. I will say, please place the ring on each other’s fingers. ”
Taking Feray’s hand, I slide the band onto her left ring finger. “My flame, I will love you even when the stars don’t shine and the sun turns to dust. Forever isn’t long enough.” I raise her hand and kiss her band, feeling the warmth of the ring against my lips before lowering her hand gently.
Feray looks at the ring on her finger and smiles, her eyes shimmering with emotion.
She then takes my hand and slips the band onto my left ring finger.
“I will love you longer than the years I am gifted, when we are both but legends in books and our songs fade from the winds.” She raises my hand, mirroring my gesture, and kisses my ring.
Diaval steps forward, his presence commanding our attention.
He grips both rings between his thumb and index finger and speaks in Old Draconic once more.
The band’s heat, and a sudden, sharp pain radiates from the ring to my fingertip, then up to my wrist. I gasp, looking down to see a dragon mark forming.
It’s a frost-like pattern running down my ring finger, then up to my wrist, intricate and mesmerizing.
Feray gazes at her own mark, a look of wonder on her face.
Hers resembles my tail feathers, delicate and unique.
“It’s beautiful,” she says, raising her hand to admire the marking.
The air around us crackles with residual magic, binding us not just in matrimony but in a bond forged in the very essence of our elements.
“Now that we have that out of the way, let’s get going,” Diaval says, motioning towards the door.
Diaval and Khal exit first, followed by Feray and me, with Torben bringing up the rear.
“They’re scared,” Feray says as she loops her arm through mine.
The heat radiating off her is incredible.
It’s easily in the single digits outside, yet she walks around with just a thin ornate shawl over her shoulders.
I found a heavy winter cloak to throw over my shoulders to keep the cold at bay.
The path to the alpha house is a straight line from where we are.
The snow falls in large, fluffy flakes around us, making it look more like a fairytale.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the faint glow of Feray’s eyes as she moves.
Villagers step out of their homes and bow as we pass, sensing who Feray is.
“You’re doing very well. How do you feel?” I whisper to my mate and kiss her cheek.
“I’m running on the theory that they don’t have to like me to respect my station. This is my mother’s birthplace, my birthright, and I will be damned if some tool sits on my throne.” There’s a growl in her voice that wasn’t there six months ago.
Feray has grown in ways I never expected. Unleashing her true nature has done wonders for her confidence. Thankfully, the power hasn’t gone to her head, and she doesn’t fully realize just how powerful she is. “I respect that. No one likes a ruler that has to rule through violence.”
My answer makes her stop, and she tilts her head, looking at me.
The ice blue fades from her eyes as she gazes at me.
“Wolves respect power and strength. I suspect I will be fighting quite often until I establish myself as the strongest. Sadly, many will die by my hands.” She sighs and turns back to the path ahead, and we start walking again.
The air grows tense as we approach the alpha house.
The snow seems to fall more heavily, muffling our footsteps and creating an eerie silence.
Each step forward feels like a step into an unknown destiny.
The villagers’ eyes follow us, their fear palpable, a silent testament to the power shift about to unfold.
The closer we get, the more I can feel the weight of Feray’s resolve.
She is ready for the battles to come, and I am here, by her side, ready to face whatever comes next.
We leave the house with Khal and Diaval in the lead. Feray has her arm looped with mine, walking by my side. Her gown leaves her shoulders exposed, but the way her hair falls covers her mate marks. The front of the gown comes up high enough to conceal Diaval’s scale.
As we move through the streets, a lilting tone escapes Feray’s lips.
The resident wolves come to their doors and slowly fall in step behind Torben.
Whatever her wolf has done, it’s gathering the masses gently.
The air is charged with a mix of curiosity and anticipation, each step amplifying the tension.
When the alpha house comes into view, I decide to flex my muscles, so to speak.
I tap Diaval on the shoulder, and he steps to the right, out of the way.
Raising my hand, I concentrate my power on the path ahead of us.
The snow on the ground melts, creating a narrow path of exposed earth directly before us.
Steam rises from the melting snow, adding a mystical haze to our procession.
Feray smiles and gives my arm a squeeze, her touch warm and reassuring.
Yet, her focus is sharp, scanning the surroundings with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine.
Something has her on high alert; her eyes have gone ice blue as she looks around, searching for an unseen threat.
The surrounding air feels thick with an impending sense of danger, and I can’t shake the feeling that we are being watched.
Standing outside the massive carved mahogany doors are two guards, their imposing presence unmistakable. From what I can sense, they are polar bears, or at least a distant cousin. “Who goes there?” one demands, his voice a low rumble.
Rolling my eyes, I glance over at Feray, who smirks.
With deliberate slowness, she reaches out, her fingers brushing Diaval’s and Khal’s shoulders as she parts them.
“Thyra Feray Jokull, heir apparent of the Crescent Valley Pack,” she announces, her chin lifting in a display of authority.
I feel the shift in the air as she unleashes Diaval’s intimidation power upon the unsuspecting guards.
Their knees buckle, sending them to the ground, hands slapping against the stone at their feet as she presses down on them.
Feray folds her hands at her waist and smiles down at the guards before releasing her power. “I wish to speak with your alpha,” she says, her voice sweeter than honey. The tone she hits soothes any stress or fear away, an eerie contrast to the force she just displayed.
The guards scramble to their feet, eyes cast down, and swing the doors wide open.
The corner of Feray’s ruby lips ticks up in a half-smile.
She gives Diaval and Khal a nod, and we proceed, moving forward into the unknown.
Her silence now is more terrifying than any words she could utter, a promise of what is coming.