Chapter 32
In a stunning tunic and pants handcrafted by Evlithar and Cadlyr, Pyxlevir studied himself in the mirror.
The fabric was a bold zebra stripe, but only hints of it were revealed through the heavy beading in a gorgeous ombre of blues.
A matching cloak was still on its hanger, so Pyxlevir forced himself to stop fawning over his gorgeous outfit to don it.
The weight of the cloak was no small thing, and Pyxlevir wondered how many hours it’d taken Cadlyr and Evlithar to sew on the beads.
There was a knock on the door, and Pyxlevir raced to answer it.
Framed in the doorway was a sexy zebra-elf in a black suit, barely visible under a perfect replica of Pyxlevir’s cloak.
A coordinating tie and vest completed Gramlithyn’s look, and Pyxlevir didn’t think he’d ever looked better. At least while dressed.
“Are you ready?”
Pyxlevir nodded. “Kiss.”
Dutifully, Gramlithyn bent to brush their lips together, and Pyxlevir took his hand.
The house was quiet, and Pyxlevir imagined everyone was finishing dressing or already outside finding a seat for the upcoming matebond ceremony.
Gramlithyn and Pyxlevir headed straight through the back door and went directly to the memorial garden where they found their families already waiting for them.
Kalthekor was the first to walk forward. He draped a necklace over Pyxlevir’s neck with beads the same color as their summer sky skin.
“You were nine months old when your mother crossed the veil, so no one offered you mourning necklaces. Today you will get several, but I thought the one from me could be for Tamlisyr. You bear her finest features in your positivity and beautiful smile. Even your name reflects hers. I imagine she is watching you today and is proud of the man you have become. Your father and I certainly are,” Kalthekor said.
Pyxlevir ignored his tears as he hugged his dad. “Thank you, I’ll cherish it. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Pulling himself together, Pyxlevir faced Aristos, and the centaur added a second necklace in a mixture of Pyxlevir’s favored shades of blue and purple.
“This necklace is for the other Valzadari who came before you and lost their lives. You come from an ancient line of leaders, but you are one of the finest examples of what it means to be Valzadari.”
“That’s because I was raised by Chieftain Valzadari and Chieftain-mate Centaurus-Valzadari,” Pyxlevir replied. “Thanks, I love you.”
“Love you too, Pyx.”
In a flurry of joy and hugs, Pyxlevir accepted necklaces from Cadlyr and Evlithar while thanking them profusely for the gorgeous outfits.
Semira and Laconifel gave Pyxlevir lovely beads in green and revealed that Gramlithyn’s mother had fashioned a ceramic bowl to hold the necklaces everyone gave them on their mating day.
By the time Gramlithyn and Pyxlevir were ready to have a moment of silence, they both had to take several minutes to gather their emotions.
They were lucky to have such a fantastic family.
With his hand locked in Gramlithyn’s, Pyxlevir closed his eyes and wished his mother well.
He thanked her for life and refused to think about the way her parents had once tried to manipulate him to learn more about Kalthekor and Aristos.
Surrounded by the expansive monuments left by D’Vaires who’d lost loved ones, including several tributes to elves and their tribes, Pyxlevir sent waves of happiness to every pointy-eared being that had crossed the veil.
He took a moment to recall the beloved dogs that were such an integral part of his youth and mentally blew them kisses.
It wasn’t traditional, but he also thanked Fate for his family and the hybrid he was about to bind himself to for eternity.
Satisfied, Pyxlevir glanced at Gramlithyn to find the hybrid smiling at him.
“Ready?” Gramlithyn asked.
Pyxlevir grinned. “Are you kidding? I’ve been ready since I was six.”
With a chuckle, they stepped out of the memorial area of the expansive D’Vaire garden.
Pyxlevir’s joy grew as he took in the swags of zebra-printed fabric and blue beads strewn from the deck to the gazebo.
But before they could make the walk to their spot to begin the ceremony, they found a unique elven hybrid with bold white streaks through his black hair.
The gold beads his mate had decorated his tresses with glittered in the bright sun.
His Majesty, Emperor Ellery Draconis, stepped in to block their path. “Your parents tasked me with the responsibility of holding on to your memorial beads during your ceremony,” the dragon-elf confided.
“Thanks, Elf, we appreciate it,” Pyxlevir said as he carefully lifted the long strings of beads from around his neck and handed them to the co-ruler of the Council. Next to him, Gramlithyn did the same.
“It is my pleasure. Congratulations on your matebond. It has been an honor to watch you two grow into such wonderful young men, and Fate has chosen well for you both,” Ellery commented.
Pyxlevir hugged Ellery and thanked him again. Ellery embraced Gramlithyn next, then rushed off to his seat next to his other half, Chrysander.
“Okay, super ready now?” Gramlithyn teased.
“Yes, before someone else shows up and my heart explodes with either embarrassment from all these compliments or happiness.”
Gramlithyn chuckled, and they glanced at each other. A second later, they took off running toward the fountain where their officiant awaited them. It wasn’t easy sprinting in heavy clothes, and Pyxlevir had short legs, so he wasn’t surprised that he lost the race.
“Should I ask?” Timotheus queried.
In the many ceremonies Pyxlevir had attended at D’Vaire, the couple in question were almost always united by the High Kings. Pyxlevir adored Aleksander and Rafe, but he wanted to ensure that his centaur heritage wasn’t lost on his mating day and had asked for his uncle to act as their celebrant.
Aleksander and Rafe had championed the idea, and Pyxlevir was happy they could relax and enjoy the festivities from the comfort of their front row seats.
The pair were probably thrilled for the rare opportunity to spectate instead of standing in front of everyone and dumping compliments on the heads of whoever Fate had blessed.
“Better not to,” Pyxlevir replied.
“Okay, should we get started?” Timotheus asked, his brown gaze dancing with humor.
“Yep, Pyx and I have waited long enough,” Gramlithyn responded.
Timotheus smiled as Pyxlevir turned to face Gramlithyn.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the High Draconis Court of D’Vaire,” Timotheus said.
“Thank you for allowing me to usurp your High Kings today to perform this ceremony. It is one of the greatest honors in my life to stand here in front of this crowd of incredibly wonderful people—our entire extended D’Vaire family—to unite our dear Gramlithyn and Pyxlevir.
I had the distinct pleasure of meeting Pyxlevir and Gramlithyn when they were just six years old.
We all knew they would grow into remarkable young men.
Their potential was obvious. So was their friendship.
Fate saw it too. Or perhaps she ensured they complemented each other prior to their first meeting.
Either way, there is no denying their connection.
To start the matebond that will unite them for eternity, we’ll begin with the most ancient custom.
Fifteen thousand years ago, elves did not exist. They were Fae, and their other halves were called v’airsell niolls, which translates to eternal souls.
A fitting description for the person who completes you.
Among the Fae, it is traditional to offer a gift.
I would like to ask the leaders of the Fae and a devoted pair of v’airsell niolls, Noble Protector Drekkoril D’Vaire and Valiant Defender Daravius D’Vaire, to join us. ”
Resplendent in Fae outfits in cream and black, Daravius and Drekkoril walked up to Gramlithyn and Pyxlevir with a statue in their hands.
There was no question that it was magical.
It featured a Gramlithyn’s zebra mid-stride so he floated above the grassy earth beneath him.
Pyxlevir sat in his current outfit, perched atop Gramlithyn with a set of nearly translucent fairy wings sprouting from his back and sparkling in the sunlight.
“On behalf of the Fae, we offer you happiness and joy,” Drekkoril said, handing the statue to Dasan, who would hold it for safekeeping until after the ceremony.
“Thank you so much,” Gramlithyn replied before Pyxlevir could even find his tongue.
He’d make sure the masterpiece created by the Fae had a prominent spot in their bedroom, and he planned to hug them enthusiastically as soon as he could.
The Fae leaders smiled, and they walked away with Dasan between them.
“Elevsale rensarel is a long-standing elven tradition where relatives offer wreaths to the happy couple,” Timotheus said.
“Killian the Dwyer and Drindyr Duke Dravyn D’Vairedraconis have designed the floral circlets specifically for Gramlithyn and Pyxlevir.
Chieftain Cadlyr Cwylld D’Vaire and Chieftain-mate Evlithar Cwylld-D’Vaire will assist with placing them. ”
Pyxlevir grinned as Evlithar approached him with a wreath of carrot flower blooms. Several long zebra-striped ribbons flowed from the circlet, and Pyxlevir loved it.
He waited patiently for Evlithar to rest it on his braided hair, then hugged him.
Gramlithyn winked at Pyxlevir once he’d embraced Cadlyr and had his own wreath resting on his short tresses.
“An athame is an integral part of any matebond ceremony, and the gifted Madeline D’Vairedraconis ensured Gramlithyn and Pyxlevir have a unique blade they can treasure for eternity,” Timotheus said as Pyxlevir’s Uncle Tyndarios stalked forward with a box bearing a blue blade with a zebra-print hilt.
“Gramlithyn and Pyxlevir, will you please raise your left hands?” Timotheus asked.
Eager to comply, Pyxlevir lifted his arm, and Aristos took the ceremonial dagger out of the wooden box Tyndarios held. It hadn’t been easy to decide which of their parents would do the mating cuts and who’d do the ones for their upcoming marks from Fate, so they’d tossed a coin.
The slice to Pyxlevir’s palm hurt like hell, but he breathed through the pain as he waited for Kalthekor to finish cutting Gramlithyn. They gently touched palms, and Pyxlevir closed his eyes as the image of his soul nearly binding completely to Gramlithyn’s filled him with warmth.
A heartbeat later, a sharp pain ripped through the top of his left ear and the same side of his face burned. Pyxlevir watched with delight as a swirl of dark green and navy appeared on Gramlithyn’s cheek. It perfectly matched the hoop Fate had pierced through his ear.
Later that night, their bond would be completed with a zebra bite, but Pyxlevir was already relieved to be that much closer to his other half and that their marks were unique to them.
“Valzadari to Verdanyth-Hippotigris. Their souls are now tied, and their lives are now linked. May their hearts always stay united so they will never want another,” Timotheus said.
“To honor the traditions of D’Vaire and of shifters, Gramlithyn and Pyxlevir will exchange rings crafted for them by Madeline D’Vairedraconis. ”
Pyxlevir’s other centaur uncles, Strategos Demaratos Centaurus and Strategos Inachus Centaurus, joined them with a ring for each man to take.
With a grin, Pyxlevir took a wide band from Demaratos.
It was inlaid black enamel with white stripes, trimmed along both edges with a line of channel-set aquamarines.
The interior was coated the same unmistakable blue-black of D’Vaire worn by every couple lucky enough to have jewelry made by the talented Madeline, and it was nearly hidden as Pyxlevir carefully slid the ring onto Gramlithyn’s finger.
“Chosen by Bétea and Fate, and accepted by my heart as true, I accept you as my v’airsell nioll and mate,” Pyxlevir stated. It was imperative to him and Gramlithyn that they included the Fae’is version of Fate, as it was a beloved part of their heritage once obscured by history.
Gramlithyn’s face was solemn, but his gaze swam with love as Pyxlevir held his hand up and the hybrid glided his ring into place.
“Chosen by Bétea and Fate, and accepted by my heart as true, I accept you as my v’airsell nioll and mate,” Gramlithyn repeated softly.
Pyxlevir wanted to throw himself into Gramlithyn’s arms, but it would have to wait until their ceremony concluded. For now, Pyxlevir offered Gramlithyn a smile and a wink.
“In both the traditions of shifters and elves, Gramlithyn and Pyxlevir are now united. But before we celebrate with the carrot-shaped cake the Grand Warlock begged to have added to today’s festivities, Pyxlevir and Gramlithyn would like to ask Tyndarios to return with that exquisite athame so they can add mating marks,” Timotheus stated.
Although it was symbolic since no one would get to view their mating marks thanks to their long sleeves hiding them, Pyxlevir and Gramlithyn removed their cloaks and gave them to Colburn and Crispin.
Semira plucked the blade from the box and cut Gramlithyn.
Her task complete, she handed it to Laconifel, who made a swift but still painful slice across Pyxlevir’s palm.
“Valzadari to Verdanyth-Hippotigris,” Gramlithyn said as he and Pyxlevir pressed their hands together. “Our blood has spilled, and our spirits have bonded. We ask Fate to grant us a mark from left shoulder to elbow so the world may bear witness we belong only to each other.”
A horrible sensation made Pyxlevir grimace as Fate burned a zebra onto his skin. He was eager to see it and to find out exactly what Fate had left on Gramlithyn’s arm, but it would have to wait for privacy.
For now, Pyxlevir grabbed Gramlithyn’s hand and grinned.
“Thanks, Uncle Timotheus, and everyone else we roped into helping us with our ceremony today. I wish we could have included every person out in this backyard because you each play pivotal roles in our lives. We are grateful for your guidance and love. And special thanks to our parents for not insisting we put tradition above our feelings. Gramlithyn and I love all of you.”
Gramlithyn tugged Pyxlevir into his embrace, and their lips met in a soft kiss that Pyxlevir immediately deepened. As far as Pyxlevir was concerned, nothing beat his mating ceremony.