CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
Raina – November
E lder widows from the old country who remember the last ancient royal wedding flew in days ago with a custom ceremonial coronation ensemble.
They dress me in silver. Armor. I’m wearing freaking metal! No gown here.
A fitted breastplate etched with ancient symbols I don’t recognize but feel in my bones wraps around my torso like they dipped me in liquid silicone to craft this thing.
My shoulders are bare, but a long white cathedral-length train clips to the steel with tiny, coiled serpents.
A circlet of obsidian rests on my forehead, and when I turn my head, it gleams like firelight.
I look like a weapon and a princess.
Father, as I call him in front of his men out of respect, and I will be crowned in front of the brotherhood together.
Over a double-breasted jacket with gold threads and buttons, Valdrin wears a robe of midnight blue trimmed in white and gold fur.
Wrapped in his meaty fist, my father carries a staff that is carved with snakes and roses.
Drums echo down the marble halls of the opulent mansion just north of Manhattan.
I smell the kerosene of torches to light the halls. I hear swords unsheathed in a ceremonial rhythm.
“Are you ready, zemer ?” Valdrin asks me with a hand extended out for me to take.
It means so much to share this honor with him that I’m choked for words. All I can manage is, “Let’s do this.”
He lowers the mask of steady vigilance to allow for a low chuckle between us. “It’s not a Nike commercial.”
No, these are not sneakers on my feet. These are combat boots on steroids.
A slow, deliberate hush descends over the room as I step into the chamber to take my place as princess and heir-apparent.
It took a few weeks, but Valdrin assembled a council mixed with traditionalists who blessed his ascension to kyre .
He sought the kind of men who prefer the brotherhood to be honored and revered over hated.
While maintaining the typical ruthless ambition and a level of fear common with all organized crime families.
No more knights.
The twelve hand-selected council members, wearing what appear to be military dress uniforms, line the aisle and begin a soft clapping. No music, just the gentle rhythm of a slow applause signals Valdrin and me to take our place as leaders.
Clap, clap, clap...
The flames crackling from the iron sconces cast our shadows on the jacquard walls.
Clap, clap, clap...
A dais draped in white gossamer with two tall golden candlesticks waits for us at the end of the aisle.
Clap, clap, clap.. .
And two crowns sit on a velvet platform.
We reach the table, and I scoop up the simple, woven golden crown that was also flown in from Valdrin’s grandfather’s treasures back in Albania. Everything came packed in a leather case that hadn’t been opened in almost fifty years.
My father bows to me so I can place it on his head. When he straightens, he’s not just gained more height from the crown with that thing on his head, he is the king. The king Levin Berisha never was.
After Valdrin kisses my hand, he faces the council and a few very select guests.
“In the name of the bloodline that has ruled since the days of swords and horses,” he proclaims, his voice resonant, “I rise as kyre of our people.”
The steady clap clap clap remains. There are no cheers or confetti. Just a hum of respect.
“You are no longer ruled by thieves and liars. This crown is worn not only by birthright but by sacrifice.” Valdrin lifts the staff and signals for me to approach.
The clapping stops, and it’s the loudest silence I’ve ever known.
Valdrin drops to one knee, a sword raised above his head as he whispers a prayer in Albanian.
“I name Raina Riatt Sokolov, my daughter by blood, as your princess of this new kingdom.” My father’s voice is as steady and sharp as I have ever heard anyone address a room full of killers.
“Raina is a warrior in her own right and will rule this brotherhood with me until I leave this world. Upon my death, I order that she be named kyria, and her sons will rule after her.”
Sons. Whoa. Slow down.
With the mention of one day being a mother, my eyes drift to the man I will share those sons with.
Connor stands a few feet away, dressed in a tailored black ceremonial jacket and pressed slacks. At the far end of the grand hall, his brothers and cousins look gobsmacked with a mixture of awe and sheer terror of the new brotherhood they are seconds away from aligning themselves with.
A blood-red sash that crosses Connor’s chest marks him as my intended.
Valdrin’s eyes meet mine. His gaze is soft. Proud. He places both hands on my shoulders and then kisses my forehead.
When he lifts the circlet from my temple and replaces it with a steel coronet adorned with garnet and emeralds, a collective whoosh of large men kneeling on the stone floor sweeps across the hall. It’s so dramatic and beautiful, I blink through happy tears.
“Long live the kyre ,” someone murmurs.
“Long live the princess,” others echo.
Then Valdrin turns to Connor.
“Step forward, Connor Quinlan.”
My fiancé does so steadily and unflinchingly.
When he reaches me, he takes my hand, the one adorned with his hideously big diamond ring.
His thumb grazes the inside of my wrist where he tattooed his name on the pulse point of my life.
The place he kept his hand while an ambulance rushed me to the hospital after the poisoning.
“This man,” Valdrin announces, “stood by my daughter when others turned her away. He fought with her, bled for her, and nearly died for her. He’s proven himself worthy of the princess.”
I look up at Connor, and he gazes at me like I hung the stars. The world narrows to that one look between us.
“In our tradition,” Valdrin continues, “marriage is not just a vow, it’s a binding. Of power. Of the soul. Of legacy. Quinlan Empire is no longer our enemy, but our combined strength.”
A dagger with a jeweled hilt is placed between Connor and me on a velvet pillow.
Connor lifts it first. “I vow to protect you with this blade and my body. I vow to love you in fire and ice. I vow to follow you, Raina, to the end of the world and beyond to the next life.”
He slices the tip of one finger and lets the blood drip onto the hilt.
Although his evil smirk suggests he’d like to do something else with this knife to make me his.
I lift the dagger next, my fingers closing over the warm, jeweled handle. “I vow that you are my chosen one. I vow to stand at your side, no matter the challenge. I vow to love you as a wife and a warrior. As your equal.”
I press the blade to my hand and nick off a shallow cut. Holding it over the blade’s handle, I let my blood join his.
When the crimson streams collide, Valdrin lifts the dagger, wraps it in silk, and holds it between us. “As kyre , I declare them married.”
But a priest and the City of New York will make it official next week in front of Connor’s mother, who showered me with an ungodly amount of traditional Irish jewelry as a wedding present. Norah and Sabine did not attend this volatile ritual at Connor’s request. Just as a precaution.
Connor grabs me by the waist and kisses me like he can’t be away from my mouth any longer. The entire room explodes in cheers and thunderous claps, but it’s white noise in the background. All I hear is Connor’s breathing, and all I feel is his heartbeat.
All I ever want is him .
We pull back, breathless.
He grins. “How does it feel to be royalty?”
I whisper, “I’m still wearing knives under this.”
“ That’s my girl.”