Chapter 43
Forty-Three
Preparation
We have a wedding to prepare for...
The words rang in my ears as we walked through corridors bustling with staff and people of the court.
The Commander’s hand never left the small of my back as he guided me through the high-arched corridor.
His touch was light, but the intent behind it was not.
I could feel his possessiveness radiating down the bond, and judging by the heat in his eyes, he could feel mine pushing right back at him.
“You are going to be my husband…” I murmured, a flutter of nerves shooting through my stomach.
“I love weddings,” Riven called from where he walked with Cerilla behind us. The Commander glared over his shoulder before wrapping his arm around my shoulders.
“My mark sits on your hand, tethering your soul to mine. But it is a ring that makes you nervous?” he said with amusement.
“Yes,” I answered, my voice coming steadier than I felt.
He glanced down at me, the corner of his mouth ticking in something that wasn’t quite a smile.
We rounded a corner into one of the inner courtyards, the air cooler here, scented with night flowers that Solas had pointed out on our travels. I knew coming through here would be stunning once the sun set and the moonlight made the flowers bloom.
Riven walked past us and sat on the low stone wall by a pond, picking up pebbles to flick into the water. Cerilla’s skirts swishing angrily as she rounded her brother.
“That was a disaster!” she chastised.
“Oh, I thought it went well,” Riven drawled, eyeing the crown on my head, then the blood still speckling the Commander’s forearms.
“Quiet, Mortal,” Cerilla hissed, though her eyes were soft when they landed on me. She hurried forward, gripping my hands. “Are you all right, darling?”
I exhaled slowly, my heart warming at her kindness. “I think so.”
“She is getting married,” Riven said, smirking. “I would say she is more than fine.” He threw the next stone a little too hard, and it splashed over Cerilla’s skirts. They started to bicker, but I blocked it out and turned towards the Commander.
“Do you regret capturing me?” I said, unable to push down the fear of this not being real.
The Commander brushed a kiss to my cheek, lips lingering a heartbeat longer than propriety allowed. “The only thing I regret is not taking you from that castle the moment I felt you.”
My smile faltered. Castle. Not barracks. His shoulders locked tight, as though bracing for a blow. Fear surged from him, raw and unguarded.
Before I could correct him, Cerilla looped her arm through mine and with graceful force, pushed the Commander away from me.
“Enough,” she scolded, dragging me away from him. “You two are not to see each other until the ceremony. How you expect to pull off a royal wedding in five hours is infuriating beyond belief.”
She dragged me down the corridor and Riven trailed after us with his hands in his pockets.
Behind him, the Commander stood rooted where we had left him, his gaze fastened to me as if tearing it away might kill him.
Ronaldo was already pacing when Cerilla dragged me back into my chambers, rings glittering on his hands with every frantic movement.
The maids from earlier, Leena, Seli, and Tamsin, stood tensely behind him, each holding jewels, pins, and shoes.
“There she is!” Ronaldo shrieked, clapping a hand to his chest like he’d just survived a battlefield. “Gods save us. We have hours, ladies. Hours! Move!”
The maids scattered instantly, swarming towards me.
“Wait!” Cerilla yelled and they all flinched.
“Bathe first,” she said, lowering her voice.
“You reek of bloodshed, sex, and my brother.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste and embarrassment flooded my cheeks.
She lifted a hand, and a glittering stream of magic slipped from her fingers, wafting beneath the bathroom door.
Floral-scented steam curled into my face as I stepped into the bathroom and closed the door.
The bath chamber was warm and dimly lit by lanterns that blazed to life.
Steam curled lazily through the air. The tub itself, if one could call it that, was carved directly into the black stone floor, large enough to swim in, its edges lined with silver inlay that glowed faintly when touched.
A waterfall of warm water spilled continuously from a carved serpent’s mouth, filling the rippling pool of water.
Pale blue and white tiles spiralled across the walls, reminding me of waves reflecting soft light.
Along the far end, shelves held oils and soaps infused with moonflowers, obsidian petals, and some kind of sweet berry I couldn’t name.
I undressed quickly, stepping out of the beautiful gown and lowering myself into the water with a sigh. The heat sank into my muscles, pulling at the tension as my hair floated like a silver halo around me.
My mind jumped back to the Commander’s words. Surely, he had accidentally said castle instead of barracks. Mortal was not his first language, but why had he felt frightened?
Someone knocked, a single, soft rap.
“Come in,” I called, assuming it was Cerilla.
Riven stepped inside the bathroom, closing the door with a quiet click.
He stood side-on with his eyes fixed on the ground, shoulders slumped as if weighed down.
His brown waves fell into his eyes, and for once, there was no easy smirk.
His grey button-down was open at the collar, as if he had undone them to loosen whatever troubled him.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” I said, not bothering to cover my skin. The barracks had made us comfortable with each other’s nudity.
“I know,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “But I needed to check on you.”
“Are you okay?” I asked instead. The absence of his usual ease made something ache in my chest.
He let out a rough sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Do you truly want to marry the Commander of Death?”
“Why are you asking me that?” I blinked up at my first true friend, taken aback.
His gaze roamed my face for hesitation.
“I offered to take you somewhere far away, where you will be safe. That offer still stands.” His throat bobbed, voice serious.
My gaze lingered where I knew his birthmark lay beneath his shirt, my fingers drifting to my own at my sternum. Riven had never spoken of his mark, yet his quiet understanding of my darkness made me wonder what battles he fought alone.
I wanted to be upset, to feel offended or cornered—but all I could feel was how deeply he cared.
“My soul is tied to his.” I held up my left hand, examining the intricate lines that connected us. “I don’t want to run from him.”
His lips twitched, a shadow of amusement returned. “You and your idiotic heart.”
“Riven—”
“I want you to be happy, but I do not trust him.”
“Would you trust anyone I wanted to be with?”
Riven huffed a laugh, a quiet, humourless sound.
“Probably not. But I am worried about you.” He turned then, slowly.
Like he was afraid any sudden movement might shatter whatever fragile calm existed in the room.
His gaze dragged over me only once, not in desire, but like someone memorizing the face of a person they feared they were going to lose.
“Do you know what happens to a soul that binds itself to darkness?” he asked quietly.
My stomach dropped and I pressed my lips into a thin line.
“It consumes it,” he said softly. “Darkness swallows all.” Before I could reply, he moved again, coming to sit at the very edge of the bath.
Close enough that I could see the tiny flecks of golden light buried in the darker grey of his eyes.
The air between us felt charged as he dipped his hand into the water, just his fingertips.
The ripples carried across the surface, touching my skin like a whisper.
“You deserve someone warm,” he said quietly. “Someone that doesn’t consume and kill everything.”
I blinked at him, heart beating too fast. “He isn’t going to kill me, Riven.”
“I’m not saying he wants to. But creatures like him can’t deny their natural instincts for long.” He stood abruptly, the moment snapping like a thread.
“I should check that Ronaldo hasn’t thrown himself off the balcony.”
I laughed weakly, tension breaking just enough for my heartbeat to settle.
Riven paused at the door, hand on the handle, shoulders tight. “I’ll be here at every moment. If you change your mind, I can take you away.”
The door clicked shut behind him and I pushed myself underwater.
The water closed over my head, muting the world to a soft hum of blue and silver.
But even beneath the surface, Riven’s warning clung to me, repeating in my head.
Darkness swallows all. I exhaled in a stream of bubbles and resurfaced slowly, air cool against my heated skin.
A sharp knock rattled the door.
“My Lady!” Ronaldo screeched. “Please! We do not have much time.”
I sighed, dragging myself from the warm water and wrapping myself in one of the softest towels I had ever felt. The moment I stepped back into my chambers, chaos smothered every thought I had. Riven was nowhere to be seen.
“There you are!” Ronaldo gasped, hands flying dramatically to his chest. “One would think you want to marry him looking like a drowned rodent.”
I laughed at his flourished words, his accent dragging over the syllables.
Cerilla gave me a knowing look, eyes softening as she patted one of the chairs where we often had tea.
“Sit, darling.” I obeyed and one of the maids dragged the large dressing mirror in front of us.
My reflection looked pale and wide-eyed, silver hair damp and curling over my shoulders.
Cerilla stood behind me, fingers gentle as she began combing through the wet strands. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
“I’m not,” I lied. The truth was, a small seed of doubt had been planted by Riven, and I wasn’t sure if I should let it grow. He had planned to kill me, I still didn’t know why.
She hummed, unconvinced. “You love him.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“And you will always do what’s best for him?”
I nodded.
“Then everything will be okay,” she said as she smiled at me in the mirror.
Seli rushed forward with a dozen glass bottles. “Hair oils, my lady.”
Leena had brushes in both hands. “We’ll braid some of it up, let the rest spill over her shoulders. It’s so long,” she said to Seli.
Cerilla stepped back to let them take over and sat in the chair next to me, pouring us both a cup of tea.
Leena’s fingers moved quickly, braiding thin sections of my hair with strands of woven silver thread. Seli massaged sweet-scented oils into the ends. Tamsin dusted shimmering powder along my collarbones.
They worked on me for what felt like forever, pinning my hair, painting my lips, and pressing powder against my eyelids.
The sky bathed in late afternoon gold through the large windows as they worked.
My hair glowed like captured moonlight, braided intricately at the crown and falling in shimmering waves down my back.
My skin held a soft sheen, my eerie blue eyes bright and sharp.
And the Soul Relic crown lay nestled against the braids, making me look like something carved out of a myth.
The maids helped me step into my shimmering silver dress, pulling the boned bodice up into position and tying the ribbons at the back.
I gasped at the new detailing Ronaldo had added.
The neckline still plunged in a sharp, elegant V, but now it was edged with iridescent shellwork that matched the Soul Relic crown.
Cerilla’s eyes met mine in the reflection, her voice soft, almost regretful.
“You look like Maraveth.” A chill ran over my skin, and before I could ask how she knew what the goddess looked like, a gentle knock echoed through the room.
Solas cracked the door open only a fraction. His voice was low, reverent. “It’s time.”
Time. My heart stopped, then surged, beating like a bird trying to take flight. I smoothed my shaky hands over my dress, the material sparkling like spilled starlight as I stepped towards Solas. I knew the seed of doubt would die the moment I was in the Commander’s arms again.