CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“You said nothing about reigning, Ilain,” Evylin declared in a voice far more commanding than Ethenn was used to hearing from her.
Deckard appeared strangely stoic, with an energy like a storm threatening on the horizon. Yet, he set a hand on Evylin’s shoulder, stilling her instantly. “We can discuss this later,” he said calmly, then turned to the archminister. “But I’m not pleased with this trickery.”
Ethenn watched warily as Archminister Fishere stepped forward, expression serious.
“There has been no trickery, Colonel,” he promised with soothing candor.
“You asked to Bond, and we assented. Assuming your role in the leadership of our government is not mandatory, though we would kindly ask you to consider it.”
A long silence passed as Deckard and Evylin exchanged a look that spoke volumes.
It was obvious they understood one another and were in agreement—whatever conclusion they’d come to.
The sight intrigued Ethenn, but it confused him as well.
He’d thought he understood what Bonding meant, but watching the two of them now. . . .
He was just as startled as they were about this suggestion of reigning like monarchs. But even more shocking was the shift he could sense between the husband and wife. There was something new between them—and a closeness he’d never witnessed in any couple.
“Consider it we shall,” Deckard said, tone still gruff. He took Evylin’s hand. “Is that all, then? The Bonding is concluded?”
“It is,” Ilain replied haughtily.
Ethenn frowned, wondering if her tone revealed her true feelings.
He certainly didn’t begrudge Evylin and Deckard their discomfort.
He was rather uncomfortable himself. The ceremony had been awkward enough to begin with, standing by watching two people be joined together like that.
Despite the complete lack of sensuality, somehow, it felt more intimate than sex.
If Ethenn was honest, the ceremony was beautiful and alluring—it made his magic rise and his pulse race.
Watching it, he found himself anticipating his future union with Ilain.
But it was also odd and disquieting, something he felt he should not have witnessed.
Now, with this talk of governing, responsibility, and reflecting the image of Allore, Ethenn thought perhaps he was the wrong man for the job. He wasn’t exactly pious, though he did have more faith than Rafferty.
“You’re a disgraceful heathen.”
Deckard and Evylin said hasty goodnights—though the ones they gave to Thom and Ethenn were far more cordial—and exited the room.
Casually, the remaining Mages conversed among each other, seemingly unbothered by the ceremony or the Deckards’ displeasure.
Archminister Fishere began to speak with Ilain in hushed, almost reproachful tones, so Ethenn just stood in place, unsure of what to do.
At his side, Brea nudged his arm. “You still want this?” she asked.
“Oh, uh—” Ethenn scratched his brow.
Thom stepped over then, looking as bemused as Ethenn felt and saving him from having to reply. “Well, that was weird,” he remarked. “Are all Bonding ceremonies like that?”
Brea grinned dryly. “I wouldn’t know. That’s the first Bonding ceremony the world has seen since . . . Well, you’d have to ask Ilain for the specific date, but I know it was centuries ago.”
“Huh.” Thom released an overwhelmed breath. “I guess we’re not needed anymore?”
“No.”
“In that case—” Thom motioned toward the door. “Raff said he’d meet us at The Rook for drinks. Care to join?”
Brea lifted her shoulder in a shrug, then called to Isla.
They exchanged some words in Schonese before she turned back to the two of them.
“Sounds like fun,” she said. “Vayden and Isla are spending the night with Reyana since they won’t see her until the end of this mission, so I’m bereft of company anyway. ”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Thom tipped his head toward the Calders. “I’m sure Auden would love to be your companion.”
Brea rolled her eyes and muttered something caustic in Schonese. “Let’s get out of here before he gets any ideas, shall we?” she said.
Thom laughed, and Ethenn found himself smiling too.
Though he hadn’t spent much time with the Alliance lieutenant, he found himself anticipating their training together.
Her dry wit and blunt remarks reminded him of the best parts of Hewitt, while her ready smile and personable nature contrasted with the gruff man.
Ethenn thought it boded well for the role of mentor.
As they turned to leave, Thom tapped Ethenn’s shoulder. “You comin’, kid—Loxley?” he asked, correcting himself yet again.
Appreciative of the sentiment, though still wary of his friend’s repentance, Ethenn gave him a small, grateful smile. “No, I, uh—” He paused, glancing toward Ilain, where she stood with Fishere and Auden. “After that, I need some time to . . . think.”
Brea smirked while Thom snorted in wry humor. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sure you do. I can’t promise that Raff won’t be pounding on your door once he finds out you’re not coming, though.”
Ethenn grimaced. “Tell him I’m busy.”
“With what?”
Ethenn didn’t say anything, only giving a pointed look toward Ilain.
Thom raised his brow. “Eh? You planning to take your husbandly advantages?”
“No,” Ethenn said. “But Raff doesn’t need to know that.”
“Fair enough.” Thom gave his shoulder another slap. “Don’t think too hard.”
With a final farewell, Thom and Brea left.
In a room full of mostly strangers, Ethenn shuffled his feet nervously.
He wanted to return to his room and consider the implications Bonding might have on his future.
For that matter, he wanted a quiet moment to consider the fact that he was engaged—no, he was betrothed to Ilain.
After that astonishing ceremony in Fishere’s office earlier, he hadn’t had time to process the change in his marital status or what it would mean for their relationship.
He needed to be alone and ponder it all.
But he lingered, waiting for Ilain to finish her conversation with Fishere and Auden to say a proper goodnight as he assumed a husband should.
During that time, Isla stepped over to exchange short pleasantries, welcoming him to their family and wishing him a happy marriage before leaving to join her husband and daughter.
Jarrad and one of the other Mages—Grey, the Night Mage presently betrothed to the third female Warrior in the Alliance, Alma—joined him to offer their own teasing congratulations.
Evidently, Ilain’s betrothal was exciting gossip within the Alliance.
What’s more, Ethenn learned that he was now the center of great envy among the other male Warriors.
“Haadge is going to have a conniption when he finds out,” Grey remarked with a friendly laugh. “That man has been obsessed with Ilain for the last twenty-two years.”
After learning of Major Olsen’s affection for Ilain last night and now hearing about Haadge’s fixation, Ethenn was starting to question why on Terraeus the woman would select him.
“You filthy gutter rat.”
The moment that Fishere concluded with the Calders, Ethenn excused himself from Jarrad and Grey’s company before anyone else could approach Ilain.
Though Auden remained at her side, Ethenn was grateful for his presence.
He didn’t know the proper way to treat Ilain in their new relationship .
. . if it could be called a relationship.
Despite their betrothal, they weren’t exactly lovers.
They couldn’t rightly be called friends either.
Yes, they got along and had pleasant conversations during their travels, but Ethenn often relegated that to her niceness.
Whatever “relationship” they currently had, it was more like acquaintances-turned-spouses than anything.
And that left him in a profoundly uncertain state.
Ilain and Auden turned to Ethenn upon his arrival. She smiled welcomingly, and Auden began to excuse himself. “Don’t go,” he said a bit too hastily, then added, “I won’t be long” to cover for it.
Auden stayed, though he turned his head as though to give them a moment of privacy.
“I just wanted to say goodnight,” Ethenn said.
“You’re leaving?” Ilain said, sounding surprisingly disappointed.
“Um, yes,” Ethenn replied. “We have an early morning, so . . .”
“Right.” Ilain clasped her hands in front of her, glancing sidelong at Auden.
Ethenn cleared his throat, unsure of what else to say.
Ilain continued to stare at him, her bright eyes unnervingly steady.
She was stunning in her silky white dress.
It draped loosely about her waist, though the square-cut bodice fit her snugly.
The sleeves made him think of the whipped cream his aunt used to put on his cousin’s birthday pies, rippling softly to her wrists.
Under other circumstances, Ethenn might have considered telling her how beautiful she looked in that dress.
Should their betrothal have been one born out of mutual love, he might have admitted how he wished to hold her close, to feel the soft fabric under his hands as he kissed her.
As such was not the case, he stayed his tongue.
“Well,” he said with a forced smile, “goodnight.”
Ilain’s smirk wasn’t as confident as usual. “Goodnight, Ethenn.”
Taking his chance, Ethenn turned to leave, offering Auden a singular nod in farewell. Auden’s expression was unexpectedly confused, but Ethenn didn’t let himself ponder it as he strode from the room.
He hurried out of the assembly hall, through the courtyard, and back to the Crimson Clover.
The truth was dreadfully clear. He knew he was too infatuated with Ilain, too desperate for her.
It was problematic in ways he hadn’t anticipated.
She didn’t feel a thing in return for him—not romantically, at least—and he’d allowed himself to be entrapped by her. What had he gotten himself into?
That ceremony . . . It was baffling. The intensity of it, the gravity of it—was he ready for that?