Chapter 34
Cora POV
Mika pushes me harder than ever this morning. Sweat runs down my back, soaking into my tunic, and my arms ache with the effort of deflecting his relentless blows. Each strike rattles through me, forcing me to summon strength I’m not sure I have.
“Focus, Cora!” he scolds, his voice sharp as steel. “Your enemies will not give you time to catch your breath.”
I grit my teeth, gripping the sword tighter. My lungs burn, my muscles scream, but I refuse to yield. Summoning every ounce of strength, I swing hard, my blade cutting through the air with precision. The impact jars Mika’s weapon, and to my astonishment, he drops his sword.
“Well done,” he says, pride flickering in his eyes as he nods at me.
I collapse onto the ground, steadying my breathing, my chest rising and falling like a drumbeat. “Does it get easier?” I ask between gulps of air.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “I’ve been trained to fight since I could stand. So… give it another thirty years, Cora.” His grin is infuriating, and I scoop up a handful of snow, tossing it at him in mock retaliation.
He finally lets me go, and I stagger away, desperate for a bath. My body aches, but beneath the exhaustion is a quiet hope, that Garrion will be waiting for me when I get there.
When I reach our chambers, the scent of herbs greets me. Tara is already there, steam rising from the bath she’s preparing. She looks up with a polite smile. “Good morning, my lady. Soma instructed me to assist you today,” she says, sprinkling soaps and herbs into the hot water.
I frown, suspicion prickling at me. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure, my lady,” she replies plainly, her hands steady as she works. “I’m just doing as asked.”
I study her for a moment, but she offers no further explanation. Something is being kept from me, I can feel it. Still, I force a smile. “You may go. I can manage.”
She bows her head and slips out, leaving me alone with the steaming bath and the unanswered questions.
As I sink into the steaming water, I let the heat soothe the ache in my muscles, but my mind refuses to rest.
I keep circling back to the same question, what is going on?
Garrion’s birthday is still a month and a half away, so it cannot be that.
The winter solstice has already passed, its fires long extinguished.
Are there other northern traditions I’ve yet to learn, some celebration hidden from me?
It must be something important. Garrion is absent, Mika is occupied elsewhere, and Soma has set Tara to fuss over me. The secrecy gnaws at me, and the more I think on it, the more restless I become.
I scrub myself harder, determined to be spotless, until my skin glows red beneath the water.
If they are planning something, I will not be caught unprepared.
The tangles in my hair, heavy from sweat and snow, begin to irritate me as I drag the comb through.
It flows far below my lower back, a river of white strands that feels more burden than beauty in moments like this.
Perhaps I should cut it, shed the weight, free myself from the constant snags and knots.
Yet, as I pause with the comb in hand, I wonder if Garrion would miss it. He has often brushed it back from my face with a tenderness that belies his reputation. The thought makes me hesitate, even as the annoyance lingers.
The water ripples around me, fragrant with herbs, but my mind is elsewhere, turning over possibilities, searching for answers in shadows.
I braid my hair into a tight crown around my head, fingers working with practiced precision.
Once it dries, I know it will fall in soft waves, framing my face with a gentleness that belies the strength I’ve been training into my body.
I choose my blue wool gown, its weight comforting against the chill of winter, and fasten my fur-lined cloak around my shoulders before stepping out.
The warmth of the kitchen greets me, fragrant with bread and herbs, the clatter of pots and the hum of voices filling the air.
One of the girls quickly offers me a bowl of porridge and a steaming cup of tea.
I take my seat at the bench, watching them move with ease, their rhythm familiar.
They are used to me eating here, blending into their morning bustle rather than waiting for the formalities of the hall.
“Have any of you seen Soma?” I ask, curiosity slipping into my tone.
“No, my lady,” one of them replies, shaking her head.
I nod in thanks, though the answer leaves me unsettled. Oh well, I think, I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.
After finishing my meal, I make my way to the stables.
The air is sharp with the scent of hay and horses, a comfort I’ve grown fond of.
Zeus greets me with a soft snort, his dark eyes bright.
He has adjusted well to life here, no longer restless as he once was.
To my amusement, he even shares a stall with a beautiful tanned mare, their companionship easy and natural.
I run my hand along his strong neck, smiling at the thought.
Perhaps, in time, they might have a foal.
The quiet of the stables soothes me, though beneath it all lingers the sense that something is being kept from me. Garrion, Soma, Mika, they are all moving pieces in a game I cannot yet see. But for now, I let the moment be, tending to Zeus and breathing in the peace of the morning.
I spend the day walking the grounds, checking the stores of grain and the cuts of meat, ensuring the supplies will hold through the cold weeks ahead.
The work steadies me, but as the sun begins to sink, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson, a quiet frustration gnaws at me.
Garrion has been absent all day. So have Soma and Mika.
Their silence weighs heavier than the winter air.
When I return to our chambers, the room is empty.
I sit before the mirror, undoing the tight braid that has bound my hair since morning.
The strands fall loose, cascading down my back, catching the last light of dusk.
I stare at my reflection, wondering where everyone has gone, the unanswered questions pressing harder against my chest.
The door opens without warning. Soma steps inside, her expression unreadable, her voice brisk. “I need your help with something,” she says.
I nod, rising without protest, curiosity sparking beneath my irritation. She leads me down the hall, her pace purposeful, her silence offering no explanation. The air grows colder as we near the outer doors, and when she pushes them open, the breath catches in my throat.
The entire garden is transformed. Candles flicker everywhere, their golden flames dancing against the winter night.
They hang from the branches of the trees like stars brought down to earth, each one casting a soft glow that turns the snow into silver.
The air is crisp, but the warmth of the light makes it feel enchanted, as though I’ve stepped into a fairy tale.
A path of candles winds before me, carefully placed along the ground, guiding me forward. Their glow curves around the corner, beckoning me onward, promising something hidden just beyond sight. The whole garden shimmers, alive with light, every shadow softened, every detail touched with magic.
The silence is profound, broken only by the faint crackle of wicks and the whisper of wind through the branches. It feels sacred, as though the world itself is holding its breath, waiting for me to take the next step.
I pause, overwhelmed, my heart racing. Whoever prepared this has woven more than candles into the night, they’ve woven wonder, devotion, and a promise of something unforgettable.
“What’s going on?” I call after Soma, but she is already gone, her footsteps fading into silence.
The candlelit path ahead beckons me forward, each flickering flame guiding my steps like stars laid upon the earth. My breath curls in the cold air as I follow the trail, heart pounding with anticipation.
When I round the corner, I stop in my tracks. The arbor is transformed, every branch, every curve, is softened by the glow of countless candles. Their light spills across the snow, turning the garden into something out of a dream, a place where winter itself seems to bow to the warmth of fire.
And beneath the arbor stands Garrion.
The soft glow of the candles paints his face in gold and shadow, sharpening the lines of his jaw, catching in his eyes until they seem to burn brighter than the flames themselves.
He looks impossibly beautiful, more enchanting than I have ever seen him, and for a moment I cannot move, cannot breathe.
Speechless, I step toward him, the world narrowing until there is only the light, the snow, and the man waiting beneath the roses. Did he organize this? For me, for us? The thought steals my breath, leaving only wonder and the ache of hope in my chest.
Garrion reaches for my hand, his grip firm yet trembling, and draws me closer until the warmth of his body presses against mine. His lips find mine in a gentle kiss, tender but unsteady, and I feel the faint tremor running through him. He’s nervous, more than I’ve ever seen him.
I pull back just enough to search his face, my voice soft but concerned. “What’s wrong?” I ask, the question hanging between us like a fragile thread.
Garrion takes a steadying breath, his hand tightening around mine as though he fears I might slip away. His voice is low, but every word carries the weight of his heart.
“Cora” he begins, his eyes locked on mine, “we were forced into this marriage by the king. I never expected it to become what it has, something sacred, something that has changed me in ways I never thought possible. I love you, with all that I am, with all that I will ever be. And you…
you deserve more than a union born of duty and command. You deserve a choice. You deserve a wedding that is yours, not one forced upon you.”
Then, slowly, Garrion drops to one knee beneath the glow of the candles.
From within his cloak he produces a ring, its silver setting shaped like the northern star, cradling a polished obsidian stone that gleams like midnight fire.
The heirloom catches the light, a symbol of legacy and devotion, and he holds it out to me with trembling hands.
“Will you choose me,” he asks, his voice thick with emotion, “as I am, not as Lord Darkmoor, not as a man bound by obligation, but simply as Garrion? Will you wed me of your own free will, and let this bond be ours, chosen and cherished?”
The garden is silent, the candles flickering like stars around us, as I stand breathless before the man who has laid his heart bare.
The sight of Garrion kneeling before me, the obsidian ring gleaming in the candlelight, shatters the last of my composure.
My chest tightens, and before I realize it, I’ve dropped to my knees in front of him, closing the space between us.
Tears blur my vision, hot and unstoppable, spilling down my cheeks as the weight of his words sinks into me.
I reach for him with trembling hands, my breath breaking into sobs that carry both relief and joy. “Yes,” I whisper, the word escaping me in a breathless rush, fragile yet certain. My voice cracks, but the truth in it is unshakable.
The candles flicker around us, their glow wrapping the garden in warmth, and I feel as though the world itself has stilled to witness this moment. My heart pounds, my tears fall freely, and all I can think is that I have chosen him—not out of duty, not out of fear, but out of love.
“Always yes,” I manage, pressing my forehead against his, the ring between us like a promise carved in stone.