Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Silver Basilica, Shadow Court
Aurelius
On the afternoon of both my coronation as Emperor and my wedding at the Primo Festival, I sit on my giant throne in the Silver Basilica.
Sunshine floods through the clerestory windows in the nave walls over the glittering dragon scales of the throne. Flames coil from the throne all the way to the vaulted ceiling, as if it has already caught fire.
The last time that I’d been brought here by the Council, my mates had been tied to the marble columns, while I’d barely managed to find a way to avoid executing them.
Now, I sit here ready to become the most powerful man in the realms.
Except, the walls are made out of solid silver. The entire building is a weapon to Maximinus, who stands to the side of the apse, which is a semicircular raised stage that is flanked by twelve silver dragons in flight.
To any of the guests, who are seated around feasting tables down in the nave, it would look like Maximinus’ careful gaze on me is nothing but avuncular concern.
Yet the council members know better, especially Decima and Cato who are seated at the front. Their tables groan under platters of wild boar glazed in honey, spiced sausages, and baskets of pomegranates.
Beta servants rush between the lively, drunk guests to refill their goblets with wine.
The twelve councilors are dressed in ceremonial robes with elaborate dragon pins that mark out their status.
The senior commanders in my army, along with instructors in the Shadow Academy like Ignatius, line the walls. They rest their hands on the hilts of their swords, standing on high alert.
This ceremony is under my command.
Aquila has been confined to his rooms, however, by Ignatius. I don’t know how they will be able to move forward as a bonded pair, but Ignatius will be strictly taking back the control as both Alpha and dragon within their relationship.
It is the correct decision because even with makeup, it would have been hard to mask the bruises on his face.
I raise my hand to my gleaming military uniform, which Lucius has polished until it gleams like a mirror, and pat my chest. I have tucked the folded confessions underneath, where they are dampened by my sweat.
Nothing must go wrong today. I have waited too long for this.
I didn’t think that I would be able to wrest control back from Hadrian. He craves to remarry his mates almost as much as he craves to sit again on this throne. Its darkness whispers to his soul, along with the ghosts of everyone who he has executed in this room.
Yet my soul cries out just as sharply to marry Freya and Daire for the first time, and I shan’t lose out on my chance.
I sense Daire and Freya through our bond, and their joy mingled with anxiety spikes through me.
They don’t know what they’ll be walking into, but I made my promises to them.
I hope that they trust me.
The room is filled with the scent of incense.
Lucius and War stand at my shoulder, as on alert as Maximinus is.
Lucius leans over me, pretending to adjust my cloak, while he whispers, “Any minute now, Emperor.”
I give a short nod.
Lucius straightens.
I clench my hands on the throne’s armrests.
The fanfare of trumpets and chanting bleeds through the doors from outside. The celebrations will continue through the capital all day and night.
I have already been crowned Emperor. Everything that happens today inside the Basilica is for show.
I marched through my people in triumphal procession, trying not to show how the cheering of the crowds confused me.
It was only the second time that I had ever been amongst them, but now, they cheered for me…?
The city was decorated with garlands. Children threw petals. Cadets dared to smile and wave, shouting “good luck.”
It was the first time that I felt truly seen, rather than feared.
I was no longer the spare.
I was stepping out of my dead brother’s shadow.
I had insisted that my fae and wolf also process in triumph through the streets to the Basilica.
I understood the anxiety in the bond because as a fae, Daire had been paraded through them once before. That time, however, he had been in a cage, pelted with mud and rotten vegetables.
Now, he’s flanked with War’s special guard, and anyone who throws anything at him will lose their hand.
Yet I want him, as well as the entire city, to see that he is now respected.
He always should have been.
I know that Daire will be swaggering along as if nothing could frighten him in that annoying way of his for the sake of our Omega.
This is the wedding day for both of us.
By the Shadow Gods, I have dreamed about the day that I would marry my Omega. I have been taught my entire life that a wicked beast like I am didn’t deserve to even bond, let alone marry.
Overwhelmed with a rush of emotion that I am unused to, I keep my gaze fixed on the large entrance doors.
I stiffen when I hear Maximinus’ footfalls approach. “Your bride is late.”
I shrug. “She’s probably deciding what jewels to wear.”
He tuts. “This reflects poorly on you that you can’t keep your Omega under control. You’re letting down your guests. Do something to keep them amused, before you further tarnish your reputation.”
“Should I dance?” I reply, dryly. “Do you wish your Emperor to become a courtesan?”
Maximinus’ hand twitches like he wishes that he could backhand me.
He forces a smile onto his face. “How about I put on a shadow puppet show? You loved them when you were only a boy, remember?”
My mouth becomes dry.
My uncle would pull me onto his lap after a beating, when I was still too young for the Shadow Academy. Then he would perform shadow puppets to distract me from the pain.
He is intentionally reminding me of the control that he’d once held over me.
Fucker.
My jaw clenches. “I didn’t. I just loved that you’d stopped hurting me.”
Maximinus’ gaze darkens.
His shadows spread across the back wall of the Basilica. The guests settle down to watch the giant puppet show of Primo and the creation myth, which is displayed eerily across the high walls.
The huge dragon emerges from the shadows to create Draca Kingdom out of his wings.
Suddenly, the main doors to the Basilica slam open. The cheering and music from the outside streets flood the inside of the Basilica like sunlight.
I lift myself out of my throne. I wave my hand to banish the puppet show.
The guests fall silent, and my heart forgets to beat.
Two figures stand in the golden-bathed entranceway like flames.
My King and Queen.
I am mesmerized, unable to move. I watch, as they walk up the aisle toward me.
Holding each other’s hands, they are the most beautiful creatures I have ever seen.
My mouth becomes dry.
Freya and Daire are wearing matching white silk robes with my Golden Dragon emblem on the front. A ceremonial belt, which matches their soft red shoes, is tied with a knot at both their waists, which can only be undone tonight by me.
A fire-colored veil covers their heads and shoulders. I secretly asked Lucius to teach me how to embroider them, no matter how much it made me blush, and how many times I pricked my fingers.
Freya’s veil glitters with golden threaded wolves, while Daire’s sparkles with golden ravens.
I can’t wait to see my Spark’s face on the wedding night.
She doesn’t need expensive jewels to make her the most beautiful person in any room.
I believed that Daire would protest about dressing in a pretty outfit meant for Omegas, although he looks otherworldly in it. The white and red makes his wings appear even more dramatic.
Yet here he is, the frost to Freya’s fire.
Is it wrong that I still enjoy being the one to wear the armor, while he is dressed in a robe and veil? That this is my throne?
He must understand that this is a political point.
He is taking the place of the noble dragon, Liviana. He is my legitimate bride today because no Alpha…no fae…has ever married a Shadow Dragon King.
The veil isn’t a mark of shame, but rather my respect.
I have also long learned that Daire doesn’t need to be dressed as a warrior to be deadly.
I arch my brow.
I was wrong that Daire would be swaggering. He is moving with a regal grace. His chin is raised high. His expression is one of focused determination, as if he’s blindfolded.
How could anyone not recognize him as royalty when they see him looking like this?
War and Lucius drag a sheepskin covered stool each from behind my throne and drop them in front of me.
War gestures at them. “Kneel.”
Freya and Daire remain clutching each other’s hands as they kneel in front of me.
Pride and contentment surge through me, although for the first time, it’s not that someone is being forced to kneel for me, but that they are choosing to, and soon, I will be the one to raise them back to their feet.
Lucius passes me a golden dragon crown that matches my own, before he glances at my bride and groom. “When the crown is placed on your head, it is time for your vows. State your name and that you freely give yourself to Aurelius.”
The crowns will fit on top of their veiled heads, as much as I wish to raise the veils to place the crowns properly on their hair, while watching the expressions on my nestmates’ faces.
The ritual dictates that I not look upon their faces, however, until we return alone to my royal nest.
I stroke my finger over the dragon on the front of the crown, unable to look away from the golden rings that gleam in the light, which I already placed on my King and Queen’s fingers in our private ceremony.
Lucius has worked himself into shattered exhaustion to pull off this coronation for me without complaint.
Except, to me, this is showmanship.
I am already married to my Spark. In my heart, I have been for a long time.
I lean forward to place the crown onto Freya’s head.
“I am Empress Freya, of the House of Fang, Thorn, and Sin,” she says, “and I freely give myself to the Emperor of Draca.”
Shocked gasps rush around the Basilica.
My Wolf Queen just declared herself to already be Daire and Lanlin’s bride, as much as she is mine.
Fuck.
I quell the guests, however, with a look.