Chapter Eleven
The thing he had always avoided was here.
A wedding.
Love.
Well, no, not love. It was not supposed to be love, because love was power over him and...
Damn it all. If he had to protect her or protect others, he would grab Jocasta first and go back for the rest. Jocasta would be mad at him for it and would lecture all the way back to safety that she should have been second—and that thought made him ache in the middle and realize that even her arguing voice would be music to his ears, because she would still be alive.
And if she asked him to do something wrong— But she wouldn’t. He knew that. He trusted her.
The ache grew.
He was a fool, and he was going to get himself hurt, and yet every time he tried to analyze just how that would occur (like a good general should), he couldn’t find the place of attack. He couldn’t find the weakness she would exploit.
She won’t. She doesn’t want to hurt you. She cares about the kingdom.
She cares about me.
It felt like someone had punched him in the gut, so why was he so happy about it?
“You look as if you have a toothache. Stop it. Smile!” Cole hissed from the corner of his mouth as they stood in the cold, simple cathedral. Well, simple compared to the grand buildings in other kingdoms, perhaps. It was only called a cathedral because of its magnificent windows and its sheer size.
For a place so large, it was crammed full, and people stood outside, waving and cheering. They cheered for his arrival. They were blessed by the bishop. Another wave of screaming and joyful shouts went up, and Girion’s shoulders relaxed. “That must be the bridal carriage.”
There was a flurry of activity in the back, fanfare, and then the flutes and viols began to play, and people were rising—and it was like being caught in a raid, but there were no swords to slash or arrows to loose.
The enemy came in the form of two guards first, Herrick and Samson, then the Watermans, who seemed stunned at the spectacle around them, and then two pretty young girls in darkest blue, white fur stoles around their shoulders, single white roses in their hands.
The cathedral doors were left open so that people lining the outside and waiting in the middle of Polar Square could see what they could of the ceremony.
The last to arrive was Jocasta.
The lone warrior, in her long white dress, with sleeves that flowed and dripped with lace.
She must be freezing in that thing! What could Nalar have been thinking? Girion found himself wondering, indignant at seeing his bride shivering into the cathedral, white fur wrapped around her shoulders while the rest of the dress seemed to flow down her body, a waterfall of white silk.
“Smile!” Cole hissed.
“I am smiling! Aren’t I?”
“No!”
He forced his face to obey, even though adrenaline was spiking through his system.
This is the last chance to save yourself.
This is the best chance to save your people.
Both you and your people are in safe hands with Jocasta.
The air turned warmer and sweeter as she approached.
As if blown by spring breezes, he was moved out of his place beside the altar and hurried to meet her as she made the last steps. He could feel her shaking against his arm, and he took his cape and draped it around her shoulders.
Everyone in the cathedral made noises that would be better aimed at a cub or baby, but Girion dismissed the cooing and “aww” ing. His bride looked cold. His job was to take care of her, starting now.
“Thank you,” Jo whispered, smiling up at him.
His heart tried to claw its way from his chest, and he croaked, “Welcome.”
Bishop Stoddard, elderly and still agile, beamed at them.
“That is the truest type of partnership, of love, of care. Being able to sacrifice one’s comfort for another.
To do what is best for the other, and esteem the other higher than oneself.
I have known King Girion since he was born, and I was here as a cleric when he was presented within these very walls.
I can say that he has always put his people first, and so I have no hesitation in his choice of bride, the mage Jocasta Waterman.
What is more, I have met with this lovely bride and her good, kind parents.
They are the soul of Caledon, good, hardworking people who love and care for others.
Those who think Caledon is an icy land, ruled by an icy hand, are wrong.
Like our glaciers, there are miles beneath the surface, and those hidden depths are full of beauty.
There is no greater beauty in my aged eyes than seeing two become one.
Let us sing the sacred music, “The Joining.”
More swelling music. Girion was glad he was facing away from the congregation, able to mouth and mumble over words, his throat dry.
He could still feel Jocasta shaking near him, and he wondered if it wasn’t cold, but fear.
“You don’t have to,” he whispered, bending close under the guise of shoring up her furs.
“I want to. It’s just been a lot.”
“Soon we’ll be sitting down and stuffing our faces, watching everyone cavorting and making fools of themselves.”
“Looking forward to that.”
“Me, too.”
Songs and sermons were soon over, both brief, because Caledon’s royals might feel responsible to show a little pomp and grandeur—but not much. Besides, the doors were open, and frost was starting to form on the back row.
“Jocasta Waterman, bride of Girion, do you pledge to love, honor, and keep faith with this man, forsaking all others, in good times and bad, in wealth and want, in sorrow and joy?”
“I do.”
“Girion the Great, King of Caledon, bridegroom of Jocasta, do you promise to cherish, honor, and keep faith with this woman, forsaking all others, in good times and bad, in wealth and want, in sorrow and joy?”
“I do.”
“And furthermore, as king, do you duly choose this woman as your queen, and grant her powers to rule in all justice and fairness with you over Caledon? If so, declare your intentions.”
Girion nodded and licked his lips. Jocasta had the easy part.
Well, good. He was supposed to protect and spare her trouble.
“It is my intention to be united to this woman as my wife and my queen. I make these vows with all friendship and trust, as she is my ally in every way, and the love I have for her is equal to the love I have for my kingdom and my people. I could bring you no finer queen, and you could ask for no better. With all the loyalty and honor in my soul, and all the love in my heart, I choose her.”
“You may place the crown on your queen, sire.”
Girion nodded and looked at Jocasta clearly for the first time since turning to address the assembly.
His eyes had glazed over, and now he blinked, stunned to see Jocasta with a radiant smile and a tear trailing over each plump cheek.
He took the crown from the velvet pillow Cole held out and set the crown on her head.
He hastily used his thumbs to wipe away her tears.
“That was beautiful,” she whispered.
“Thank you. I agonized over it.”
“You may place a kiss of union upon each other.”
“Practice had better make perfect,” Jocasta murmured.
Girion smirked and planted a kiss on her, just the way they had rehearsed. They had decided three seconds was the right length, and he counted those seconds in paradise before releasing her lips and resting his forehead to hers. “Queen Jocasta. It suits you.”
“All hail Queen Jocasta! All hail King Girion!”
The noise and clamor were far less regimented than the sobriety leading up to that moment, and Girion relaxed. She was his now. She belonged to the royal house.
He was already feeling warmer.
HE LOVES ME! HE SAID it! It wasn’t in the king’s vows, but in mine, but Girion said it anyway. With all the love in his heart! Jocasta gripped his hand as they sat in the carriage. They both waved to the crowds lining the streets.
Girion squeezed her fingers within his. “You did it!”
“We did it!” she enthused. “That was... Oh, Girion. Did you mean it? All of it?”
“Absolutely!”
“Even about— Well, never mind, if you said you meant it, I know you meant it. I... I’m not sure if the vows I made—about love, you know—are something I’m very good at, or sure of.
Not because I don’t want to, but because it’s new.
You hear about girls saying they love a man within just days of meeting, and I always thought them to be fools at best.”
“You don’t have to love me, Jocasta. Not yet, or not at all. Allies are loyal, and that is enough.”
“No, but I want—”
What she wanted was blown away by an impromptu band springing up alongside the carriage, with loud drums and horns, playing Caledon’s royal anthem beside them, marching with them all the way to the palace, the din so loud that all she could do was smile and hold her husband’s hand.
THE REST OF THE DAY felt truly celebratory, with Jocasta and Girion ensconced on their thrones, sitting and receiving guests between feasting and singing.
Early in the evening, word came that the delegation to the northern hills had been successful in rescuing the stranded travelers, and another message came from a mayor at a town halfway between Tundra Springs and Port Hebron that they observed the hot springs beginning to trickle out towards Port Hebron after weeks of it drying up and freezing over.
Girion read the messages out loud and raised his glass to her, toasting “My beautiful and powerful wife and queen, the jewel of Caledon.”
She had been living in the palace for a week and a half, and it was the first time she truly felt like she belonged.
“Darling?” Her mother was at her side, flushed with excitement, food, and wine, her eyes alight with excitement.
“Girion said that Lady Somerlynn will help us hunt for a house this week. Something near their neighborhood, and he also gave us a carriage, a little one, and two horses for when we are in town, and says that they can be stabled here. He is so generous.”
“He is.”