43. BLACK
The temple was overflowing with so many candles I’d lost count three times now. Candles on the walls, candles around the pillars, candles surrounding the altar—practically forming their own altar themselves. So many fucking candles that you’d think we were here to anoint a god.
But that’s the way I wanted it. Elegant. Intimate.
I abandoned the tedious candle counting and scanned the crowd. The final guests were slowly filing in from the main archway leading into the vast chamber.
I’d always loved this building. The interior walls of the temple were curved, with an amphitheater of seating lining the perimeter.
Six separate stairways led down from the mezzanine where I stood, which sectioned off six seating areas, all descending toward the center of the room where a small, stone altar stood on a platform.
Every seat was filled. The entire room was full of members of my court, all of them anxiously awaiting whatever spectacle this was about to be.
Rumors had swirled when the invitations had gone out.
No one knew what to make of the very brief and vague details I’d provided for tonight’s gathering.
Some gossips guessed that it was a mating ceremony, but to whom .
. . no one knew. Aremis’s Aura had heard the whispers, that I was binding myself to one of my council member’s daughters, or that it was a female from another territory—one of prestige, and from a particularly gifted bloodline.
In that regard, they weren’t completely wrong.
I smirked and let a quiet, breathy laugh slip past my lips, thinking of how they would all react the moment Auren, a human, stepped into the room.
Then there were whispers that this was some sort of late tribute to the return of spring.
The High Lords were known to host celebrations and events multiple times throughout the year, though I’d never been the type to frolic in finery under floral garlands and starlight. I left that to The Woodlands and The Arctic.
Regardless, the invite had everyone itching to attend.
Not only had the invitation been intriguingly vague, but it was exquisite in its presentation—a rolled scroll tied with a black satin ribbon, containing an elegant script that instructed every guest to dress in their finest. And Calledan did not disappoint.
An invitation had also been sent to each of the High Lords.
Vanir, of course, knew exactly what to make of it.
Laurent responded almost immediately as well, sending an envoy with a celebratory bottle of his finest wine, and a note that said, “What good is a mate, if not to spoil her incessantly.” I’d smirked the moment I read it.
It was something I had said to him the night of his Lumeri celebration, and he had caught the implication.
The male was more clever than everyone gave him credit for.
Neither Killian or Ramil had sent envoys with their response, but I had it on good authority that they would be attending purely out of curiosity.
I enjoyed keeping the two of them on their toes, wondering why the High Lord of Calledan would be inviting them to an unnamed celebration so soon after Lumeri?
Why would I invite them at all? Especially Ramil, given what he had just done to us.
Well, I had a plan for that.
This “wedding,” as Auren would call it, was more than just that. It was a statement—a declaration—and I was going to make sure the masses bore witness to it. But first, it was time to see my court’s reaction at witnessing Calledan’s Lady being crowned.
After yesterday’s frightful turn of events at the temple ruins, I thought I would still be struggling with some sort of unease.
Instead, I felt better than I had since Benmoor.
Although my control wasn’t what I wanted it to be, I’d managed to rein it in, and eventually it had settled into a near-dormant lull in my veins, just the way I liked it.
I reasoned to myself that maybe it just needed to be expelled, since I hadn’t purged it in that capacity in so long.
Doubt lurked in the back of my mind, but I ignored it, because the thought of it being due to anything else set me on edge again. And today, I needed to be in control.
Thankfully, all I had to do was focus on Auren and the fact that I was making her mine, and my mind was at ease.
I slid my hands into my pockets, dropped the glamour I’d had around me, and stepped out of the shadows.
The fae shuffled about, suddenly sensing my presence.
Heads swiveled in my direction as I casually descended the main stairway toward the center of the temple.
The polite chatter turned hushed as murmurs and half-formed smiles filled the audience.
Not a single fae was sure of what was about to happen.
Their curiosity was palpable, to the point where it was almost overwhelming.
The guests leaned into one another, eyes wide, desperate to get a good look at me and make their assumptions as to what they should expect next.
I would say my attire was a bit obvious, but then again, I always wore black.
This particular ensemble, however, was something I’d had Gareth fashion specifically for this occasion. After all, I would only be marrying once.
The black-on-black dress jacket and pants hugged my skin like a glove.
Gold-gilded thread wound along the cuffs at my wrists and down the long lapels of the jacket in swirling designs, courtesy of Gareth’s particularly skilled hand.
A matching long cloak that was somehow infinitely darker than the rest of the outfit fell from my shoulders, flowing like a trail of night behind me.
I smiled and nodded at a few nobles and a couple of council members who bowed their heads as I passed, each of them searching my eyes for any hint of what was about to happen.
Behind the stone altar, Syros, The Adorner, stood, hands clasped in front of his gold-hemmed linen robes.
He didn’t look a day older than the last time I’d seen him.
His head was still clean-shaven, the stubble around his mouth and on his chin neatly trimmed—though peppered with far more gray than I remembered.
He was a short and stocky male, with a smile as big as his heart.
And he was a busybody, always teaching, or praying, or tending to the archives at the library deep within the mountains.
He’d been the one to shroud me on the battlefield all those years ago. And now, here he was, taking his place at the altar, to bind Auren and me in this mating ceremony.
Gods, how times had changed.
As I came to the bottom of the stairs, the giant basins of fire that bracketed each corner of all six stairways pulsed, flaring brightly. There were twelve basins in total, and they were enchanted to create a barrier, only allowing certain individuals onto the platform.
The priestesses utilized the enchantment as protection from any heretics who dared disturb their prayers or dedications, though there hadn’t been any of those incidents since the last war.
Now, it was used more out of habit than necessity.
But for this particular event, the enchantment would be in full force.
I stepped past the two basins on either side of me and approached the altar.
Syros bowed at the waist. “My Lord.”
I nodded in return. “Good to see you, Syros.”
The male’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled.
“It is an honor to be leading this special event.” His eyes flicked past me to the crowd.
“It seems you have managed to fill every seat, and then some. There are many who have taken to the mezzanine just to be able to witness this . . . mysterious occasion.”
I didn’t hide my grin. Syros had been filled in on all the details and knew the entire agenda. He’d always had a soft spot for me. He trusted me, even in times when no one else did. And he knew I tended to have a wild idea or two up my sleeve.
What was even better was that he had always been keen to play along with my antics.
Stepping closer to the altar, I nodded. “It’s going to be a beautiful ceremony.”
A swath of red flowers decorated the altar before me, draping down the sides and puddling to the floor.
The adornment was courtesy of Amarna, I had no doubt.
She’d truly outdone herself by adding that special detail.
My request had been for as many candles as possible, in honor of Auren’s beauty and light.
I could tell just by looking that the Elder had procured thousands of them.
The temple’s ceiling flickered with their golden light.
I observed the guests while I waited for my mate to grace the top steps of the temple.
In the section directly across from me, at the edge of the altar, Vanir stood next to Roirdan.
Aremis, Maeson, Morah, Silas, and Nivelle stood to their right, each of them dressed to impress.
I noted the sword at Vanir’s hip, and at Roirdan’s.
Aremis was armed to the teeth with daggers.
I didn’t need to see them to know they were there.
Silas was earning all kinds of stares, ranging from weariness to intrigue—thanks to the oversized golden sword strapped between his white wings, which he’d chosen to leave unglamoured. He stood like a statue, clad in dark gray, eyes scanning the room until they snagged on something of interest.
I turned, slowly following his glare up and to the right, to where Ramil and Killian were taking their place at the end of a row in the section they’d been directed to sit in.
Ramil looked as uneasy as he did curious, ready to flee at any sign of suspicious activity, yet teeming with malicious ambition.
Bastard.
At his side, Killian wore a scowl. He crossed his arms over his chest and began picking apart the crowd with obvious distaste.
Splendid. It was all coming together.
I caught Roirdan’s eye and tapped into his mind.
The sand-loving fuck and his woodland pet have graced us with their presence. I tilted my head in their direction, and Roirdan shifted his sights to them, marking their location and giving me a subtle nod.
That was easy, he said back into my mind.
Breck’s information had been correct. I hadn’t doubted him, but Killian was as unpredictable as a storm, so I’d made sure to have an alternative plan in place—just in case.
My opinion of Breck seemed to be ever-shifting. We had never bothered with each other’s existence that much until Auren came along. Before her, Breck was just another dignitary. Someone to deal with during meetings, and occasionally taunt and argue with just for fuck’s sake.
Now, he might as well have been one of my spies.
The information he was relaying to us was invaluable.
I was appreciative, even if he was only doing it for Auren’s sake.
The last time we’d spoken face to face was at Lumeri in Drastia, and that was not the best of encounters.
But we seemed to both be looking past that for the betterment of the rest of the realm.
I found him seated right where I’d instructed, next to Laurent and Senna at the left edge of the altar. I nodded to the three of them, and they returned the motion.
Fixating back on my Trium, I waited with as much anticipation as everyone else.
Silas’s wings twitched, the movement catching my eye, and he pivoted to look back and up toward the main entryway just before the candles and fire basins collectively pulsed with light.
The guests quieted, and, noting the direction of my stare, turned as one, watching the entrance. A heartbeat later, two figures stepped through the arch into the temple and approached the top of the steps, arm in arm.
Auren and Remic.
The room gasped at the sight of the hooded figure, but I couldn’t help but smile.
She’d chosen black. Not white, or ivory, or some sweet, feminine shade—as every other female would have.
But black.
Black like my shadowfire. Like Calledan’s banners.
And I loved her all the more for it.
Her face was completely hidden beneath the cloak’s hood, as was tradition. I couldn’t see her, but I was certain she could see me.
Remic brought her to a halt at the precipice of the main stairway. His expression was stoic, ever the embodiment of judgment and wrath. But I knew that beneath that stone-faced facade, he was beaming with pride.
Murmurs circulated throughout the temple as the audience took in Remic and the stranger. Then, every head followed as the two of them started their descent.
My heart began pounding alongside the ever-present thrumming.
I straightened, pulling my hands from my pockets and clasping them behind my back, anxiously digging my thumb into my palm as I watched Auren draw closer to me with every breath.
All sound faded away. My vision tunneled to her existence, and hers alone.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t think, could barely breathe.
I’d seen nearly five hundred years of life, and nothing had ever threatened to bring me to my knees. Not until her. Not until this moment. I’d worship her on bended knee. I’d worship her with my hands, with my mouth, in every physical, spiritual, and emotional way possible.
She was mine.
And now it was time to let the rest of the world know.