Chapter Fifty-Three
CHAPTER
FIFTY-THREE
Severin looked forward to the day when he could cross through the iron gates of Rhovar without belittling himself with some ridiculous disguise.
As it was, he played the role of a guild leader well, masking his demonic form beneath the skin of a man in his late thirties.
Young for a guild master, but impressive enough to command both respect and intrigue.
His very demeanor was calibrated to fit the expectations of the clergy and knights alike.
His smile was warm, eyes crinkling with practiced familiarity.
Every scar and bead of sweat had been placed to suggest just the right touch of authenticity.
In this game of masquerade, every expression or subtle shift in posture was a deliberate stroke of deception to fit the role he needed to embody, and Severin would play his part well. He only hoped that Aurelie could do the same.
She sat beside him, her face softer and magicked to appear rounder. She was beautiful in her gown, though he much preferred her true face to the one staring back at him now, long brown hair spilling over thin shoulders, not a trace of muscle to be seen.
She, too, was playing a role, and never had Severin felt quite so nervous as he did when their carriage rolled through the iron gates of the kingdom.
Her illusion was woven together seamlessly, the hand she’d set on his knee helping to maintain their magic.
Still, as he watched her eyes flick about and felt the quickening of her pulse as they neared her home, Severin couldn’t help but worry.
Especially as the guards approached their carriage.
“A fine day to you, guild master,” one called, her gloved hand resting easy on the sword at her hip.
“A fine day indeed.” Severin flashed a broad smile, inclining his head with practiced grace. “May the Light favor this beautiful union.”
The knight smiled as she accepted the ledgers he presented. “Come bearing gifts, have you? I shall keep a cup ready.” Her eyes lifted to Aurelie. “And who is your company?”
“My wife,” he said smoothly. “We couldn’t miss such a joyous day.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Mistress Verat.” The knight patted the horse’s flank, then turned to the others. “Hurry them through! No sense in a royal feast if there’s nothing to toast with.”
Finally.
Severin gave a dutiful nod and was about to give the reins a light tap when another voice cut across the yard.
“Halt!”
A second later, his throat constricted as Aurelie’s tension knotted through the bond.
The man who strode toward them was tall and proudly built, though it was his missing hand that drew Severin’s gaze.
“We’ll need to inspect your cargo, guild master,” the knight declared. “With the recent attacks, we can’t afford to take any chances. I trust you understand.”
Severin’s reply came slick as oil. “Of course, be my guest.”
Severin held no fear as the young knight climbed onto the first wagon, driven by one of the bonded humans from Veritas.
His barrels were clean, and his ledgers tighter than a miser’s purse.
Still, unease stirred as Aurelie squeezed his knee.
He set his hand gently atop hers, masking her fear for any who might be watching.
His mind raced, curiosity edging into irritation as he wondered who this man was, and why Aurelie tracked his every move.
The demon found himself strangely nettled, stealing glances at the knight Aurelie watched like a hawk. He supposed the man was handsome enough for a human. But surely that couldn’t be why her heart was racing something fierce.
Maintain the magic, Severin wished he could warn her. Don’t you dare get distracted.
The knight rapped the barrel lids with the butt of his staff, listening to each one before moving on to the next. His gaze passed over Aurelie, lingering just enough to nod in acknowledgment.
“All clear, Mistress Verat,” he said with a ridiculously charming smile that made Severin immediately dislike him. “Enjoy the celebration.”
“Thank you, we will.” Aurelie pitched her voice low and sultry to suit her illusion, giving the knight the briefest smile before snapping her gaze away as their carriage pulled forward.
Only when the city gates shrank behind them did he feel Aurelie’s tension ebb, and some of his own with it. They’d cleared the first hurdle, but the day was far from over.
“Care to tell me who that was?” His voice was casual, though the sideways glance he gave her was anything but.
“Nicolas is who my father wanted me to wed.” Her jaw clenched, eyes fixed purposefully ahead.
“Ah,” Severin said, lips quirking. “So that slice was your handiwork.”
She stilled, then gave him a sidelong glare before scoffing. “Very funny.”
“I thought so, though I doubt he’d applaud my efforts.”
Her gasp was quiet and disbelieving. “You’re horrible.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “My jokes can certainly cut, but not as sharply as your sword.”
He laughed as she smacked him in the chest.
Finally, the streets of Rhovar stretched before them.
The city had dressed up for the celebration.
Crimson and indigo banners draped from every windowsill, gold and silver thread woven through the crests.
Laurel garlands were strung between lampposts, fluttering like ribbons.
Children darted between wagon wheels to snatch up scattered petals, their shrieks of laughter woven between the music of street performers.
A pale wooden arch had been erected near the eastern fountain—unremarkable at first glance, though Severin noticed the braid of vines threaded through the top and the seven silver starflowers that had been knotted at precise intervals.
It was a custom of the Frienen—the bride and groom would walk beneath the arch after the celebrations, and they would be blessed with fertility or something ridiculous of that sort. It was all utter folly.
“Have you been to Frienen before?” Aurelie asked as she took in the sights. “I haven’t been since I was a child.”
Tension knotted his throat, but he kept his gaze purposefully ahead. “A few times, yes.”
Royal stewards waited near the courtyard, flanked by servants in crimson and indigo livery. The gold thread on their sleeves caught the morning light.
Severin slowed the carriage, drawing it into line beside the others.
The moment the last wheel stilled, footmen rushed to the wagons, hands outstretched to begin unloading.
Barrels were lifted one by one, the guild’s insignia gleaming on every lid.
Each was inspected, recorded, then rolled down the marble path into the shaded storage beneath the kitchens.
He was the first to dismount, and Aurelie extended her hand to him, slipping into her role.
“Shall we?” he asked, and in the next breath they were swept into the crowd of guests and pressed into the chaos of the festivities.
“Is it always this easy for you to sneak into Rhovar?”
“Not when there’s a pesky Chantelune or an angel who can see miasma watching for me.”
The scent of laurel hung thick in the air, and from the castle came the bright, commanding cry of a trumpet. The Frienen were arriving, and soon all of Rhovar would taste a wine that would change the world.
Soon, Aurelie would hate him forever.