When they were finished, Siena picked up Anya’s hands in her own and squeezed them affectionately.
“You have been my most trusted companion for almost all of my life, and it honors me to have you here by my side during this…this event that neither of us thought we would ever be a part of.” Siena pulled Anya’s hands close until she was pressing the palms of them just above her heart. “But by tradition I can no longer choose you to bear the marriage dagger. That honor must go to my sister, Syreena, despite her protests otherwise.” Siena’s golden gaze flicked up to quell the supporting protest on Syreena’s lips. Syreena had felt that Anya deserved this right, no matter whose blood was whose. “It is her right,” Siena continued, her eyes warming, softening as she looked from one to the other. “I have longed to honor her in a way that a sister honors a sister. For though she hardly knew me when this ruling journey began, she has earned every reward for her unquestioning loyalty.”
“I know, My Queen,” Anya said softly, her expression softly amused because they both knew she was not the one who needed the reassurance of such gestures. Despite her constant countenance of independence and confidence, Syreena’s heart was a social one, in need of acceptance and supporting love.
Anya pulled her hands free slowly and then turned to face Syreena. The Princess’s eyes were closed, and the half-breed gave her a moment. When her dual-colored eyes flicked open at last, the dampness on her lashes glittered like the diamonds of her dress.
The Princess then held out both hands, palms up, while Anya withdrew the ceremonial dagger from its scabbard, the sharp singing of metal ringing off the high ceilings of the bedroom. The sound was echoed by the abrupt stamp of the guards’ feet as they suddenly came to perfect attention. All of the guards drew their swords with the echoing song of finely honed blades, slamming them down hard, point first, into the stone floor. Sparks flew as stone chipped away and metal was bent or pitted.
By tradition, all but two of these guards would now spend the night reforging their blades. Supposedly, the heat of the forge was a blessing on the marriage bed, that it be equally well fired and able to mold the future protection of the throne. But the symbolism went deeper than that. The guards would shape new blades to serve the new shape of the regime. A Consort lacked direct ruling power politically and legally, but he was given all the social respects and courtesies of a King.
An equal in all things…except her sovereignty.
Anya placed the dagger on Syreena’s fingertips. Syreena bowed in gentle respect.
At about that moment, a chill rushed into the room. The bed curtains and the tapestries that hung around the room began to snap louder and louder as the subterranean breeze grew stronger and stronger. Unable to help herself, Siena breathed a little quicker. Her cheeks flushed, contrasting sharply with her unusually pale complexion. But it only served to flatter her beauty and set up a contrast to the white gown that she wore.
A remarkable sound, like the sound of rolling thunder, reverberated around them. All of the women in the room gasped. There was no such thing as foul weather in a subterranean castle. It seemed to pique everybody’s excitement about their soon-to-be-arriving guest. Half of them did not know whether to be afraid, upset, or just plain curious.
The one thing that they did know for sure, however, was that life at court and life in general was never going to be the same again. What that meant exactly was unknown to any and all of them, including the Queen herself. But fate had spoken, and the Queen as well as The Pride had said they must comply. They must welcome yet another Demon into their court.
But such a Demon? The Butcher himself?
Those closest to the Queen would of course accept anything she asked them to, but they feared for her life and for her safety. Growing up on stories of Elijah’s infamy had done its damage. Plus, to any Lycanthrope, a Demon was so alien. So different. The women who watched the Queen prepare for this unorthodox wedding were filled with questions that were even now echoing through the court.
Would she be murdered in her sleep? The Queen was a huntress through and through and the warrior Demon would not find her an easy mark, but the Queen was actually excited by this coming prospect, and that was the most confusing part of all. True, the male Demon in the court, the one called Gideon, was a remarkably handsome creature and fascinating for the mind, but he was an educated man of uncommon wit and skill.
One could hardly expect the same from a barbarian who swung a sword and slaughtered enemies for a living. Was he attractive enough to hold the interest of a mate who took the form of the lusty cat? Would he, in fact, be affected by the meshing of the mating and be forced to keep to the Queen’s bed only, or would they experience the first royal affair in the history of their race at some point?
Would their chemistry even be compatible enough to provide heirs for the throne? Now this was the most important question. Even with the existence of half-breeds proving that breeding across species was apparently possible, there were no creatures alive in their culture who had been concocted from such a volatile DNA cocktail as Demon and Lycanthrope. What would a blend of the animals and the elements produce, if indeed it could produce anything at all?
That was actually the most fascinating question of all of them. Lycanthropes found mutation interesting and exciting. The more powerful, the better. It was why Syreena was so coveted. This could perhaps be the only aspect of the marriage that would win over the more distant members of their society, who would not be so easy to please or so quick to comply when it came to the topic.
But the Queen had been quite blunt when she had announced her intentions of taking this man to mate. This was a duty, yes, but she had not sobbed and sniffled about it, she had made sure everyone knew it was an arrangement she welcomed quite deeply. She had confessed the doubts she had mulled over these past few days. Then she had told them of her solution. He would only be her Consort and not her King, certainly not their King, and he would be neither if he would not accept that condition.
Many thought he would not accept these terms, by which reasoning they thought they were safe from ending up with a Demon anywhere near the throne. The Demon ego, they thought, especially the ego of such a man, would never be able to tolerate such a lesser position of power. Siena had reminded those who voiced further protests of old traditions, customs which included royal marriages as a way to resolve wars, to secure peaceful borders. And though they were no longer at war with the Demons, the Goddess, in her wisdom, had chosen a way to solidify that peace forever. And for those who most stubbornly persisted to protest with prejudice, Sienna reminded them that it had been her father’s acts of terrorism that had forced the Demons to pick up the gauntlet and defend themselves in the first place. This was a convenient fact of history that had been rewritten in a lot of minds over time.
There had been only silence after that last slapdown.
So the wedding was coming to pass.
The guards quickly opened the doors to her chambers, leaving them welcoming and wide as she turned to face them, her aides by her sides. The ladies-in-wait were lined up beside the bed. Siena closed her eyes, her hands nervously sliding over her stomach as she held her breath and felt the wind around her continue to grow.
He was so powerful!
She knew he was at a distance still, but projected a great deal of power and energy before him, perhaps without even realizing it. His race to her side was raising the level of frenetic urgency that he was feeling. She could feel it in his mind, in her mind. The electricity of it was all around her, inside her, sparking through her hair with static charges that sent shivers of anticipation to her spine.
All but two of the guards proceeded out of the room and down the hall, heading for their night at the forge. The two remaining guards moved to stand on either side of the door out in the hallway. The only thing they were to protect, however, was the Queen’s privacy on her wedding night. To say that they were perfectly calm would be misrepresenting them. Elijah’s en
trance was becoming increasingly unsettling.
Siena had been very careful, though. She had made certain that the two guards that remained had never stood in battle against Elijah. There was no chance of them acting on any impulses that could become hostile or unwelcoming. Siena wanted nothing to get in the way of that night.
Too much had come between them already.
She had never thought to be as excited about this as she was, but she realized she could not help herself. As much as she had dreaded taking a mate, she found that the benefits and anticipations that would come with this particular mate actually outweighed her doubts, dreads, and fears. At least they did now that Gideon had provided her with a solution that, while not perfect, had allowed her to come more than halfway.
Now all Elijah had to do was come the rest of the way. His words earlier, so powerful and so sincere, made her feel as though she was looking into his heart. But she could not be certain and she would not be certain until he stood before her and told her with his mouth, his eyes, and everything that he was that this commitment was what he wanted and accepted.
The wind that was her mate was whipping around her by then, causing the thin gowns on the triad of women to snap sharply behind them, blown back and clinging to every feminine curve on their bodies. The ladies-in-wait, made nervous by the display of power, reached to take one another’s hands. Soon they were closing the distance between their bodies protectively so that they were all almost squashed up together like an accordion.
For some reason, this made Siena smile.
A moment later, she knew what that reason was.
Elijah coalesced into his imposing form with an impressive twist, standing so close to her that they were nearly toe to toe by the time he became solid. He was such a tall and remarkable figure of a man that all the ladies in the room, even those directly before the Demon, let out involuntary murmurs of surprise. These sounds were followed by soft whispers of speculation that had no place in this particular ritual. However, Siena was far too busy looking up into beautiful, startling green eyes. Eyes so full of emotion, the vastness of which she realized she would never be able to touch upon in the span of that mere second. She found herself swallowing hard, although her entire mouth and throat had gone completely dry.
Slowly, she let her eyes roam down the entire length of his body. Her initial foray was quickly diverted when the gleam of gold and moonstones surrounding a flexed, sturdy bicep caught her eye.
“How did you…?”
Siena stopped herself from asking the question. The armband had been linked. It would have taken nothing for him to slip it over his arm so long as he distorted himself into some form of the air. It would be interesting to see if this unconventional choice in mate would be able to escape his enchanted badge of office as easily as he had managed to put it on. But Siena no longer had to envy him that freedom. The touch of his fingers and the clever or inadvertent manipulation that could free the collar from her throat could happen at any time.
Siena looked up into those eyes once more, so vivid, so green, so clearly starved for her.
Elijah flexed the muscle beneath the armband as he turned one shoulder toward her slightly. He lifted one gold brow.
“Is this the answer you were looking for?” he asked, his voice so low, so rough that it made heat sing past every red blood cell in her body.
“Only if you truly know and accept what it represents.”
“I am no stranger to what it means to be a Royal Consort, Siena. Say only that it means we will be equals in all things except your rule, and my affirmation is yours.” Elijah reached out to touch the curve of her cheek with his fingertips, unable to help himself in spite of all the eyes he felt on him. “I never wanted your monarchy, kitten. Only you. Just you.”
His conviction was strident, unmistakable. Siena’s heart was pounding so hard she couldn’t even hear herself breathe.
“I wish you had said so in the first place,” she whispered, a lift to one corner of her mouth matching the light in her golden eyes.
“My apologies,” he whispered back, leaning so close their foreheads almost touched. “I had not realized there was more than a single option.”
“To be honest, it had slipped my mind as well.”
Syreena cleared her throat softly, drawing the Queen’s attention.
Siena suddenly understood the draw of the chemistry that came with this kind of bonding. Her people referred to it as “mating for life,” his called it the Imprinting. But “a rose by any other name”…it was clear they were more similar than not after all. In any event, every part of her that lay beneath her skin was yearning toward him. She was the magnet, and he magnetic north.
Siena took a painful step back from him, allowing Syreena the space needed to step up to him and present the dagger to him on the very tips of her fingers. Her hands were steady, her balance flawless. It was notable considering how heavy the weapon was and how long she had been holding it.
“My Lord Elijah, Warrior Captain of the great Demon King, trusted and respected by that great lord who is our ally, do you accept our Queen as your everlasting mate, putting her above all others and below no other importance for the rest of your natural life?”
Elijah was silent for a long moment and Siena could feel the brief flit of hesitation that marked his heart. This did not disturb her. His honesty had always impressed her.
“In return,” she said aloud, her tone strong and sincere, “I swear never to put you in a position that will conflict with your loyalty to Noah. There will be no war between our people for as long as I reign and live.”
“He is my King, Siena, but you are my mate, my wife, and I am unable to do anything that will harm your heart or your soul. So long as I am at your side, for all that I am a warrior born and bred to conflict, there will never be a need to consider war between our people again. And I will endeavor the rest of my lifetime to help generations far into our future come to understand the best of both our worlds.”
Elijah paused only long enough to slip two strong fingers under the blade of the dagger, just beneath the hilt, lifting it perfectly balanced from Syreena’s hands. There was a flash of light reflecting off metal, the blade moving nimbly through his fingers as he caused the momentum that would twirl the hilt directly into his palm. The dexterity of the move, the confidence of it, was mesmerizing.
Syreena could barely step away in time as he came closer to his bride once more. Siena tilted her chin up just as he loomed over her and tilted his down. His mouth came close to hers, his free hand reaching out to encircle her slim throat.
“As of this moment, kitten, I am yours. Once I complete one last task for Noah, I will resign my post. If this is to be my home, the land where my heart and soul is occupied, then my body and my skills must come to stay as well. But you must understand that there will be no peace in my conscience if I leave my duty incomplete.”
“I would expect nothing less from you,” she responded, her tone firm and assuring. The promise was more than she had wanted, but as soon as he made it, she realized his wisdom in the gesture was but one more step toward easing the wary hearts of her people. The magnitude of the sacrifice was not lost on the Queen.
Siena reached for the blade, her palm curling firmly around its honed edges. When she turned her hand over, it was bitten and bloodied in two lines from the double-edged weapon. With a mental prompt from his bride, Elijah did the same. Then, palm to palm, they laced their fingers together.
Anya raised her hands to the ceiling and let out a celebratory cry that was immediately echoed by all the women in the room. It ended almost as soon as it began.
“Behold, the Queen and Consort! We are all the blessed ones to be here on this remarkable day! No one can claim to have seen its measure,” Syreena declared.
“And now, for the bedding!” Anya added, her laughter bold and mischievous. The women all cried out again, their fears and doubts swept away by the aides’ enthusiasm, the sound risi
ng from them a feminine cheer of encouragement.
Elijah lifted a brow that could only be described as a cross between amused and lecherous. Siena was not a shy woman, but she still could not help the soft flush of color that tinged her cheeks. There was too much excitement and anticipation rushing through her.
“My Lord,” Anya whispered softly. “You must sever the ribbons with the dagger.”
“Oh?” Again that smile and the lift of a brow. “I like it here already,” he mused, forcing his Queen to smother a laugh by pressing her lips firmly together.
Elijah inspected the weaved ribbons down the front of the robe that might as well have not been there at all. It, and the gown beneath it, was so sheer he could see every curve of her body, and every accent from golden curls to dusky nipples.
Elijah flicked bold emerald eyes up to her gaze, the look coming from under his lashes intriguing her. In a quarter of a heartbeat, light winked like a little supernova from the blade he held.
It was the only sign of movement any of them saw, but the ribbons of her robe parted perfectly. The ladies all gasped, and this time Anya and Syreena were impressed enough to join in the surprised murmur. Siena, however, took it completely in stride, smiling as her mate grinned in that cocky way of his.
The Queen moved from his side and approached the bed. The ladies suddenly remembered their duty to her and reached to draw off the neatly separated cloth from her shoulders. As they peeled the second shift of silk and lace down their mistress’s shoulders, they were all aware of the Demon’s covetous eyes. The ladies were proud of their Queen’s perfection and it pleased them immensely to make slow, silky work of her disrobing.
Elijah’s smile faded rapidly as he watched this. He had never known the sound of silk and lace on skin could be so distinct. But it was. The light fabric paused to cling teasingly to the thrust of her rigid nipples. Finally she stepped from the tissuelike garment, slowly tossing her hair over her shoulder, giving him a perfect view of a gorgeous, pale golden figure.
Elijah: The Nightwalkers Page 23
