by Serena Chase
I looked at him and paused, second-guessing my intentions. I knew how badly he had wanted to ride forth and meet up with my mother’s retinue weeks ago, but in these first few weeks following the war, the Kingdom needed him here at Castle Rynwyk. Plans had to be made toward the reconstruction of E’veria, and although it pained him—and me, to see him so torn between his duty as King and his longing for my mother—he was, after all, the King, the people’s most trusted Servant.
But finally, after all these weeks—no, years—of waiting, she was almost home!
“May I offer you my arm?”
I reached my hand forward and then stopped. It had been almost three years since he had last visited his wife on Tirandov Isle. For me, it had been less than three months.
“No, I think not,” I replied. “I will leave you to attend the Queen alone, as is fitting. I find I have some rather urgent business with the delegation from Mynissbyr.”
“Delegation, eh? Well, I suppose they do seem a delegation now that Gladiel is back among them.” He smiled. “We three will sup together tonight, then. As a family,” he said, choking up just a bit, “in my chambers.”
“I will look forward to it. Please give the Queen my love,” I said, and then laughed. “If it even occurs to you when you’ve finished giving her your own!”
The King lifted an eyebrow, but chuckled as he leaned down to kiss my cheek. “I will. Thank you, Rynnaia.” He gave my hand a quick squeeze, and with a boyish smile, he hurried down the hall, barely acknowledging the tall, blond knight with whom he nearly collided in his haste.
Julien’s grin matched mine as he strode forward. “I was just coming to see if I could escort you to meet your mother’s carriage, but I think your plan is better.”
Since our kiss on the Cobelds’ shrine, my betrothed had been able to read my thoughts almost as well as an Andoven.
“Might I steal you away for a while?” he asked. “Or do you have other obligations?”
“Lead on, Bear-knight,” I said. “We can infringe upon your mother’s hospitality for a while.”
“You know my family is always happy to see you, even if their son is not quite so willing to share you with them.” He sighed. “I confess I tire of protocol when it comes to you.”
“Just a few more weeks and we can bid farewell to our chaperones,” I said. Our wedding was set to follow my formal installation as the Crown Princess.
“I plan to bar the door to our chambers and not let another soul near you for a month.”
“Only a month?”
He squeezed my hand. “Were we to steal away and marry this moment it would not be soon enough for me.”
I enjoyed the afternoon with Julien and his parents, but when a page arrived at their door bearing a request from the Queen that I join her and the King in their chambers, I became nearly giddy.
My family was to be reunited at last.
Mother was nestled into the crook of my father’s arm, her hand clasped in his.
“Rynnaia,” she said, patting the seat beside her.
“No, I’ll sit over here I think,” I said, taking a chair across from them. “This way I can see you both better. Together.” A grin broke through that almost hurt my cheeks. “Together! My mother and father.”
Suddenly my vantage point was too far away. I stood and took the place she’d offered.
“My heart has never been so full,” my father said. Leaning in to embrace us both, he chuckled and added, “Nor my arms.”
“It has been a long wait.” My mother smiled up at him. “But this moment makes sense of the pain, does it not? And we have the rest of our lives to enjoy our daughter. And soon, the man she’s chosen to be our son as well.” Her sigh was dressed in realized dreams and hopes yet to come. “Yes, Jarryn. My heart is also full.”
“As is mine,” I said, leaning into them both and resting my head against hers. “Welcome home, Mother.”
“Thank you. And although you beat me here, I suppose I should say the same to you. Welcome home at last, Rynnaia. Are you finding Castle Rynwyk to your liking?”
“I am,” I sighed, happily. “I’m finding it to be home.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Just three weeks after my mother’s arrival at Castle Rynwyk, she sat in a chair in my dressing room while I stood in front of the large mirror. A new crown, designed for me by Julien, had been presented to me that morning during the formal ceremony that officially instated me as the Crown Princess of E’veria.
“I would have never thought to put a bear on a crown. A bear, of all things!” My mother laughed. “But it is strangely right.”
Similar to the crown I had received on Tirandov Isle—a crown that had once been my mother’s—this circlet was an intricate weave of roses, but there the likeness ended. This crown was made of gold and the vine was broken at my forehead by two golden bears, supporting the Emblem of the First, in glowing tirandite, between them. It was the ideal representation of my past, present, and future.
“It’s perfect,” I agreed. “Absolutely perfect.”
It was a rare event to have my mother all to myself. The King had rarely let her out of his sight since her return. But we enjoyed the entire afternoon following my installation together, just the two of us, as she helped me ready for my wedding.
My mother rose and I watched her approach in the mirror. One thick strand of white stood out amid the bright copper curls piled atop her head, but it looked much less prominent than it had during her illness. Now fully recovered, Queen Daithia E’veri’s face radiated the fullness of health and joy. Her bright blue eyes, so dimmed by pain before, fairly sparkled now.
“You look beautiful, Rynnaia. I daresay Julien might faint when he sees you!”
“Then I hope he rouses swiftly,” I said with a laugh, “for I intend to marry him today! Should he not, it would be a terrible waste of this beautiful dress.”
“Go on,” my mother urged as she read the girlish desire in my thoughts, “twirl. I would, if it was my gown.”
I spun a slow circle, and then again, a bit faster. The bottom of the wedding gown flared out and up, but not so much as to be indecent. Commissioned from Tirandov’s seamstresses by my mother, the gown was light and airy, allowing for a full range of movement without sacrificing elegance.
With a little giggle I twirled once more and then paused, facing the mirror. I ran a finger over the V-shaped neckline and the golden Emblems of the First embroidered here and there among rose vines. Made of a rich white fabric, the fitted bodice hugged my frame to a position just below my waist where a band of embroidered golden roses encircled my hips. From there, a layer of shimmering, translucent gold streamers flared out on top of the white skirt, reaching to the floor and making it appear as if I floated rather than walked.
My mother peered over my shoulder. Not for the first time, I wondered at how truly uncanny our resemblance was. I could hardly believe that even when I’d had black hair no one had made the connection.
“Your father is coming.”
I grinned. “I know.”
I followed my mother out of the dressing room, through my bedchamber, and into the receiving chamber beyond. I didn’t want to risk wrinkling my gown to sit, so I stood by my mother’s side. When I sensed the King had reached the door, I waved my hand and it opened.
His hand was suspended in the air as if ready to knock. “Someday you will cease to surprise me, Rynnaia,” he began, but paused. “Today is not that day. You are breathtaking.”
His eyes grew moist. “I am the most blessed of fathers,” he said as he walked toward us. “Today, I give your hand to a man I trust and love like a son, but I get to keep you in my house rather than sending you off to Mynissbyr.”
Pulling both my mother and me close, he lifted his face and spoke a blessing over my coming marriage.
“Everyone has assembled in the Grand Hall,” he said when he stepped back. “One knight, in particular, is quite anxious for our arrival.”
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With my father on my left and my mother on my right, we left my room with Julien as the only destination I cared to claim and made our way to the Grand Hall—and my wedding!
On some level, I tried to appreciate the work that had gone into creating the elegant floral arrangements and decorations made for my wedding ceremony, but once my eyes met Julien’s all else faded from my view.
He was resplendent in his wedding attire, made by the same Andoven textile artist and in the same white and gold as mine. Though his smile was subdued—no, controlled, I corrected myself—due to the gravity of the vows we were about to speak, his eyes radiated joy that swept down the aisle to join my own.
Julien’s family was lined up on his left. With some effort I broke my attention from his eyes to give a fond smile to each of them.
Wearing a rich, dark red robe that accentuated his bright blue eyes and white hair, my great-grandfather Lindsor stood just behind and a little to the right of Julien.
The space reserved for my parents and I was empty of course, but I nearly stumbled when I saw, just beyond that space, the rest of my family.
In order of how they had come into my life were Uncle Drinius and Aunt Alaine, with their daughter Lily, and Lord and Lady Whittier, Kinley, Lewys, and Rowlen. I had known they would all be in attendance at the wedding, but I had not been told that their contribution to my upbringing would be so honored by my parents.
My tears threatened to spill over as we took the final steps toward the front. When my parents each lifted the hand of mine they held and set it in Julien’s grasp, my lids gave up the fight. Her own cheeks wet, my mother paused to dab mine with her handkerchief.
Lindsor read beautiful words about the bond of marriage from The Story of The First, but I had to admit that had I not read the words previously, I would not have remembered a single syllable. My soul was completely entranced with the knight who stood facing me, holding my hands and my heart.
“Princess Rynnaia E’veri,” Lindsor intoned, causing both Julien and me to jump.
It was time to speak our vows.
“Do you pledge your love, faithfulness, and friendship to Sir Julien de Gladiel? Will you promise to respect him as your husband and honor him as the future King of E’veria? Will you cherish him above all save The First?”
I knew my heart. Now the rest of the world would as well.
“With all that I am and for all of my life, I pledge my honor to that course.”
Julien’s grin was the widest I had ever seen.
I continued the rest of the vow in the Ancient Voice, as I’d been instructed. “Rynnaia al Julien E’veri, E’veria.”
“Sir Julien de Gladiel,” Lindsor no longer tried to hide the pleasure in his voice, “do you pledge your love, faithfulness, friendship, and service to Rynnaia, Crown Princess of E’veria? Will you lead her with honor, respecting her worth as your wife, as the Ryn, and as your future Queen? Will you cherish her above all others save The First?”
“With all that I am and for all of my life,” Julien’s voice carried to the farthest reaches of the ballroom. “I pledge my honor to that course!”
A sudden and raucous cheer rose from the knights in the audience before he was able to continue. My cheeks ached from smiling by the time the noise died down enough for him to finish his vow.
“Julien al Rynnaia E’veri, E’veria.”
“Let it be known,” Lindsor proclaimed, translating the vows we’d spoken in the Ancient Voice, “that Rynnaia, Crown Princess of E’veria and Sir Julien de Gladiel are hereafter bound to each other and to the Kingdom of E’veria.”
Julien squeezed my hands.
“Julien de Gladiel,” Lindsor continued, “do you renounce your claim as heir to the Regency of Mynissbyr, accepting that your brother, Gerrias de Gladiel, will inherit that birthright?”
“I do hereby renounce my claim as heir to the Regency of Mynissbyr.”
Lindsor reached behind him where a small platform held the golden crown I had designed for my prince. Knowing Julien had yet to see it, my grandfather held it in front of us for a long moment before he spoke again.
Ropes of copper, bronze, and gold entwined around one another to meet at the fierce face of a bear. The bear’s eyes were inset with emeralds as green as my groom’s eyes, and his bared fangs held a tirandite stone, carved in the Emblem of the First, between them.
Perfect. Julien’s thought drifted toward me. I beamed and squeezed his hands.
“Taking this crown,” Lindsor continued, “do you vow to uphold the cause of The First throughout E’veria, to defend the Kingdom from her enemies, and to accept the responsibilities expected of you as the Ryn’s prince and E’veria’s future King?”
“I do so vow.” Julien released my hands and knelt. Lindsor placed the crown on Julien’s head and stepped back. My father took his place.
The King drew his sword and lightly moved it from one of Julien’s shoulders to the other. “Arise, Prince Julien de Gladiel E’veri!” My father pronounced Julien’s new name with resounding pride. “May you and Rynnaia be guided by The First and may your union become a force by which our Kingdom is blessed for generations to come.”
Lindsor produced a pair of goblets and gave one to me, the other to Julien.
“As is tradition,” he said, “a toast will seal the bond.”
There would be no awkward shuffling of arms, I thought, grinning at my prince. We had done this before.
The toast completed, Lindsor took the goblets back and my father stepped up.
The King’s eyes shone and love poured from him to us. He took a deep breath and lifted his arms. “Arise, Good People of E’veria!” he commanded. The crowd took to their feet. “Tonight, we celebrate the bond of love and the bright future of our fair Kingdom!”
“Huuzz-zzah!”
It was Kinley’s voice that led the cheer, but Lewys, Rowlen, and Gerrias filled the space before the last syllable.
Julien swept me into his arms and dipped me so fast and so deep that I gasped. But his kiss caught my breath, and it was over too soon.
After a short speech by my father, the benches were cleared from the space and the revelry began.
Only that rendered to me by the hair of Cobeld’s beard could have exceeded the torture I endured at the celebratory dinner and ball following our wedding. I was allowed only one dance with my prince before protocol dictated we allow others to offer their congratulations.
Having danced with all the Regents, their heirs, and surely half the dukes in E’veria, I was ever grateful for the Herald of the Dance, who took the guesswork out of who my next partner would be. Although protocol dictated who I partnered with, it didn’t promise that partner would be skilled. My toes had been trod on more than a dozen times and my current partner was responsible for at least three of those missteps.
I pasted on a smile as best I could, but the middle-aged duke from Nyrland was not only a head shorter than me, his eyes seemed to pay an inordinate amount of attention to the neckline of my gown, even given it was in his line of sight.
Suddenly, a couple bumped into us, both carrying goblets of wine.
I watched in horror as the bright red liquid jumped out of their cups and careened through the air, miraculously missing my wedding gown, but soaking the front of my partner’s tunic.
I looked up at the graceless pair, surprised to see my never-clumsy sister-in-law dancing with the youngest of my three Veetrish brothers. By the look in Erielle’s eyes, I was sure some sort of mischief was afoot.
I didn’t have to look at Rowlen. With him, mischief was to be expected.
The duke let go of my hand, took a step backward, and threw a loathsome glance at the couple. “Nicely done, de Whittier,” he managed through gritted teeth.
“Oh, I do apologize!” Rowlen replied. “I suppose you’ll need to change. Pity you’ll have to miss the rest of your dance with the princess.”
“Indeed.”
The liquid on my part
ner’s tunic had a strange shimmer to it that I hadn’t noticed when I had drunk mine earlier. My gaze flew back to my brother’s seemingly innocent face.
The duke cleared his throat. “If you will excuse me, Your Highness.”
“Of course.” I inclined my head in assent, but the thought of his imminent departure caused me to smile at him more warmly than I yet had. “I do hope my brother’s clumsiness has not ruined your tunic.”
He sniffed, nodded, and turned to leave.
Rowlen’s eyes followed him until he had left the room. As the Storyteller exhaled, the goblets he and Erielle held in their hands glittered brightly before dissolving into the nothingness of a Storyteller’s mirage.
I started to laugh, wondering at my former partner’s reaction when he looked in the mirror and found no stains whatsoever on his tunic. Rowlen winked at me as the Herald of the Dance brought forth my next partner, and then laughed and spun away with Erielle.
“Your Highness, may I present Cazien de Pollis, Monarch of Eachan Isle, Admiral of the Seahorse Fleet, and Captain of,” the herald paused and swallowed, “the pirate ship Meredith.”
The pirate offered me a quick bow, and then his hand.
Cazien was, as I knew from the jigs he’d spun with me aboard Meredith, a fine dancer. But I had not spoken with him since our brief conversation following the Battle of the Shrine.
“You know I’m quite royal and famous,” he said. “I should probably be offended that your father had me wait so long for my turn to dance with the princess.”
“He thought it was more appropriate that his own people be honored first,” I began to explain, but Cazien’s wink let me know he was not truly offended.
“I jest. I may live upon the sea, but I know how these things work.”
A question burned in my mind, and since I assumed he would see it there anyway, I gave it voice. “Will you dance with Erielle tonight?”
“No.”
His swift, cold answer took me aback. It must have shown on my face.
