Chapter Thirty-Five

 

 

Aren took in a deep breath as Telm walked into her rooms. The head of house paused, looking over the other queens gathered in the room, before she shook her head and approached Aren.

“I’ve extended the invitation to all healers, guards, and servants. I requested that one of the healers bring Danya to the ceremony and after. Have you seen her since you returned to the palace?”

“Have you seen her?” Aren countered.

They both stared at the other, waiting for the defences and excuses. Aren had no excuses. Yes, she had been busy, but every time she set aside to go see Danya she had ended up getting distracted by a book or a bit of stitching. While it had not been that long since her return to the palace, events had made it seem a great deal longer.

“Are you really going to wear that?” Telm asked, motioning to Aren’s wrist.

She held out her left hand for the head of house to inspect. Silently, Aren watched as Telm fumbled with the bracelet, looking for the clasp.

“It’s the manacle he caught me by,” she said. “Transformed by my magic, I think, as I was trying quite hard not to give him the magic, but couldn’t rightly keep it to myself. I’m not sure how to get it off.”

“This looks like…” Telm tugged Aren over to a light orb, peering at the bracelet as Aren stood awkwardly. “How did you do this? This is impossible.”

“You’re hurting me,” she said, causing Telm to release her wrist. Aren frowned at the woman and rubbed absently at her wrist. “I simply did it. Now what does it look like?”

“Like the stuff I showed you and Mar that night.”

Aren felt a distinctly cold trickle up her spine. The suggestion that what she wore on her wrist had some semblance to the lump in the original throne room was unsettling.

“No time for wondering and theories,” Olea said quickly. “We have to get her ready for the mating. Surely, Telm, there’s a comment on the dress or the hair, or the paint she refuses to wear.”

“Do you want his impression, or mine?” Telm asked.

“Both,” Olea said.

“Mine is that Aren never wears paint, so good luck convincing her to now. The hair is fine, but did you have to use so many pins?”

“I wanted it to last more than an hour,” Iln said.

“It better,” Aren grumbled. “Took almost two to put it up like this.”

“I saw the dress as the tailor put the finishing touches on it—quite lovely. Not quite the right shade of blue, but it was created to remind the court of who and what Lady Aren is. Where she came from and of last year. The lighter blue isn’t as harsh though, and it almost makes her look cheerful.”

“I am cheerful,” Aren snapped out at Telm. “This is supposed to be the happiest day of my life.”

“Then look like it’s the happiest day of your life instead of a march to the pyre,” Telm said sternly.

“No one has seen Av in days,” she protested.

“He’s alive and upright, as is Url,” Telm said.

“Oh?” Olea asked. “Where was my wayward son that you could find him, but I could not?”

“There’s not a room that is out of my reach, not any longer,” Telm said. “Though it did take me the better part of a morning to figure out how to get in there without being stripped bare by the one he had with him. She’s been sent back to her duties and he was sent to his father, who was with Av, which is how I know that he is upright.

“On the topic of the man. He won’t be looking anywhere but at her face. For all he cares she could be naked. He may take a glance to be certain she is not, but he will hardly notice anything the matter with any of this, let alone recall tomorrow what she was wearing.

“The court will gossip about the entire outfit and how this is not befitting of one who sits the throne, but as of tomorrow morning that will no longer matter.”

“Why will it no longer matter?” Aren asked.

“Because you will be mated and the man will not put up with anything beyond complete obedience. Becoming mate to the throne gives a man quite a bit of freedom, which the one who sits the throne does not have herself. Though you do have to grant him that freedom in public before he can act.”

There was a knock on the door, then Jer entered and glanced over the group. He cleared his throat quietly, then looked to the door and back to them.

“How much longer, do you suppose?” he asked.

“Whenever you are ready,” Mar said.

“Good—now, then, before he starts biting people. People meaning Url. Biting meaning actual biting, or even stabbing. Let’s go.”

Aren took a deep breath, then accepted the arm Mar offered her. The younger queen gave her arm an affectionate pat and led her from the room. Her heart was beating so loudly that she was certain everyone could hear it as they walked through the palace hallways.

Yet there were no loiterers in the halls and the queens behind her giggled like young women as they went, commenting on one another’s clothing and hair.

Outside in the gardens, full spring had taken hold. The ground was dry and bright with new grass edging the pathways they took to the alcove. Nearly the entire palace must have come out, the people spilling out of the alcove and moving to the sides to make room for Aren. She could hear Ervam speaking around the corner and almost dug her heels in. Mar caught the tremble and gave her a comforting pat.

“Calm down, he’s officiating because the steward is standing for Av. As the only one of his rank, he claimed the spot without much argument.”

They walked into the alcove and all eyes turned to her. Again, Mar’s hand patted her before it pressed into the small of her back and propelled her forward. She tried to hiss a protest that the queen who stood for the woman was supposed to be there first, but the hand that pushed her pinched her into silence and directed her towards Ervam.

Av stood before his father, staring openly at her.

“Thank the spirits,” she said.

Those gathered chuckled as Ervam paused. The man looked amused as Aren came to a stop before him and turned to Av.

“What if I hadn’t shown up?” he asked

“I’d have to kill you and mate the nearest man available, I suppose,” she said before she glanced at Ervam.

The trainer arched an eyebrow and then raised his voice to begin the ceremony. Aren stared at Av and he smiled back at her, taking her hands in his own.

This had never been her plan.

Her chest constricted as it had the day when Av had been disciplined. Fear—that was what they had called it. She was afraid of going through with the ceremony, but it was too late to pull out now.

She realized everyone was staring at her. Aren looked over the crowd, then to Av, then to Ervam. The trainer made a small hand motion, which meant absolutely nothing to her. She looked to Av instead, who smiled at her.

“Vows,” he murmured.

“Oh...” She hadn't prepared any vows, hadn't thought that far ahead. She should have. She recalled how Mar had looked when no one had told her to prepare vows. At a loss for words, she reached up and set a hand against the side of Av's neck. “You are mine.”

The man's smile grew. He raised his hands to her shoulders.

“You are mine, and I am yours,” he said.

He leaned forward and captured her lips as Ervam attempted to conclude the ceremony. She almost melted into that kiss, but she was ever aware of the fact that everyone was watching them. The heat of his mouth, the slip of tongue—it all seemed distant to the bated breath of those watching them. Av pulled away after a moment, giving her forehead a peck, before he turned her towards the crowd.

A hand at the small of her back propelled her forward. Those present smiled and cheered. On the other side of the crowd, the barons suddenly materialized and slid in behind them. Av glanced back but kept pushing Aren forward.

“What's going on?” she asked.

“I think they've stopped the court from following us,” he murmured, directing her around the bend. “Who knows how long we have. This way.”

They made it to the palace with no one attempting to stop them. Av pulled her into the first room he found and locked the door behind him.

“Well, this is familiar,” she said, turning to him slowly.

“Let me just reiterate, you can say no at any time, for any reason,” he said.

She considered for a moment. “They all know what we're up to.”

“My uncle is currently telling them a tale of a private Northern tradition,” he responded, pushing off the door to move towards her slowly. “Wherein those who support the man distract the party. The women challenge them, which my aunt no doubt will start amongst the ladies, and the two bicker and fight. Now, my uncle will say this is part of the tradition, a representation of what can happen if the couple listens to outside voices. Our time, here, is private, for us to reflect on what we desire of this mating, to exchange private vows that we will never share with another.”

“Will any of them believe that?”

“They will when Aunt Olea starts beating anyone who suggests otherwise, because that's also part of the tradition. And it's an actual tradition because apparently queens in the North are able to see things they aren't around. Saying their name draws their attention. So anyone who draws the woman's attention away from the man by, perchance, mentioning that the couple are now engaged in something, gets a smack.”

“I should get Mar to teach me to do that.”

“No one is going to be thinking about what we're doing here,” he said, coming to a stop just before her. “And if anyone makes comment of it to you, I want you to come tell me about it. It won't happen again. I am mate to the one who sits the throne, and I will be obeyed.”

“Oh really?” she asked.

“Yes. Now take that dress off, because I command it.”

“No,” she said, walking away from him and towards the bed. “You'll have to take it off of me. Perhaps with your teeth?”