Xander
The usually dim castle corridors were aglow with lanterns hanging from every hook when I reached the first floor. I’d stopped at Skye’s bedchamber only to find she’d already left. Surprised, I made my way toward the great hall alone. I offered greetings as I passed soldiers who normally retired to the barracks when evening rolled around. Most of our men ate in the dining hall across from where they slept. Only the higher ranked guards and Guardians were invited to break bread with the Queen. Seeing these men laughing and wandering the first floor with cups of ale and clean clothing instead of wielding weapons and wearing mud on the training fields was different.
I arrived at the hall and stopped abruptly at the entrance. The room was a veritable winter garden, complete with berry laden foliage covering every available surface. The tables were arranged against the tapestry covered wall and held an assortment of meat, bread, and fruit platters. An enormous flame snapped and crackled in the fireplace, warming the usually drafty room. And, no matter where I looked, I found smiles.
Honest, unaffected smiles.
We’d had little in the way of happy moments since arriving in Tyalbrook, and even fewer since I returned to Montibello after Skye’s crowning. Pride swelled within my chest at what she’d accomplished.
“I told you she could be a magnificent Queen.” Emeline appeared from behind and I spun at her low voice. She was dressed elaborately tonight. Most likely something borrowed from Skye’s wardrobe. Skye complained daily about how the ladies in Ridgecrest made her more finery than she would ever need. I disagreed, if only because I loved seeing her in the silk, satin, and velvet creations they sent her.
I admired the rich violet velvet against Emeline’s softer features: her pale blonde hair, which was braided and wrapped around her head, her sparkling blue eyes, and her peach complexion.
“You look lovely in royal colors, Eme,” I offered with a solicitous bow. Her cheeks flushed. “And, you will recall I told you I have never doubted our Queen’s ability to rule.”
Emeline bobbed her head, a covert touché hidden in her smile. “She waits for you in the chapel.”
“In the chapel? Why is she—”
She took hold of my elbow and steered me from the open doorway. “Go, before your uncle or anyone else takes note of your absence. The celebration will be here when you two are done.”
My chest tightened as Emeline nudged me toward the way I came, and I glanced over my shoulder at her curious smile before following her orders. The chapel was on the opposite end of the castle. Where the corridors near the great hall were bright and festive, this side of Montibello was darker—fewer lanterns, vacant corridors. I tugged at my shirt cuffs and adjusted the chain securing my cloak across my shoulder as I paused before the carved, arched wooden doors; unaccountably nervous as Skye’s presence behind those doors made itself known. The marking on my ribs tingled with the touch of a feather across skin and I closed my eyes as the sensation drew goosebumps and warmed my blood. Lifting my fist, I knocked and the doors opened. Before me, in the sparsely furnished stone room lit by banks of candles, stood four people. My brain registered the occupants standing at the end of the chapel’s aisle, in front of a lectern, but my gaze pinned on one. One magnificent, stunning, courageous Queen.
She wore a gown of yards and yards of pale lavender-gray silk that flowed from her hips around her legs as if the fabric danced on air. A silver-gray bodice—intricately braided and beaded in a butterfly design—clung to the hills and valleys of her torso. Instead of the full sleeves most of her gowns had, this one left her arms bare, though a sheer material draped over her shoulders and back, mimicking the cloak I wore. The beauty displayed before me in the golden candlelight robbed me of my thoughts. Most of her long hair hung in dark curls around her back and shoulders, the rest was braided like a crown around her head and topped with the delicate gold diadem she preferred over her more ostentatious jeweled crown. I swallowed hard when our gazes met.
Beside her stood Thomas. Only one protector. I should lay into her for her foolishness, especially when the castle teemed with people celebrating, but as my gaze slid to the other two occupants in the room, I found I didn’t have the heart to be upset. Did I even have a heart at all? It had stopped. Everything had stopped.
It was Thomas who spoke first. “I will stand watch outside the doors.” He brushed by me and I swore he covered a slight grin beneath his dark stubble, but I ignored it, still admiring Skye as the doors shut with a click at my back.
“Your Majesty?” I used her formal address, considering the fourth person in the chapel was unfamiliar to me.
She grinned. “So formal, Guardian?” The brilliance of her smile when set upon me could spark a million fires. She stretched her hand out. “Come, meet Cleric Roland.”
A cleric.
And beside him, Kerra.
And we were in the chapel.
Skye’s gaze watched me closely, her brown eyes eating up every movement I made. She read the furrow of my brow, the flinch of the muscle in my cheek, the way I rubbed the back of my neck. Her grin wavered.
“I”—my voice cracked and I cleared my throat—“Cleric Roland.” I dipped my head in greeting and roused my legs into movement. After a slightly more revenant nod to Kerra, I turned to Skye.
“May I have a moment?”
Her lips parted slightly, a small intake of breath, before her brows met over the bridge of her nose. “Of course,” she said with an uncertain voice.
The chapel offered no privacy; it was one long rectangular room with unadorned walls and an arched stone ceiling. Not wanting to step into the hallway, I led Skye toward the corner furthest from Kerra and the cleric, my boots echoing with each step. When Skye hesitated behind me, I took her hand and swung her around. Using my back for privacy, I cupped her upper arms, my fingers registering the silky soft warmth of her impossibly smooth skin.
“Are you mad?” I asked, my body pushed so close she was in danger of being pinned against the wall.
Confusion crinkled her nose. “Mad?”
“Yes, mad. Crazy. Losing it,” I clarified. “You are a Queen.”
A chestnut curl grazed my sleeve as she shook her head. “Xander, I thought I made myself clear.”
“You set this all up? A celebration with soldiers, guards, and a few members of your court. A cleric hidden in a dark chapel … You’re entitled to something more. You’re entitled to—”
She pressed a finger to my lips. “Do you not want to marry me?”
I cringed at the uncertainty in her question. “No. No, Skye, please, that isn’t what I’m saying at all,” I promised, my hands slipping to cup her face.
The pad of my thumb grazed her cheek as her gaze devoured my features once again. “I don’t care what I’m entitled to, Xander Martin. I only want you.” Her warm palms found my jaw and drew me closer. “I thought we could keep it private this way. One witness, one cleric sworn to secrecy, and one Guardian to keep watch. No one but us five, and Emeline, would know.”
Guilt burned its way through my churning stomach. “You shouldn’t have to marry in secret.” She shouldn’t have to marry at all. She was eighteen. Marriage might be the next step here in Tyalbrook, especially for royalty, but if she were normal she’d finish high school. She’d go to college. She’d date a bunch of losers.
“Don’t you see”—her fingers spread across my cheek and jaw—“I want to. I want this one thing, this one moment, for us. I can’t bear the thought of going to war with Tabor and risking the chance of never knowing you the way a wife should know you.” While her cheeks pinked, her eyes remained focused on mine. “It’s reckless, I know, but…” She tilted her head sideways with a shrug.
I dropped my forehead to hers. “So what you’re saying is you want to marry me because you’re worried about your virtue?”
We slept in the same room night after night, but physically we were careful. A kiss here and there, nothing more. The desire was constantly at the surface, a tenacious pull existed between us that was—at times—physically painful, but we’d resisted it. Thus far.
“I want to marry you because I love you. It’s always been us. My mother said so, you heard her. Since we were babies. I might not have memories of our past, but I know what I feel, Xander. In this world or another—I want you.”
There was such freedom in hearing those words from her lips. Freedom in knowing that regardless of what happened, we had each other. Even if for only a short time. I withdrew enough to look her in the eyes.
“Arabelle Skye Mercier, Queen of Tyalbrook and love of my life, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
Her brown eyes filled with tears. “You do realize marrying me would make you the King?”
I released a light laugh. Technically, I would never be the King, as that would rank me higher than Skye whose title was rightful by birth. “I think I can handle it.”
She fiddled with the golden discs spanning my chest from shoulder to shoulder which secured my cloak at my back. “Yes. I daresay I think your ego can more than handle it.” Her face glowed with another one of her smiles that never failed to turn my insides to liquid flames. I sucked in a breath and held her hands tightly between us.
“Are you sure?” I dropped all notion of teasing. “Skye, I would protect you with my life, you don’t have to marry me to earn it. You can order me around, you can—” I shook my head, unsure how else to make her understand. “What about the prophecy? What if you’re meant to marry someone else to save the kingdom?”
“I’m not, Xander. Tabor—the Drakoon—only wants me. I’m what he needs.”
She refused to share what Aeromin and Griffin told her when she visited Hivernia. She asked for trust. Was there anything more trusting than pledging my life to her, knowing what we faced?
“Well, he can’t have you.” I brushed her lips with mine. “He can’t have my wife,” I murmured against her mouth.
It was a promise to her, to myself, and to the creature who lurked in the shadows waiting to take this woman from me. He would not win, I vowed as I kissed her once more.
The ceremony was quick. There were no rings, no special music or readings. We stood hand in hand before Cleric Roland. Skye introduced us and explained he frequently accompanied the orphans to the castle so he could counsel those at Montibello. Kerra offered me a motherly hug once we stood before the lectern. Her faint voice wavered as she assured me we were doing the right thing. I smiled, grateful for her support as I tried to believe what she’d said was true.
I loved Skye. I’d loved her my entire life. I would marry her twenty times over—that wasn’t a problem. The cleric said my name and I fought back the fear that I was not what she needed. The fear that I was a Guardian and she was the Queen prophesied to reclaim a kingdom. That I did not know my place.
Cleric Roland began. “Do you vow to have this woman as your wife, to esteem her, to honor, hold, and protect her, as a husband ought to do for a wife, and to forsake all other women, and cling to her so long as your life and hers shall endure?”
A glimpse of our lives ran through my mind as I looked at her face, glowing in the light of the candles. Our past, our today, our tomorrows. Whatever came, she was my future. She was my prophecy. The rightness rushed over me, like the calm after a storm. My fears subsided.
“Until my dying breath,” I promised wholeheartedly.
“Queen Arabelle Skye Mercier, do you wish to have this man as your husband, to obey him, to serve, esteem, honor, and guard him, healthy and sick, as a wife ought to do for a husband, and to forsake all other men, and cling to him for so long as your life and his shall endure?”
Skye’s mouth twisted into a smirk at the cleric’s mention of “obey” and I gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. Her eyes went a little wider with each subsequent vow: serve, honor … she’d have a hell of a time following those. I winked and her smile grew.
When the time for her declaration came, she held my gaze as her mouth formed the words. “I will.”
It was simple. By the laws which governed this world, we were married. My mouth brushed Skye’s gently—a flicker of a flame—before I drew her bottom lip and held it. This was bliss. Being locked in this restrained touch of my mouth against hers. Of her breath mingling with mine. A simple kiss that sealed our promise of forever.
“We will give you two a moment,” Kerra said softly, cutting off any thoughts of deepening our kiss. “People will be looking for you.”
I nodded, my fingers digging a little too sharply into Skye’s waist as I steered her a step back and turned to the Cleric.
“Your discretion—”
Skye touched my chest. “Has been promised,” she assured, her attention on the Cleric.
“Yes, Your Majesty, and when the time comes, I will vouch for the legitimacy of your union, or I will marry you before the court.”
“About those vows,” Skye said the moment Kerra and Cleric Roland left the chapel. She stepped closer, wound her hands around my neck, and drew me down.
“I had a feeling you would bring those up.”
“I’ll try my best, but I can’t guarantee obedience all the time. You tend to frustrate me and it’s best you set your expectations now.”
Placing a hand on her lower back, I brought her near, removing all space between us. “I have only one expectation right now, Skye.”
Her eyes fluttered closed as my free hand cupped her nape and she tilted back, inviting my mouth to return to hers. I greedily obliged. My tongue swept into her soft mouth and parried with hers until her nails dug into my skin.
Where our earlier kiss was duty, this one was desire. A desire pushed to the side time and time again in favor of what we thought was right. We’d been wrong. This was right.