Page 46 of King of Pride and Talons

They were sitting on the veranda in their robes, sipping on specialized wine from one of the most recently established vineyards. Thorne had expanded the gardening and botanical groups out to Wyeberry and introduced a wine-making offshoot. Breya herself had aided in the planting and subsequent cultivation of the orchard, which grew lush cherries and hardy red grapes.

He twirled the glass in his fingers by the stem, still grinning ferociously. It made Breya let out a long, breathy sigh.

They had been making love nonstop. Breya thought it wasn't such a terrible way to let off steam.

“I will be at the end of the aisle at first. Then during the coronation, right next to you. We both place our hands on the stone—or sacred boulder, as you will—and we make the statement."

“Together,” Breya said.

He leaned forward and opened her legs to the night winds. She wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“Together," he repeated, his eyes glimmering like starlight. “Always together.”

The wedding and coronation was a combined ceremony that welcomed guests from every corner of the Wildwoods. The wedding was opened only to the most trusted and close members of Savanna-Wyeberry royalty and council, whereas the coronation and the following celebration were to be privy to anyone with the desire to attend.

Despite Thorne's advice, Breya was still incredibly nervous. She no longer feared the judgment of the realm. They had embraced her with open, warm arms ever since she began to heal the Wyeberry survivors, but she felt herself overcome with anticipatory fear. She was actually going to be a queen. The label and the responsibility weighed on her nearly as heavily as the crown itself.

She was thankful she was able to see her family before the wedding ceremony commenced. They were ecstatic to see her, and couldn't wait to visit once the rituals had been performed.

“I can’t believe you’re marrying a king," her sister said with a wink. "And you always worried so much about where you fit in.”

Her parents seemed entranced by the pomp and grandeur of the castle. She assured them it was a lot at first, but they would grow used to it. They gave her a tight hug and kissed her cheeks.

“We love you so much, darling," they said into each ear. "And we are so proud of you."

Those were the words she'd been longing to hear her entire life.

The witch was dressed in traditional Savanna garb which included a long train with lion hairs sewn into the inseam. It was a radiant orange while the gown she wore beneath it was a plum purple. Gems were sewn around the collar in a heavy kaleidoscope string.

Breya also wore the emerald necklace that Thorne had originally bought her in town. The diamond-encrusted silver didn't exactly match with the rest of the monarchal attire, but she didn't care. After all, she was about to become a damn queen.

Trumpets sounded as Breya waited at the grand hall doors. It appeared like the entire realm, hell, maybe even the entirety of the Wildwoods was cheering right outside the castle doors. People hooped and hollered on a lovely Savanna day, not too stifling and not too frigid.

Everything was just right.

The doors parted, and Breya was led down a long and winding runner with the mantle of her cape dragging along her back. She held Lilies of The Nile between her palms, a unique brand of flower that looked like baby blue stars bursting forth from gentle green stems. The hall was crowded with royalty, but Breya didn’t dare look—she was fixed on the man who was about to become her husband.

Light streamed in from the skylight and formed a golden pool around him. His hair was no longer tied back or restrained. It ran down the front of his militarized-style suit, his own traditional cape burning hot orange through the blindingly white and sterile environment.

Her legs felt like jelly as she stood before him, their laugh one of ridiculousness. They didn’t have to write their own vows as the statements were pre-written for them through the rites of passage of the Savanna ancestors.

That was when the boulder was brought in.

According to legend, the rock had been carved away from one of the last canyons that once thrived within the dry plains of the Savanna desert. Over time and through various battles of ownership, the canyon had disintegrated. All that was left was a single boulder, and every king and queen who was sworn in had to place their hand upon its face and make their intentions known.

They stood next to each other, hand in hand, as they recited yet another timeworn statement of yore.

“We swear to take on the strife and victories of the people of Savanna-Wyeberry. We swear this as leaders of the realm, as selfless beings, and to guard all that belongs to it."

The clergyman who stood behind the boulder clanged a bell. Those in attendance rose from their seats, and Breya was asked to kneel.

“We will now crown Breya Kaydalle-Bawold, witch-healer of Savanna-Wyeberry, Queen of the realm."

Breya lowered onto the veld box, still holding Thorne's hand. The doors of the castle had been opened to let in some of the townspeople, and they had already begun chanting her name.

It filled Breya to the brim with pride.

The crown was brought out as she kneeled in front of the boulder. It was made of old lion bone, stitched with red-haired manes and ancient jewels. As the minister placed it on her head, Breya let out a sigh of relief.

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