Page 47 of The Kingdom of Flames

In one of the most overwrought displays of wealth, a dozen men wearing golden necklaces with a single hoop upon them, carried an open-air litter. A beautiful and strange adornment. They wore yellow robes wrapped tightly around their muscled bodies.

“Come, Lady Celestine. You are the only star in the sky, and grace my realm.” Solis turned back and regarded Aidric. “Would you join us, Captain of Calendar? Allow my estate to replenish your exertions. It would be my honor.”

Aidric, in his mirrored mask, stared at Solis. "I deliver the Final Bride to you, Lord of Summer.”

Solis smiled and bowed. “I can never thank you enough. What is a bride shall hopefully declare herself a wife at the end of these courtship contests. Enjoy your time on my lands.”

“Lord Solis.” Aidric nodded and did not bow. Nor did he go back into the carriage with his driver, also in a mirrored mask. He simply stood and watched his ward carried away.

Celestine turned and climbed into the litter. She fell into a soft bed of goose feathers, and pillows of silken yellow. Solis climbed in next to her. There was no distant courtship of Encarmine here. Solis had pale skin, and his blond hair was beautiful upon his brow. He slid in next to her, turning, completely comfortable in their closeness as they faced one another.

“My lady,” his voice was the sweet softness of the wind on wheat. The procession began its journey. The men carried them upon their litter. The riders rode next to them, spears held high, not in martial readiness—but in glory. A jeweled cup was placed in her hand, cold to the touch as if packed by snow, and she sipped cold wine that set her throat with pleasure.

The golden fields of the Yellow Realm drifted by, each with an orderly formation of workers at harvest, scythes at the ready, slow swings, felling bundles of wheat, hay, and other crops. As they passed, every worker and peasant with golden chain necklaces around their necks stopped and bowed.

“They do you honor, Celestine. They wish for me to marry.” Solis smiled as they lay facing one another.

It was hard to look at him. So tall, so fine. His cheekbones were like cliffs she found herself wanting to touch. Encarmine had come to her over time, but Solis was different. He was not bold. It was beyond that. It felt like he owned every inch of ground they walked upon, every silken thread. The movement of his body was welcomed by anything he touched, as if responding, why not?

“Thank you, Lord Solis.”

“I don’t think that will do,” Solis whispered, a glint in his eye. “Please, call me Tristien.”

“Lords of Season carry a given name?”

“I am a Lord of Summer, without a mother or father to give me a name. I crafted it and wear it for you, Celestine. My wife shall not look upon me in splendor but in the deepest of partnerships. I spent time in contemplation after seeing you at Calendar. Knowing a name was what I wanted to win your hand. It was the name of a beautiful servant I had long ago. I don it for you.”

“Thank you, Lord Tristien.”

Tristien laughed. “My realm is staunch on hierarchies and affairs, but let us make a pledge. I will tell you when it is appropriate to call me Lord Solis. Does that suit you?”

Celestine sipped her chilled cup to hide her smile.

How wanton of a heartless shrew am I? To sip wine and smile while Encarmine stares at the emptiness I left in his realm. Does a pretty face and pampered cart among a sprawling golden land prove the own cheapness of my heart?

Tristien smiled at her. “I know you loved Encarmine. I don’t even hate him for it. Who could not love such a Lord?”

It was interesting to hear them refer to each other as Lords. When they were gods of wind and war to her people.

Solis continued, “If not for his valor, Summer would rarely reign. You may even select his hand at the end of the season. I will be the first to clap at your wedding. My realm is not a place of battle and blades. There is no greater solace to be found in all of the Seasons. There is a deep peace here. The blades that fall here reap wheat and feed all realms. They do not reap war and widows.”

Thus he outlines why the Painted Realm would benefit so.

The procession continued. They saw his fields, his people. The day was of sweet breads and chilled wine, the canopy above them a silk awning that glowed with sunshine. The lands here were not the dusty desolation of Encarmine’s realm but rich thatched houses and golden fields.

Celestine drank more and more wine, and her head began to swim. A cool breeze floated over the two of them. Wine did not heal the heart, but it numbed it.

“The labors of my people build for all. Everyone serves here. Everyone works for the goodness and wellness of others.” Tristien reached out to refill her cup, but she declined.

“I’ve had enough, Lord… Tristien.”

“I cannot stop staring at you, Lady Celestine. It pleases me to see your face light at the sights and wonders of this realm.”

“Does it?” Celestine smiled, the wine swimming in her head.

I am lonely already. Wounded. In grief. This dotage doesn’t move me, but it does divert.

Tristien nodded. “It does.” His hand reached out to touch her chin. She allowed it. His touch was cool on this warm day, his blue eyes endless.

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