Page 97 of A Frozen Pyre
Harland tried to nod, but Eero’s words rung hollow. “With respect, I don’t believe that’s it.”
“Then perhaps you’re frustrated with a wedding that wasnever meant to happen. Caris didn’t require such a heavy hand. Or perhaps you’re upset because you’ve fallen for my daughter’s wiles, Harland. I’ve heard the rumors, of course. I expected more strength from you. Know your place, even if my second-born fails to know hers. Women rarely do.”
Harland sucked his teeth, if only to keep himself from an executable offense. Perhaps if Ophir succeeded in taking both thrones, it meant the king would be kicked from his royal position at last. It might be the one good thing to come from today, as far as he was concerned.
Eero chuckled humorlessly. He moved back to the window to watch over the sea of citizens. “Look at them,” he said. “They have no idea their princess has the power to bring hell with her fingertips. If Samael were here, he’d say the same. But he’s off with a Raascot woman and a Tarkhany man who can speak to stone, goddess knows where, doing goddess knows what.”
“He’s accompanied by his twin sister and Queen Zita’s advisor on the way to Mount Reev,” Harland amended. He watched his king carefully as he spoke, but Eero didn’t react. “We both know Samael’s doing the continent a great service by taking care of these beasts. And Samael has promised not to hurt Ophir while preventing the creatures from wreaking havoc on the continent. It’s more than we could hope from anyone else.”
“I’m your king, Harland,” Eero said curtly. “You needn’t tell me when I should or shouldn’t feel gratitude.”
“My apologies, Your Majesty.”
“You keep twitching, Harland. What could you possibly have to worry about? I’ve fixed everything. I fixed it with Ceneth after Caris went and got herself killed. I fixed it with Ophir after she threatened to drive us into ruin with her carelessness. I fixed it with Zita after she tried to blame us for making a home that my father rightfully claimed as his own. That’s what kings do, after all. They conquer.”
“You fixed everything with Ceneth regarding the rings?”Harland made no attempt to conceal his skepticism.
“The good king saw the wisdom in using our manufacturing to temper Ophir’s spirit,” Eero replied. “Her little display with the dragon all but sealed their fate. He can’t very well have a bride tear down his castle every time she’s in a bad mood.”
“And, what, he believes he’ll be in control? He thinks he’ll be able to seamlessly rule a manifester?”
“Men love power,” Eero said with finality.
The king waited expectantly for Harland to agree, but it was all he could do to keep from using his immense strength on the man who ruled his kingdom. For everyone’s sake, he hoped Ceneth had not fallen for Eero’s deceit.
The king peered through the window at the people once more, appraising the crowd. “I built this life for them. The mortals don’t realize how good they have it in Aubade. They have my father to thank. They really turned out in droves, didn’t they? I suppose royal weddings don’t happen in every human lifetime.”
“Not when fae are on the thrones of the continent’s kingdoms,” Harland said. “Perhaps your citizens would feel differently if this were Sulgrave. Didn’t Dwyn say their comtes were democratically elected?”
“Don’t speak to me of what the witch said, filling Ophir with ideas, taking her from her home.”
Harland would have jumped at the chance to disparage Dwyn on any other day, but he was too disgusted to agree with his king on anything.
Eero opened his mouth, but a light knock at the door cut him short. Queen Darya opened the door without waiting for an answer. Eero’s face softened slightly as he extended a hand to his wife. She left the door ajar as she crossed the room for him.
“Are you ready?” she asked. She didn’t bother to look at Harland, but he didn’t mind. His queen had more important things to do on the day of her daughter’s wedding.
“Harland,” Eero said without looking away from hiswife, “please stay with Ophir to ensure she doesn’t cause any trouble. Do what you must to get her down the aisle.”
Harland offered a shallow, wordless bow before excusing himself from the room. He shut the door behind him, feeling the pin between his shoulders with every passing step. Anxiety rose to match his discontent. Eero was wrong to fear Ophir today. She was too powerful to need to return and fake her way through formalities. She didn’t need to cause trouble or fight her way out. She could have simply stayed away, surrounded by nightmarish creatures. Instead, she’d chosen to return with Ceneth to Gwydir. She’d agreed to the wedding plans. She’d played nice, remained quiet, and allowed everyone in Raascot to pretend that she hadn’t shattered a wing of the castle to bits with the membranous wings of a dragon.
When she’d returned from the Raasay Forest, she hadn’t been herself.
Tyr—the only one of her friends that he trusted, however begrudgingly—was no longer in her company. Even Dwyn, as poisonous and obnoxious as he believed her to be, had emerged from the woods subdued and sullen. When he’d asked what had happened, she’d merely looked at him with sad, sun-gold eyes and told him to go back to Aubade. While he’d petitioned Eero to let him stay in Raascot and had been preparing to request that Ceneth allow him to remain as Ophir’s personal guard in Gwydir, it seemed his efforts were useless if she no longer wanted him around.
He chewed on the memory of rejection as he wound through the castle. Minutes later, he reached the ground floor. He paused outside of a room that had been repurposed for Ophir’s attendants. He’d watched women carry packets of hot water, perfumes, mirrors, wardrobe changes, and pleasant snacks in and out of the room throughout the first part of the day. He rapped on the door lightly with his knuckles and listened, but none of the bustle that had filled the makeshift bridal suite hummed any longer.
An older woman called out in question, and Harlandcracked the door without bothering to respond.
His lips parted in surprise as the woman stepped away from the long, lacy veil she’d been carefully draping down Ophir’s back. The woman recognized him as the princess’s personal guard and nodded in acknowledgment before taking her leave. Her work had finished.
His breath vanished as he looked at her. He’d never cared much for fashion and felt confident that a dress was just a dress. Someone beautiful was equally gorgeous in a gown, in a potato sack, or utterly naked before the All Mother. Someone unattractive was no prettier on their wedding day than any other. Yet, it was tradition to gasp and fawn and coo over every bride in white. It seemed like a respectful convention, if only to preserve a blushing bride’s feelings, but an unnecessary one.
Looking at Ophir now, he knew he’d been wrong.
The dress clung to her, outlining her breasts, her waist, her curves before it cascaded out like the mist of a waterfall in white and silvery shimmers. The long, bell-shaped sleeves opened up near her slender wrists, offering a similar shimmer as the fabric tumbled as if by magic. A bit of clever tailoring had created a sheer, fog-like stretch of fabric just below her collarbone that dipped daringly to her sternum, broken by the deep sweetheart neckline of the gown. He’d expected her hair to be elaborately pinned in gaudy curls, but it had been left unbound, slicked back behind one ear and pinned by a single line of pearls.
“You look like the goddess herself,” he breathed.
