Page 96 of A Frozen Pyre
“They won’t,” Zita said with cool certainty, “because Farehold knows nothing of the world. This is the first wedding between kingdoms in hundreds of years. Our presence willbe observed as an exotic custom.”
“And Princess Ophir—” Galena began.
“Is north of the city. A crew is set to intercept her.” Zita folded her arms and looked out the window at the waiting crowd. Thousands of pale faces had poured in as Aubade’s citizens gathered in the stands to see their princess wed the winged king of the north. She lost herself as she peered into the sea of pink faces amid smears of copper, gold, and watery-brown hair. Her gaze settled on a child on top of its father’s shoulders. She closed her eyes, regretting the moment.
“Ophir didn’t just give her blessing,” Ceneth said coolly. “She told us to burn it to the ground. She should be with the crew any moment.”
Galena broke the quiet once more as she prodded, “A crew who…”
Ceneth lifted two fingers in a subtle gesture. Zita was grateful for his intercession as he spoke. “I don’t just appreciate your presence, Galena. You’re saving us by being here today. But the less you know, the safer you’ll be. Just trust it’s taken care of, both with her and with the bride.”
“The bride was left with special protections for exactly this cause,” Zita agreed. “If anyone tries to intercede before the ceremony, one prick from the ring on her finger, and they’ll be unconscious before they have the time to cry out. There’s enough coma-inducing venom in the subtle weapon for three or more uses. Hopefully, that’s all the bride will need.”
“Coma?” Galena repeated.
“It will render the victim unconscious, dear,” Zita said. She couldn’t keep breeziness in her voice. Solemnity weighed over her as she felt the fate of centuries of people on her shoulders. This wasn’t just for her husband, or even just for Tarkhany. The injustice at stake was bigger than any one kingdom.
Galena’s speechlessness communicated volumes.
Zita lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. Shemet Galena’s eyes, appreciating the gradient as they transitioned from night-dark to a regal shade of gold just before her pupils. The winged fae tucked her wings respectfully behind her, shrinking nervously under the scrutiny.
“When I give the signal, clasp onto your king. The bride will grab for you. I will shield us all.”
Much to both of their surprise, Ceneth reached for her hand now. Zita watched curiously as the King of Raascot regarded his subject.
“Just like this,” he said kindly.
Galena looked down at where her fingers rested in his hand. “Your Majesty…”
“I didn’t want the first time you touched me to be in our moment of need. We can’t afford your hesitation. Just like this, okay? Grab me and hold on tight.” He squeezed her hand, offering a sad smile that did not reach his eyes.
Her eyebrows tucked into the middle as she looked between them. “I know that you don’t want me to know much, but I have to ask. Why would you have me neutralize you? Your Majesty, to my knowledge, my gift would not impact your gift for flight. I don’t understand what purpose I serve, or what it is I’m nullifying.”
“That’s fine,” he said. “And when the moment comes and you do understand, I need you to continue holding my hand, just like this.”
“Your Majesty—”
“Call me Ceneth.”
“Sir—”
Zita’s voice was soft as she interjected. “Galena, I must apologize for what you’re about to see, but your king is right. Hold tightly to him. And when you do, for what it’s worth, I recommend that you close your eyes.”
***
Harland felt like someone had stuck a pin between his shoulder blades. The sharp pain of something terribly amiss shotdown his spine. He’d never looked forward to the day Ophir might be wed. Of course, when Caris had been alive, there’d been the possibility that Ophir might have lived a long and happy life belonging to no one but herself. The moment Farehold’s favorite princess had died, Ophir’s dreams of freedom had died with her.
Still, he’d prepared himself to see her strike a stunning silhouette in an unspeakably beautiful gown. He knew she’d still sweep him off his feet, even if he wasn’t the one at the far end of the aisle. Neither she nor her husband-to-be was excited about the marriage. But that was not what was bothering him.
“I wish Samael was here,” Harland mumbled.
Eero had been pacing for the better part of an hour. He paused near a window to look down over the crowds settling into the coliseum. The entire city had been invited to appreciate the opulent decorations, the magnificent rugs that ran the length of the sand, the expensive bouquets, the jewels, the banners, and the twinkling fae lights that transformed the space. The room in the tower allowed for one of the few vantage points for the castle to look down upon the stadium. Harland knew it brought him a sense of control to oversee the people from his hidden peak before the ceremony began and his presence was expected.
“I could certainly use Samael’s advice,” the king agreed.
Harland’s hand went to the hilt of his blade. He stroked the cool metal protectively. “Something feels amiss, Your Grace. I don’t know what.”
Eero’s thick golden brows met in the middle. He looked nowhere in particular as he crossed his arms, tucking his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I raised the reincarnation of the All Mother in her least sacred form. We’ve seen what she’s capable of. If she snaps today, she could bring Aubade to its knees.”
