Page 45 of Craving Their Venom
Around my neck, on a simple leather cord, hangs a small, silk pouch filled with a mixture of herbs Kaelen prepared for me this morning. It smells of pine from my lost home, of the swamp lilies of Jalma, and of the sacred, starlit herbs from his own sanctuary. It is a scent of my past, my trials, and my future, all woven together.
Kia steps back, her work complete. Her eyes are shining. “They will not know what to do with themselves,” she says, her voice cracking. “A human queen.”
“I am not a queen,” I whisper, my own voice trembling.
“You are,” she insists, her gaze fierce and unwavering. “You are the heart and soul of the King. The strength of the General. The soul of the High Priest. You are more than a queen. You are their center. Never forget that.”
Before I can reply, a soft knock comes at the door. An elderly naga priestess enters, her scales the color of pale, milky jade. She carries a small, velvet bag. It is time.
She approaches me, her blind, white eyes seeming to see into the very marrow of my bones. “The gods offer their wisdom to those who are brave enough to seek it,” she rasps, her voice the sound of ancient, rustling parchment. She holds the bag out to me. “Choose your path, little heart.”
My hand trembles as I reach into the bag. My fingers close around a small, smooth stone. I pull it out. It is a piece of polished obsidian, and carved into its surface is a single, glowing rune. It is the rune for ‘unity’. But it is also the rune for ‘beginning’.
The priestess gives a slow, knowing smile. “The path is set.”
She leads me from my chambers. The palace is transformed. The cold, imposing corridors are softened by garlands of night-blooming flowers and the warm, flickering light of thousands of lanterns. Naga nobles, a glittering sea of jewel-toned scales and shimmering silks, line the hallways. They do not stare with thecold, appraising eyes of before. They bow their heads as I pass, a gesture of profound, and in some cases, grudging, respect. I am not merely a curiosity. I am a part of their world.
The procession leads to the sacred gardens, the place where Kaelen first spoke to me of destiny. The sterile, ordered beauty of the place has been transformed into a breathtaking sanctuary. A great, circular altar of white stone has been erected in the main plaza, surrounded by a circle of fire pits that burn with a cool, blue flame. The air smells like burning herbs and the hushed, reverent silence of the assembled court.
And there, standing before the altar, they wait for me.
My breath catches in my throat. They are not a King, a General, and a High Priest. They are three aspects of a single, devastatingly beautiful truth. Varos, a pillar of black and gold, his regal authority softened by a raw, naked vulnerability in his golden eyes. Zahir, a crimson monolith of contained power, his usual savage fury replaced by a fierce, protective tenderness that makes my heart ache. And Kaelen, a river of silver-blue, his ancient sadness gone, his twilight eyes shining with a profound, soul-deep joy.
As I approach, the assembled guests move forward, one by one, to lay a single flower at the base of the altar. A silent offering. A prayer for the future of their kingdom. I see Lady Xaliya, her violet scales shimmering, place a perfect, black rose at the foot of the stone. Her eyes meet mine, and at last, I see not cunning, not malice, but a grudging, almost imperceptible, nod of respect.
I reach the altar, and the world seems to fall away. There is only the three of them.
Kaelen steps forward. He is not just one of my mates. He is the High Priest, the one who will bind us. He takes my hands in his, his touch a familiar, calming warmth.
“We gather under the gaze of the Shattered Light,” he says,the sound a low, melodic drone that resonates in the very stone beneath my feet. “To witness a union not of two souls, but of four. A new pattern in the great weave of destiny.”
He takes the small, silk pouch from around my neck. He opens it, and the scent of my past and my future fills the air. He crushes the herbs in his palm, the fragrant powder a mixture of green and brown and silver. He anoints my forehead with the dust, his touch a gentle, reverent blessing.
“With the earth, I bless your heart, Amara,” he whispers. “May it always be a wellspring of the courage and compassion that has saved us all.”
He then anoints each of them in turn. To Zahir: “I bless your strength. May it always be a shield for the gentle heart you hide from the world.” To Varos: “With this earth, I sanctify your crown. May it always be guided by the just and noble spirit you have shown us.” And finally, he anoints himself. “With this earth, I will bless our souls. May they always be intertwined, a single cord of love and fate.”
It is their turn to speak.
Varos steps forward, his golden eyes ablaze with a fierce, possessive fire that no longer terrifies me, but thrills me. He takes my hand, his grip firm, a promise of unwavering strength.
“I once saw you as a possession,” he says, his voice making a low, clear vow that carries to every corner of the silent garden. “A beautiful, fragile thing to be owned. I was a fool. You are not a possession, Amara. You are the foundation upon which my new kingdom is built. You are my justice. My honor. My queen. I pledge my life, my crown, and my very soul to your protection. I am yours, now and for all eternity.”
Zahir steps forward, his massive form a comforting, solid presence at my other side. He takes my other hand, hiscalloused, warrior’s grip a testament to the battles he has fought, and the peace he has found in me.
“I once saw you as a weakness,” he growls, his voice a guttural confession that is filled with a raw, aching tenderness. “A softness I could not afford. I was a blind, raging beast. You did not tame me, Amara. You… healed me. You showed me that true strength is not in the rage, but in the heart that can temper it. You are my mercy. My honor. My home. I pledge my axe, my strength, and my very life to your happiness. I am yours, always.”
Kaelen steps before me, his twilight eyes shimmering with a love so profound that it feels like a physical thing.
“I once saw you as a prophecy,” he whispers, his voice a melody of pure, unadulterated love. “A cosmic riddle to be solved. I was lost in the stars, and I did not see the heaven at my feet. You are not a prophecy, Amara. You are the truth. The answer to a question my soul has been asking for a thousand lifetimes. You are my faith. My honor. My everything. I pledge my spirit, my wisdom, and my very being to your side. I am yours, now and forever.”
The tears are streaming down my face, hot and silent. They are not tears of sorrow or of fear. They are tears of a joy so vast, so overwhelming, it feels like my heart might burst from my chest.
I look at them, at these three beautiful, terrible, and utterly devoted serpents who have laid their souls at my feet. My King. My Warrior. My Priest. My mates.
I step forward and wrap my arms around Varos’s neck, pulling his head down to mine. “I am yours,” I whisper against his lips, and I kiss him, a kiss of shared power and profound, absolute love.
I turn to Zahir and cup his scarred, savage face in my hands. “I am yours,” I say, my voice thick with emotion, and I kiss himwith fierce, passionate fire, of a wildness that has finally found its home.
