He smirks at me, tugging at my arm to get me walking to the temple as though I'd need any encouragement. Every soldier along our path bows their head respectfully, a charged silence taking over the castle in anticipation, and the Fates hum in my blood as they feel their commands finally being answered.
The full royal regalia includes a heavy cape secured to my shoulders and it dances behind me with every step like a veil, the formality of the outfit chafing me far more than the luxuriously soft fabric ever could. I'm most comfortable in high fae fashions, being all I've ever worn, but that doesn't mean I pick the fussy styling that my status usually comes with. Riding breeches and sturdy linen shirts with a cloak thrown over it all, I dress for comfort and ease of movement.
I understand entirely why my Fates-blessed mate was so deeply affected by the dresses Airlie offered her, no matter how simple they seemed to a Celestial. I'm not quite as understanding of her distaste for shoes, the softened leather she favors looks far more comfortable than my riding boots, yet she loathes the feel of them. Whether it’s a quirk of hers or a peculiarity of all witches, I’m unsure.
When I notice Roan glancing down at my medals again my mouth pulls into a grimace, my scar pulling at my lip uncomfortably. "What's wrong with them? I'd rather you tell me now before Airlie cleaves my head from my shoulders when we get there."
He glances back up at me, the furrow easing from his brow some, and he slips into the old language to answer me. "I'm just reminded of the goblin princes' words last night, of theBloodwitches and his warnings. The regent might be delighted with this wedding going ahead but I don't think Kharl Balzog will be so happy. No doubt he has plans to stop it."
I shrug back to him. "As you said, the Fates themselves couldn't stop it. The extra war bands in the kingdom speak volumes but there's enough goblin soldiers within these walls to take care of an entire legion of raving madness."
I’m pushing at his issues with the Briarfrost bloodlines on purpose, but other than a small tightening of his jaw Roan, only gives me a curt nod in return. "I don't have to be friends with the goblin soldiers or the princes who lead them to know we’d be in a far more precarious position if they weren’t here. No matter my feelings on the actions of their ancestors, I can at least admit that."
We turn to find the Fates Temple within the castle at the end of the hall and the hum of the Fates grows louder in my veins. Airlie spent a lot of time deciphering the books of the old law she first unearthed after Rooke broke the curse. I'd sneered at them, calling them nothing but old stories made up for children, but they were a far more accurate depiction of the way the high fae used to honor the land and give to it as we once swore oaths to do. The castle was built to honor them, no question about that, and it’s made the task of the rites a far easier prospect than I first feared.
The Fates temple within the castle is on the first level, something that used to confuse me, but now makes perfect sense. Large panels of brightly colored glass cover an entire wall and paint out scenes of the first fae arriving in the kingdom, the shields of the royal families, and the forests that stood tall for centuries already passed. We may have forgotten the witches were here first, but our bloodlines clearly once knew.
As we approach the door I murmur back to him, "I'm not so happy with the actions of my own ancestors, either. This entirewar could’ve gone in a very different direction if we could wield our own magic. How many generations of high fae would still be here?"
Roan swallows roughly, pausing for a moment at the door and heaving a great breath. "My father has said that for years. He said it before my mother died, but it only made things clearer to him after the witches took her from us."
I blow out another breath of my own before I nod to the soldiers standing at the door. They both bow back to us as they push them open, no need to call out our arrival to the small group waiting for us there because they all turn as one to greet us. Tauron and Tyton flank Airlie at the base of the small podium while their mother, Tylla, stands with Aura off to one side as she clutches at her arm dramatically. A few steps away from them and guarded by Reed, Firna rocks Raidyn against her shoulder as the baby sleeps there, content and peaceful.
Gage stands on the other side of the aisle, giving me a firm nod as I meet his eye, before he turns back to the large panes of colored glass as he ignores Tylla’s murmurs. She’s not saying anything contentious about the goblin prince, but it’s certainly not friendly gossip and her mouth snaps shut at the glare I level at her.
Stepping in effortlessly, Roan grunts, “I’ll never understand how the Unseelie Court can be saved from violence and brutal death only to risk certain death biting back at those who aid them. If I had my way, they’d still be in Yris’ dungeons wasting away.”
Aura glances up at the ribbons of my bloodline hanging overhead, but the only ones of importance lie in my pocket, and somewhere in Rooke's possession. Soldiers line every wall and corner of the room, armed and watchful, and though my aunt keeps staring at them mournfully, she doesn't make any protest.
I moved to stand in front of Airlie, facing my cousin and acknowledging her respectful bow with an incline of my own head. Her eyes move over my appearance assessing only, smirking at my scowl, but she doesn't make any protests as silence falls in the temple wants more. My eyes trace a path upwards to the ribbons I stared at only hours ago with Rooke but instead of grief, I feel determined.
Roan looks up to follow my gaze, his own brows pinching together when he notices the absence of my ribbon, but when he glances down at Airlie, she only smiles back to him. I've known my cousin since her birth, there's no way I was climbing up and retrieving that ribbon without warning her first, knowing full well her anger would level the castle she was caught unaware, and she had her own surprises for me.
“After consulting with Cerson about the witches' traditions, I’ve made a few adjustments to the ceremony. Better to get the union complete with haste than risk any interruption and it’ll be difficult enough getting you through today without adding vows and oaths on top of it.”
I’m not just prepared to speak the oaths and make my vows, I’m eager to but when I snapped my protests to her doubts of me, Airlie only grinned back with one final taunt.
“You’ll see, cousin.”
As the last rays of sunlight stream in through the windows, bright beams of color flood the temple and give the space an ethereal look that humbles even the proudest of high fae with its brilliance. Airlie reaches over to take Roan's hand in her own, tears in her eyes the beauty of this moment. Looking over to Firna and her small son, she swallows to keep them from falling.
The last high fae wedding I attended was theirs, though the ceremony took place in the temple in Fate’s Mark, at the top of the mountain in the Outlands and with a lot more royals in attendance. An elaborate and lavish affair every inch thespectacle Aura demanded, all the truly mattered was the Fates-blessed union my cousin entered with the prince she loves so dearly. Never have I thought I'd be so lucky.
The Fates are practically screaming in my blood and when I finally hear the footsteps of Rooke's approach. A ripple of awareness works through the small gathering, the high fae shifting on their feet and straightening their spines. My own shoulders roll back as I stare at the panes of glass for a moment longer, repeating the promise I gave the Brindlewyrd Forest in my mind, as though such a reminder could ever be needed.
When Tauron's eyes flick towards the door a growl bursts from my chest unbidden and his gaze drops to the floor, ensuring I see my Fates-blessed mate first. I'm certain all the high fae realize I'd prefer to be the only one to look upon her for the entire duration of this ceremony, but seeing her entrance alone will have to suffice.
My cousin's interest becomes clear as Tyra and Thea step into the room first, the terrified female still trembling a little and her eyes firmly on the marble at her feet as the maid gently guides her over to stand near Gage on Rooke's side of the temple. Tauron can't help but turn towards her though he keeps his gaze lowered, and Tylla murmurs with Aura in confusion over the beautiful high fae female. Neither of the princesses recognize her, shocked at her entrance, and thankfully they don't notice the tension rendering Tauron to stone either.
My attention is pulled back to Rooke's approach as more steps ring out. In the absence of her own bloodlines to see her welcomed into my arms, my Fates-blessed mate is flanked by Gideon and Cerson at her request. The female was an obvious choice, family by the Fates command, but the show of respect to the Briarfrost family is anything but a political move by Rooke, though it certainly will gain her more favor with them.
Gideon stands beside her with a look that speaks of the king he'll someday be to his people, the readiness within him to spill blood on her behalf, while he's careful not to look at or touch her. He meets my eyes with a firm nod, dropping a step behind the two females protectively as they make their way over to me.
My heart thumps violently as I finally allow myself to look at her, my breath seizing in my chest instantly. Instead of a high fae dress, Rooke wears her mother's robes spirited out of the Ravenswyrd Forest on that fateful day I sneered at her traditions and pain.
Her hair is covered with a hood, small tendrils peeking out to frame her face, and though her face is respectfully solemn, her lips curve upwards as she meets my gaze but I'm too busy drinking her in to think of returning her smile. As white as any wedding attire of my own traditions, the intricate embroidery of oak leaves and fae flowers dance along her robes in patterns that make no sense until Rooke makes her way towards me and my heart stumbles in my chest.mThe construction is in the same vein as her fighting robes, bands of fabric held together with pins, only there's far fewer panels and they're held together in a seemingly precarious fashion. I'm assaulted by flashes of her arms, her shoulders, herthighs, red bleeds into my vision and my teeth almost crack under the pressure of my jaw as my mind becomes a haze of seething demand.
There are too many males in this room, too many eyes that could graze her, how many guards has she passed between our chambers and the temple dressed like this, I'm going to make anunfathomablesacrifice to the Fates by spilling the blood of hundreds?—
