“Well, you’ve already joined hands,” Estalar said, and he reached over to place his hands over theirs. “Let us re-bind you.”

The familiar heat of magic flowed from the priest’s fingers onto Taegan’s skin, coursing up his arm and into his chest before dispersing through the rest of his body and settling in the familiar pinprick of warmth in the back of his head. There was a moment of overwhelming heat that made him wince, then it faded—and he gasped in the sheer relief of Zorvut’s presence in his head again, as if he had been dying of thirst and finally could drink deeply of an endless supply of cold, sweet water. Zorvut’s hand squeezed his, and when he looked, he could see that his eyes had slipped closed. But through the bond, he could feel the same relief and joy that echoed his own.

“It is done,” the priest said, withdrawing his hands, and Taegan could not hold back a laugh of joy. “Again the gods have smiled upon your union. My princes, I pray your continued bond will restore us to the peace we so briefly enjoyed.”

“Thank you,” Taegan said breathlessly, nodding. Behind him, he could hear King Ruven shift, lifting a hand to wipe at his eyes.

“Yes, thank you,” the king repeated as the priest stepped down from the raised platform, and they walked together toward the entrance of the temple, leaving the two princes alone before the elder tree.

“My love,” Zorvut murmured, and pulled Taegan close to his chest. In his familiar embrace, the rest of the world faded away. If they were together, they could do anything, peace treaty or not. He had never been more sure of anything in his life.

TO BE CONTINUED