“King Reid of Gladier,” I said. “If I don’t extend an invitation, he’ll stew in his bitter rage. If he’s here, I can soothe his ruffled feathers.”
Anderz studied me with his golden eyes, a smile spreading across his face as he placed a hand over his heart. “Look how far you’ve come, my petulant princess.”
I scoffed, shaking my head as I waited for Sainte to finish.
After a few moments, Sainte stepped into the receiving room, buckling his belt. His black, fine-embroidered overcoat and trousers stood out against my white dress. A dagger hung at his right hip, a longsword at his left. His polished boots gleamed, and I smiled, knowing he spent the previous night shining them—a small, private secret of his that no one else knew.
I stepped closer, mindful of the stitches tugging at my side as I adjusted the chain around his neck. I pulled the center loop held by the wild cats’ fangs to rest in the hollow of his collarbone. His eyes darkened, following my movements, his face a mask of calm.
With a small smile, I turned toward the door.
Once I saw the God Stones, I knew without a shadow of a doubt the previous set was nothing but simple rocks, a trick of witchcraft.
A weight of importance thickened the air, charged with tension and reverence absent the last time I was here. Perhaps the cause was my brother’s death, combined with the weight of this moment. Yet when I saw those stones, I sensed it was far more profound. Just being in the same room with them was unnerving, as though the gods themselves scrutinized every soul present, probing our past actions and motives.
I schooled my face as I studied Yail. Placed atop a cushioned pillow, carried by a priest, its smooth white surface bore an icy frost. Despite the room’s warmth, his fingers appeared pale and blue.
Nain, however, told a different story. I understood now why the Priest of Nothar asked to see my hands all those weeks ago. No bigger than my palm, it bristled with sharp spines, resembling creatures from the tide pools on the coast—except this was hard stone, not a soft fleshy beast.
Facing the crowd, I fixed my gaze on the far wall. Deep breaths steadied my nerves as the cloak settled on my shoulders and the stones found their sockets. I inhaled again, forcing my hands to remain steady as I crossed my arms and touched each stone.
Pain seared through my palms. Nain’s spikes lanced into my palm, tearing with impossible ease. Despite my gentle pressure, it cut my flesh to ribbons. Yail’s fierce cold burned beneath my hand, sending an ache through my fingers and up my arm.
With my chin raised high, my eyes closed, shutting out the crowd and the pain. I searched for the feeling of rightness, the sense ofhomeI felt when Nothar touched me.
“I, Elspeth Wynterborne, Second Born of Veiled King Vardis, call on the Favor of Nothar. Heed my plea. Answer my call as I would answer yours.”
My voice echoed through the chamber, resounding over the crowd that thrummed with tangible anticipation. Heart pounding, I paused for a breath, two breaths, waiting for something—anything. I opened my eyes and dared to peer over at Nain. It looked unchanged, save for the blood trickling down my wrist, over Togamar’s mark, staining my dress.
A searing burn shot through my left palm. I gasped, whipping my head around. My hand, frozen solid to Yail, glowed with an eerie green light. Frost crept from the stone, crawling up my fingers, spreading across my skin in a fern-like pattern. I took shuddering breaths, struggling to maintain composure as the agony intensified.
Murmurs and whispers rippled through the crowded room as a pained whine escaped my throat. I couldn’t stifle the sound or keep my hand from jerking free of the stone. Stumbling, I took shaking breaths and sought Sainte’s reassurance. From his place crouched on the stairs, he dipped his head in a bow, and when he lifted his eyes, they were alight with joy.
With a breathless laugh, I straightened. The priests approached, removing the stones with care, then eased the cloak off my shoulders. The chill on my exposed skin paled in comparison to the deep ache throbbing through my left hand.
I raised my palms high for all to see.
“Wynterborne, your gods have spoken! I, Elspeth, am chosen of the godhead, marked by Togamar and Nothar!”
Cheers erupted, and my heart swelled with pleasure at the show of support, not only from the crowd, but nobles and ambassadors, as well. My grin hurt my cheeks as I scanned the throng, noting a few who didn’t share in the excitement. This was just the beginning of my story.
As I lowered my hands, I turned to face Sainte, and gestured for him to join me. A slight smile curled the corner of his lips as he obliged. With purpose inhis strides, he approached, his gaze never leaving mine, as if offering me one last chance to back out.
My grin grew, if that were possible, as I clasped his hand in mine. The crowd stirred, a wave of murmurs and hushed words spreading like a ripple through a pond. Cheers died out one by one as people craned their necks to witness the unfolding scene.
“Good folk of Wynterborne,” I proclaimed, shoulders relaxing as Sainte’s warm touch chased away the chill. “Our divine sovereign, the godking Nothar, has made his decree. He has chosen Sainte Nytestorm as his hand, and I, Elspeth, as his voice. Together, we shall guide your paths and steer our realm toward a bright future.
“Wynterians, I take this great moment in our history to announce my betrothal to Sainte Nytestorm, Nothar’s appointed vessel. I present your future queen’s consort!”
In one swift motion, I raised Sainte’s hand alongside mine, lifting them high above, a gesture that triggered a blend of astonishment and delight among the onlookers, marked by stunned gasps and polite applause.
With a glance his way, I caught his composed blue gaze, a subtle gleam of satisfaction twinkling within, while my heart drummed a fierce, unwavering rhythm.
Yes… this was only the beginning of my story.
The End.
Epilogue
