A knock sounds at the door, and both of us come out of the bathing chamber.
Mael steps inside, his gaze sweeping over us with calculated calm, briefly pausing over the short, round woman that opened the door.
Eva’s old duenna is happy to play the role and serve as my chaperone, long enough to keep up appearances without inviting too many questions. If she suspects that something strange is going on, shedoesn’t ask.
“I came to check in before leaving,” Mael says. “Ryker just left without me, but I’m expected to follow right away. My carriage is waiting.”
I stiffen at the thought of Ryker’s rage. His deep hurt.
Disappointing him is perhaps the hardest thing of all.
Mael’s lips twist into a faint smirk. “He’s upset, but he’ll get over it. He has a kingdom to think of first. His crown has always been heavier than his heart.”
His glinting eyes are so at odds with his usual calm, polished demeanor that it feels wrong, like he’s holding something back.
“Is there anything else I should know?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
Mael’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “No. Just be ready. Once the event begins, we’ll slip away.”
I study him for a moment longer, but there is no time to press further. I nod, turning my attention back to Eva.
“I’ll see you both soon,” Mael says, his gaze lingering on me for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Then he is gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
Eva exhales softly. “Let’s move. We can’t afford to be late.”
I square my shoulders, pulling strength from Eva’s earlier words like a glamor. “Then let’s go”
A great templededicated to all seven gods of Elysium looms before us. The Sevenfold Shrine is a monolithic structure of white-gold stone that drinks in the daylight and casts long, jagged shadows across the city below. It is a place of reverence and judgment, a shrine carved from the bones of history itself.
I glance up at the towering structure, its silhouette cut sharp against the blue sky. The dark crystals embedded in its surface catch the sun’s rays, fracturing them into eerie prisms of gold and violet that dance along the towering entrance.
But it’s the way the crystals gleam—dark and endless, with countlessshimmering flecks scattered across their surface—that draws my breath short. Like a white sky filled with frozen stars.
It is as if the temple was built in honor of the God of Night and Stars, the deity who once chose mortality, forsaking his divinity for the love of a human. And for that, he was slain by his aggrieved wife, the Witch Goddess.
As a child, I always thought he’d sounded like a fool to give up his power and veer off his destined path into tragedy. Now I feel for the deity. At least his choice was made in love, not stupidity.
My stomach knots as Eva and I ascend the steps. The day settles upon me like an iron yoke, far heavier than the whisper-light silk of my gloves or the intricate weave of my gown. I can only pray Ryker has kept our secret. I must be seen here, if only for a moment, so that my absence doesn’t rouse suspicion and begin rumors before I can reach my own secret wedding.
Inside, it is all white marble, flickering candlelight, and deep shadows. Lanterns cast halos of amber glow over the polished floors, their warmth swallowed by the cavernous arches stretching overhead. The scent of aged, smoldering incense curls in the air, mingling with the sweet perfume of flowers.
Floral arrangements line the walls and cluster at the base of each archway, spilling across the floors and into corners like living offerings. White blossoms, deep red petals, and golden sprays catch the candlelight, their colors glowing softly.
We move through the gilded corridors, the hush of whispered conversations pressing in around us, a current pulling us toward the main chamber.
The balcony, always reserved for Eva and her husband, is already set. A low table is laden with goblets of rich sacrament wine and trays of carefully arranged fruit. It is a final taste of luxury before the Trial’s bloodshed begins.
Only Eva and I remain on the balcony. I barely register her murmured words as we settle into our seats, my attention drawn to the nobles below who are draped in silks and gold, murmuring amongst themselves.
The consuls are already filing into their designated seats, a silent procession of power, each one lowering themselves beneath the king’s throne.
Then, Ryker enters.
A hush falls over the chamber, the weight of his presence enough to silence even the most audacious courtiers. I barely recognize the man before me as he steps onto the dais.
His once-bright eyes are ringed with shadows. His golden hair is unkempt, his jaw rough with stubble. It’s only been a few days, but he is a ghost of himself.
Guilt claws at my guts, sharp and unrelenting. I did this. I did it to him. First the Archpriest’s unseemly demise, and then me and Mael...
