Page 29 of Wolf Duke

Rowan cleared his throat. Then the kindly soothsayer lifted his arms, his flowing black robes swishing around his ankles. “Beloved Leto, your humble servants King Alaric and Princess Evaine come this day to seal their fated union as decreed by you. In grateful joy, they swear to protect and cherish each other, and bring these offerings to give thanks unto you: the fresh heart of a stag, a flagon of red wine, a bag of gold, and two perfect white blooms.”

Smiling proudly, Wesley stepped forward with the items. Darius and Ranulf then carefully arranged them at the foot of the shrine.

Next, his mother curtsied deeply to the statue. “We remember those who have risen to the stars and sit at our revered Goddess’s right hand: King Cyrus of the Western Lands; King Hugo of the Eastern Lands; Queen Magdalena of the Eastern Lands. Blessed are their names.”

Alaric bowed his head, pressing his paw over Evaine’s at her faint sniffle. In truth, it was difficult to hold back his own grief at such profound loss.

“Thank you, Queen Siân,” said Rowan, inclining his head. “Now I shall take this needle and draw a blood drop from King Alaric and Princess Evaine to formalize their union.”

The sharp pinprick made them both wince, but the soothsayer caught their blood drops on a parchment square and expertly blended them with the needle. Alaric and Evaine pressed their paws to the blood, then together, then onto the parchment once more. Unlike last time, when Theda’s soothsayer had snatched the parchment away, a brief blue spark lit up the room, turning the square into unbreakable clear stone and capturing the moment for eternity.

Alaric turned his head. “Greetings, my mate,” he rasped unsteadily, quite overcome.

Evaine grinned tearfully. “Greetings, my king.”

It was done.

Not even being born a princess had prepared her for the sheer overwhelm of royal mating ceremonies. Or the storm of emotions at being so alone.

Evaine closed her eyes and rested her head against the cool stone of the privy chamber wall. She needed a little time for composure; after the private mating ceremony she and Alaric had eaten a small but sumptuous meal with Siân, King Darius and King Ranulf. Although very different to Alaric; Darius so battle-hungry and frightening to behold, and Ranulf so scholarly and sharply amusing, both wolf kings treated her like a cherished sister.

However, once again, the lack of any other de Wynters had scratched her soul. Having someone, anyone to share a memory with, not about the rest of England just the Eastern Lands. The particular scent of the frigid, raging North Sea spray. The feel of newly shorn wool from the staggering number of sheep. Nibbling on freshwater fish plucked straight from the River Yare. Watching Father trade with merchant ships from the Low Countries in all manner of languages. The way certain winds shrieked around the turrets of Ashcross Castle like Hera in a temper…

Where were Isabel and Cecily and Lucan? WHERE?

Evaine gulped in several breaths and dashed a hand across her eyes lest she start sobbing. The Queen of the Western Lands would never display reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks at a formal occasion. Especially the celebration of a mating that brought her immeasurable happiness.

A soft tap sounded at the privy door. “Evaine? May I come in?”

She stumbled over, her legs still a little unsteady after changing back to human form, and pulled the door open to smile at Siân. “I’m quite well and ready to dress for my crowning.”

Siân nodded, clear sympathy in her gaze. “I understand needing a moment, my dear. Do you know how many times today I’ve turned to Cyrus and he’s not there? I am so glad you met my mate, even if you were just a cub. Cyrus would simply adore you now. But it is very, very difficult when a joyful time also reminds us of great sadness. Or great anger.”

Stepping forward, Evaine clasped the elder queen in a tight hug. “Thank you. For your welcome. Your kindness. Your humor. And Alaric, of course.”

“Ha! Of course! Now, let us get you crowned. I’m afraid the garment layers and jewels are many, it is a miracle a Western Queen can move at all.”

Evaine laughed, but two hours later she wasn’t nearly so amused. Perhaps outside in the cold January air it would be better, but in a ground-floor dressing chamber with a well-stoked fire blazing and ten attendants darting about, it felt like she might suffocate. First, she’d been sponged with herbed water and dried with soft towels. Then, after being dressed in a whisper-thin embroidered linen shift and silk stockings fastened by satin garters, came a cream velvet kirtle that tied at her waist. Next was a heavy gold brocade gown trimmed with diamonds and pearls that actually required several attendants to lift over Evaine’s head due to the weight and voluminous train. Siân had then laced on Evaine’s cream-and-gold sleeves, lined with satin and ermine for warmth, and fastened a solid gold and jet girdle around her waist.

Evaine almost swayed as she peered at the looking glass in front of her, but alas, there was more to come. Bejeweled rings for her fingers, wide gold bracelets for her wrists, and a sturdy gold necklace set with twelve diamonds the size of her thumbnail. Her hair was brushed to a crackling shine, then plaited and coiled at her nape, secured with gold pins and a short sheer gold veil. “Oh my.”

“I know,” said Siân, grimacing. “And there’s still the queen’s crown to come. Fortunately, you only have to wear that on the dais.”

“How do I walk to the courtyard?” asked Evaine, only half-jesting. A fully laden carriage would weigh less than this gown and gold.

“Very slowly.”

It took a full half-hour to walk from the dressing chamber to the spacious courtyard; by the time Evaine reached the thick crimson carpet near the foot of the dais, sweat dripped down her back, even in the crisp, cold winter air. Goddess! The crowd! There must be thousands of wolves dressed in their best clothes, crammed into the space. While most stood, some were seated on tiered wooden benches, others lined the ramparts, while more still leaned out windows or were perched on the roofs of various outbuildings. Darius and Ranulf sat on cushioned chairs to the rear of the dais, their guards kneeling around them.

But finally Evaine’s gaze reached Alaric on his throne, equally bejeweled, gilded and miserable in his majestic attire, and her mood improved. They were in this together.

A trumpet flourish sounded and a herald stepped forward. “Hear ye! Hear ye! The union of King Alaric of the Western Lands and Princess Evaine of the Eastern Lands has been decreed and blessed by Leto herself. May it now be known to all: Evaine is queen, long may she reign.”

“Evaine is queen, long may she reign!” echoed the crowd.

Alaric rose to his feet and held out a hand. “Come and be recognized, Queen Evaine.”

With the assistance of Siân, the attendants, and Rowan the soothsayer, Evaine was discreetly hauled up four steps to the stage and escorted to Alaric’s side. When he took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, she reveled in the reassuring touch.