Page 61 of Severe Husband Warning

I have spoken on behalf of my House for centuries, never questioning whether the right words would come. Standing before Calla with a simple circlet in my hands demands far more courage than addressing a royal court ever has.

I hold it out to her.

“I made this for you.”

She accepts it with both hands, her fingertips brushing carefully across the woven reeds.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathes. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“A circlet is traditionally given before the rite,” I explain. “It isn’t required, but I wanted you to have it.”

She looks up at me, her brows furrowed with curiosity and astonishment.

“You made this yourself.”

A quiet smile finds me.

“My mother taught me when I was young.” My eyes return to hers. “It felt wrong to give you one fashioned by someone else's hands.”

Without thinking, my hands circle around hers.

“May I?”

She nods. Carefully, I lift it from her hands and place it upon her brow. The woven reeds of silver and gold resting among her blond waves as though they have always belonged there.

“It suits you,” I say softly, surprised by how inadequate the words sound.

Calla reaches up to touch it, smiling with a warmth that leaves my carefully prepared composure in ruins.

“It means more because you made it.”

She steps closer. “Thank you,” she whispers before rising to her toes to kiss me.

There is nothing hurried about it.

She lingers, and I feel her gratitude, her affection, and every unspoken promise between us in the gentle way her lips move against mine. When we part, her forehead rests lightly against mine, the circlet glimmering softly at the edge of my vision.

“I’ll wear it tomorrow,” she says softly.

“I had hoped you would.”

Outside, rain continues to fall over Ti’lith, washing rooftops, gardens, and temple spires beneath the same quiet storm.

Tomorrow, the kingdom will witness the Storm-Binding. For now, I stand beside the woman who has already become my home.

29

CALLA

“Now, face each other.”

The cool weight of the circlet settles against my brow as High Priestess Nyrra proceeds with the Storm-Binding ceremony.

The temple falls into a reverent hush.

Stormlight filters through towering crystal windows, washing the black stone in shifting bands of silver and blue. Beneath the vaulted ceiling, every gaze is fixed upon us. Lords and ladies of the storm court stand in ordered rows, their composure as unyielding as the pillars surrounding them. Beyond them waits the King himself, his immense presence anchoring the chamber like a mountain.

Rothgar’s hand closes around mine.