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Hopefully Natalie wouldn’t be like the last social worker we’d had and forget about us for over six hours.

As if the thought summoned her, the tent flaps opened and she walked in, a group of guards behind her. I recognized the two from yesterday, but I couldn’t remember their names anymore.

“The Votarist is here,” she said without fanfare.

My knees wobbled as I stood. Natalie was quick to grab my elbow, helping me stay upright while my head adjusted to the new position. Maybe the concussion wasn’t actually better. Sloane looped her arm with mine as we were ushered outside. The clouds hung low and heavy, reminding me of the monsoon weather we’d get in Arizona. The guards closed in around us, forming a barrier as we were brought to the edge of the tents. Where they ended and the ocean touched the beach, a single person in the light green robes stood, their face hidden in the depths of the cloak’s hood. They held both hands out, palms up.

Sloane’s shoulders were still back, her chin high, a determination filling her features as she laid her hand atop the offered palm. I kept my own face schooled to neutral as I followed her lead. The moment my skin made contact, the dreary shoreline disappeared, the air collapsing around me. Just as I lost sight of the turbulent ocean beyond the shoulder of the Votarist, their voice reverberated through my head like a struck bell.

“Welcome to the Grand Rite, omegas of Sepra.”

CALLUM

The Passage, despite the clear pre-dawn skies, was especially stormy this morning, serving as the perfect mirror for my own state. I twisted my hand, evaluating the mark yet again, doing my best to ignore the tendrils of the earth still curling around my legs in growing unease. They were even more insistent today, practically choking me during my morning prayers. Even now, perched on a large rock several hundred feet from my kingdom’s encampment, they reached for me, twining around my ankles. I wished to kick them away, but I kept still. Partially to not upset the earth who entrusted me so often with its secrets, but mostly to keep those I knew were watching my every move here from reporting back to Simeon the seemingly off behavior.

As the minutes stretched, I closed my eyes, murmuring a prayer to the Goddess of Wisdom.

“Medea, may you grant me discernment today.”

It was no simple task, entering the Grand Rite and selecting an omega chosen of Freia. The tradition had started as a method to maintain peace after the terrible conflict we now called the Great War. Those in positions of power gathered here, selecting a spouse from those who chose to enter the Rite as offerings and thus leaving everything of their old life behind in order to forge something new with the alpha that chose them. By doing so, our cultures and kingdoms grew more integrated rather than isolated, our shared ideas drawing us all into a deeper understanding that made us hesitate to use violence as a method of settling disagreements.

But it wasn’t just a spouse, a life partner. The marriages, once validated within a Temple of Freia, were eternal, lasting our entire mortal lives. Only death could break the bond forged from the validation ceremony. None of it was something to be done lightly, and I itched under the pressure of making the wrong choice once on Magefall.

“Why did I know you would be here and not preparing within the camp?”

The voice pulled me from the thoughts. I twisted to look at my visitor.

Vincent settled beside me, resting his arm on his knee, looking toward me rather than the ocean. His green eyes were keen and filled with an understanding that had some of my nerves releasing their grip on my heart. The magic of the earth moved back with him near, too, and for that I was even more grateful.

“Probably because you’ve spent the last thirty years sneaking around and getting into mischief with me,” I said with dry derision.

Vincent merely grinned and bumped my shoulder with his. Unlike those myriad late night adventures, today he wore the dress of the court, his indigo tunic mirroring mine, the significantly less intricate needlework and the small mark sewn into the lapel of the tunic marking his rank, inherited from his father five years ago.

“I suppose I don’t need to know what has you so troubled this morning,” he said after a moment. I arched an eyebrow, and he chuckled. “I’m sure others have already given you all the speeches about expectation and duty and thinking of what’s best for the kingdom first.”

He adjusted his baritone timbre until it was a near-identical match to Simeon’s scratchy tenor for the last bit of the sentence, and I laughed.

“I managed to get out before they started in on me again,” I admitted. I leaned forward, resting an elbow on my knee, returning my gaze to the ocean before me and the hazy shape of land on the horizon.

“Good.” Vincent’s voice was vehement. “This should not be influenced by what anyone aside from you thinks is best.”

He pulled his long white braid—the style he most often used to keep his hair out of his way—over his shoulder, fiddling with one of the silver leaves woven through it.

“It’s difficult to truly believe that,” I said, letting my shoulders relax. I dropped my chin into my hand and sighed. “I know that Tyrus has a son, and so there is less pressure on me to wed. But it doesn’t reflect well if I spent all of this wealth to bring myself here just to leave without selecting one of the omegas.”

Vincent shrugged, entirely at ease with the prospect. “Princes have done much more frivolous things that have squandered triple the money we have spent coming here to be with you, Tyrus included. You should not let the weight of expense sway you today, especially when it was not your choice to come anyway.”

Vincent was one of the few who knew of the conversation between my father and me that resulted in me joining the Rite. It was one of only a handful of times he’d not relented when I resisted doing something he thought best. He respected my mother, cherished her the ways he was capable, and so I had been granted significantly more freedom than my half-brother, the heir to the throne, when I’d been brought into the court at fifteen. It surprised me that he was so adamant I attend this year’s Rite given he hadn’t pushed when I’d turned down his suggestion of joining the last two that took place over the last decade.

A tendril of the earth’s magic slowly braved twisting around my shin despite Vincent’s presence, and I ran both hands down my face, trying to gather my restless thoughts. A hawk’s cry cut through the metronomic cadence of the crashing waves along the shore.

“I want to honor Freia, but there’s something inside me that is… unsettled,” I said after a while. “Maybe that’s just my reaction to the earth being so fractious beneath me since getting here.”

“I have felt it, too.” Vincent leaned back on the rock, tilting his head toward the slowly lightening sky. “It is much stronger here than at home. Magefall’s effect, I’m sure.”

I glanced up at the sky with him, seeking the three stars my mother had taught me to find that represented the Consort and his sisters. Just seeing them as the light slowly caused them to fade helped settle me, my mother’s voice echoing in my ears. The second moon was high in the sky despite the sunrise, marking the late winter date. Six months from today until the harvest celebrations began anew this year. Out of habit, I prayed to Petra they would be bountiful.

I finally gave in to the desire and brushed my hand over my ankle, trying to politely rebuff the magic. It sank lower, hovering around the rock like water, but it no longer reached out to touch me. Vincent grunted.