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Finally, she was at the front standing next to the prince. His expression was dour, his gaze flat.
“And here we are,” he said to her.
She pressed her lips together, saying nothing in reply. If everything went right today, Prince Magnus would die alongside his father. He deserved to die for what he’d done to Theon.
Still, she felt a tiny pang of guilt that he would pay so dearly for his father’s more lengthy list of crimes.
He’s evil, she reminded herself. Just like his father. A single tear spilled over his mother’s death means nothing. It changes nothing!
“Let us begin,” the priest said. His dark red sash represented the blood of the Goddess Valoria and was attached to his bright red robes with two gold pins of entwined serpents. “This joining of two young people in the eternal bonds of marriage is also a symbol of the joining of Mytica as one strong and prosperous kingdom under the rule of our great and noble king, Gaius Damora. Valoria, our glorious and beloved goddess of earth and water, who generously gives us all strength, faith, and wisdom every day of our lives, also gives her blessings today on this fortuitous union.”
“Try to withhold your enthusiasm, princess,” Magnus muttered, “at least, until the end of the ceremony.”
With each word the priest spoke she’d swiftly lost her ability to keep hold of anything but a tense expression. Her hard-won strength had already begun to falter, giving way to clawing panic and legs that threatened to crumple beneath her.
“I’ll try my best,” she bit out.
The king simply watched all of this, his expression unreadable.
“Don’t tell me you’re not pleased to be here,” said the prince under his breath.
“Likely every bit as pleased as you are.”
“Join hands,” the priest instructed.
She eyed Magnus’s hand with dismay.
“Oh, come now,” he said to her. “You’re breaking my heart.”
Cleo’s jaw tightened. “Such damage would require you to be in possession of one.”
He took hold of her hand. His was dry and warm, just as she remembered it from the day they were betrothed on the balcony. He held her hand as if it was distasteful for him to touch her. It took everything inside of her not to pull away from him.
“Repeat the vows after me,” the priest said. “I, Magnus Lukas Damora, do pledge to take Cleiona Aurora Bellos as my wife and future queen. A bond that will begin this day and go forth unto eternity.”
Panic gripped her. It was much too soon for the ceremony to come to an end! Was this it?
There was a pause and a tightening of the prince’s grip on her hand. “I, Magnus Lukas Damora, do pledge to take”—he let out a breath as if fighting to continue speaking—“Cleiona Aurora Bellos as my wife and future queen. A bond that will begin this day and go forth unto eternity.”
Cleo began to tremble. Eternity. Oh goddess, please help me.
The priest nodded, dipping his hand into a bowl of fragrant oil he held before him. He dabbed a little of the liquid on Magnus’s forehead.
The priest turned to her. “Repeat after me. I, Cleiona Aurora Bellos, do pledge to take Magnus Lukas Damora as my husband and future king. A bond that will begin this day and go forth unto eternity.”
face turned toward her.
“Walk,” Cronus commanded.
Cleo tensed.
She had to give the rebels a chance to make their move. Because they would. They had to.
And yet, for a moment she wasn’t sure her feet would carry her. Her legs had turned to jelly. But there was nothing else she could be right now except strong. Anything she had to do to help Auranos, she’d do.
And at the moment, it was to walk and to meet her fate at the altar of this temple.
So, thinking of her father, of Emilia, of Mira and Theon, she walked.
