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I can do no more than place my fingers beneath her chin and lift her beguiling face to my eye. At first, I’d believed the vines on her arms were part of the gown, but no, these are her creations?corpus rose buds growing from their centers.
“Isla...” I somehow breathe and cup her cheek, leaning in, my desire unfathomable. Kryach’s forbidden fruit, tempting me to take her tonight, to gift her soul to him.
Never!I seethe.
Will you deny her free will? Her choice, Allysteir?he coos in my head.
She won’t get the chance.
Aydon sweeps in, interrupting mine and Isla’s moment, reminding us, “The people are waiting, Allysteir. It is time for the procession.”
* * *
Isla undoes me.
This is not my show. It’s hers.
While I know what to expect and how to proceed with the Hollows and the dying, with refter attacks and Ifrynna, with Betha and the spirits, with my damned refter brides, Isla knows how to charm the people.
From our coach of varnished gold and diamonded bones, she waves to the adoring crowds from the leading bridge causeway. And goes so far as to grow heather and black death roses and cast them below to the peoples?careless whether anyone knows about her singular gift. As if she is coming into her own, embracing whatever power, heritage, or gifts her blood may hold.
My posture stiffens, and I lean closer to her, awed by her jubilation for everyone, including the wealthier citizens who have paid a higher coin to access a prominent bridge position. My adrenaline rolls in rippling waves when she halts the coach so she may approach individuals and families.
Rooted to my position, I observe as she bestows a kiss upon a child. Or tosses her curls and laughs at the exultation of her audience. They fawn over her. And I marvel, lips parted in wonderment.
Because she is my little wonder,Kryach echoes in my mind.
Mydark rose,I snarl, territorial.
Whatever else she is, the gods have blessed her. Orcursedsince she has endangered her soul by volunteering to be my bride. A soul I will protect at all costs.
The only time I disembark from the coach is when I must draw my bride from her cherishing audience. Otherwise, I’m certain she would spend all night with them. But the nobles are expecting us. And all those waiting in the ships and boats over the River Cryth. I can’t resist lifting my mask to kiss her cheek as she waves farewell to the families on the bridge. She flinches. Not in repulsion, judging by the widening of her eyes and how she covers her mouth, stifling a giggle. Those blushing cheeks shame me. Her heart could receive all Talahn-Feyal. Perhaps all Talahn-Feyrahn.
Finally, we reach the end of the causeway which spills to a canal?a bridal barge receiving us. I offer Isla my hand so she may wander onto the bridge with its arched canopies of gold chiffon and torches. I find myself staring at the exquisite shape of her plump thighs through the transparent lacey fabric. Imagine worshipping between those thighs, tongue traveling upward to the flaming jewel of flesh. She must taste sweeter than the first dew that ever graced the world!
Her chin lifts, regal high, when the barge emerges into the Great Hall where all nobles and elites and elders have gathered to witness the procession. Far different than her countenance with the lay-people, Isla shifts her body language, posturing to a queen. Queen of the Underworld.
When the barge docks before the dais, Aydon greets us along with his intended who kisses Isla’s cheek and will stand as her maid-attendant. Nor am I surprised by Elder Kanat prepared to initiate the ceremony. In a way, it’s a matter of pride and ironic amusement. Beneath my mask, I smirk, I wiggle my brows, my voice higher than anticipated when I take Isla’s hand in my gloved one and pronounce my vows. After tonight, Kanat would be a fool to thwart me, to assault her.
Once Isla pronounces her traditional vows, once we share the ritualistic wine and hand-fasting bonds to unite us?when I know Isla will never sever the knotted cords tonight?once I slide the silver ring with hands clasped around a gold heart onto her left hand, I lift my corpse mask to accept her willing kiss.
And it is willing. To the applause of the nobles, of the royals, she kisses me. Her hand trespasses upon the ruined side of my mouth. A bare brush of her fingers against my exposed teeth. Her sweet fingertips trace them as if she considers them pearls.
Sweet, sweet, sweet!I exclaim, knowing Kryach can hear.
And yet, you will deny her tonight. You will hurt her. You willwoundher, he challenges.,
No more than you,I snarl.I will always choose the lesser of two evils.
At least I do not make excuses for my behavior. I am a High God!
And I am a King. And she is my Queen.
Following our bridal kiss, Isla kneels. So lovely to see her kneel before me, her head lowered to accept the crown I bestow upon her fair brow. Heat radiates through me, beyond fond of my bride. A crown of pure black crystal and bones spiked at their tips by diamonds?gold-lacquered twigs and vines woven between the bones and crystals. Perfect for her.
“I present...Isla Adayra now Isla Morganyach,” I cite our monarchial surname she will embrace. Tenderly place the crown on her head.
As she rises to face the assembly, they respond in a standing ovation. At their blackwood table of honor upon the dais, the royals follow suit.
