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Yet that would mean he was really getting married today. Worse, he would have to get married all over again tomorrow in Estyra. Two ceremonies. Two large gatherings filled with people staring at him. Two events where he would be expected to talk in front of people.
One bride who was a total stranger.
His stomach twisted harder. Alliance or ambush. Either way, he just wanted it over.
When he left his stateroom on the boat, he joined Weylind, Iyrinder, and Sindrel on the main deck. If they had known there would be an event like this held on Escarland’s shore, they would have brought more warriors with them.
But most of the warriors were still at the border with Kostaria, dealing with the last of the raiding trolls, and the rest were needed in Estyra guarding the royal family. If something went wrong today, it was important Farrendel’s nephew Ryfon remained alive and well to assume the throne with Weylind’s wife Rheva there to be the queen mother and advisor.
Farrendel would do everything in his power to prevent that. Ryfon was about the same age Farrendel had been when he had lost his father. That was a tragedy he would not see repeated for another generation.
Nor was Ryfon nearly as ready as Weylind had been when Weylind took the throne. Thanks to their father all but abdicating the throne first in his grief at the loss of his wife, then to raise Farrendel, Weylind had essentially been ruling as king a hundred years before the crown officially became his.
A gangplank was lowered, and Weylind led the way onto the dock. There, a contingent of four Escarlish soldiers met them.
A tall man with short brown hair and a trimmed beard—the human male facial hair Farrendel had heard about but never seen up close—stepped forward. His gaze studied Farrendel for a moment before focusing on Weylind. He gave a half-bow. “I am Prince Julien of Escarland, one of King Averett’s younger brothers. We are your escort, Your Majesty.”
Weylind tipped his head in acknowledgment. Then they were following Prince Julien and the Escarlish soldiers up an embankment from the river toward the wooden-walled outpost built on a hill overlooking the river.
Farrendel resisted the urge to swipe his palms on his trousers. Once they stepped inside those walls, they would be at the mercy of the Escarlish soldiers, or so the Escarlish might assume.
At least the outpost was made of wood. Wood gave them an advantage. Weylind could transform the dead logs into living branches, turning the humans’ fort against them. And if Farrendel let his magic burst in all its uncontrollable fury, he could level the place in a few seconds.
But that would mean killing every Escarlish man and woman inside, including Princess Elspeth and her joyful smile.
He needed this to be a wedding and not an ambush. He was not sure he could hold on to his sanity if he were forced to kill the person he had thought he was going to marry, for all that she was a stranger.
The doors to the outpost were wide open, though Escarlish soldiers stood beside the gates and on the wall top, muskets on their shoulders as they patrolled. Farrendel kept his head high, even as he felt the weight of their gazes scrutinizing him.
Prince Julien led them to a long building. Faint strains of music from some stringed instrument echoed from inside. “This is the dining hall, though it has been cleared for the event. I believe the guests have already gathered.”
Guests? Or soldiers waiting to spring a trap?
King Averett met them at the door. His gaze flicked over Farrendel before he grimaced and nodded. “Good. You’re here. Julien, get the ceremony started while I fetch Essie.”
The human king sounded like he was at a funeral rather than a wedding. What did it mean? Was it because he was planning an ambush? Or because he was marrying his sister to an elf?
Prince Julien pushed open the door and led the way inside. It must have been some kind of signal, for the music changed from lilting to something more ponderous and ceremonial. Prince Julien spoke in a lowered tone. “We might as well enter as a group. Prince Farrendel, you’ll stay standing at the end of the aisle while the rest of us take our seats in the front row.”
Farrendel nodded. That part was not unlike elven weddings. Even the part of the bride making a grand entrance was similar. It made him wonder just how much human and elven customs had once influenced each other in the past.
Weylind and Prince Julien led the way, with Farrendel following. Sindrel and Iyrinder dropped to walk behind him. As they strode down the aisle formed out of many long benches, Farrendel scanned the crowd as best he could without turning his head. What appeared to be a few noblemen and women sat in the rows near the front while the rest of the rows were filled with men in Escarlish uniforms.
A human woman wearing a crown sat all alone in the front row, her red hair showing just a few lighter streaks where it was going a white-gray as she aged. As the hair was similar enough to Princess Elspeth’s, she must be some relation to the princess, but Farrendel did not dare make any guesses. Humans aged so differently, he was not sure how old the woman was.
It was another sign that this was a genuine wedding. Surely the humans would not have gathered their nobles and even more of their women, especially not one of their royalty, if this was an elaborate trap to kill Weylind.
At the front, Farrendel took his place by a white-haired man, the human officiant mentioned in the description of the ceremony he had memorized.
Prince Julien took the seat next to the older human woman and directed Weylind, Sindrel, and Iyrinder to the seats in the front row on the other side of the aisle. The row behind Weylind had been left empty, giving Weylind’s back some protection from the Escarlish nobles sitting two rows behind him.
Still, Farrendel scanned the room for any sign of trouble. Unless King Averett planned to be personally present for an ambush, this would be a perfect moment for it before Princess Elspeth was supposed to arrive.
The music changed again. Those gathered rose to their feet and turned toward the back of the room.
Princess Elspeth entered the aisle on King Averett’s arm, though there was barely room for him beside her due to the volume of her skirts. Farrendel had never seen a dress with such frilly, poofy dimensions before. It boggled the mind that the humans would use that much fabric for a single dress.
He swallowed as he lifted his gaze from Princess Elspeth’s dress to her face. Beneath the crown of red curls, her smile was bright, if somewhat strained. Was she nervous? Because of a planned ambush or because she, too, was marrying a stranger?
