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He had not destroyed it. That was a relief. But had he added too much magic? He glanced at his grandmother.
She smiled and nodded. “Well done. I do believe this will be a wedding that will be talked about for centuries to come.”
Farrendel winced. What did she mean by that? He did not dare ask.
Most likely, this would be a scandal only rivaled by the illegitimacy of his birth.
ChapterSeven
Farrendel stood before his mirror and shakily tugged on the hem of his tunic, attempting to adjust it to hide his scars.
It did little good. Without a shirt underneath the tunic, he could not cover them all. The tunic’s half sleeves stopped above his elbows while a large V of his chest remained exposed. At least the worst of the scars across his shoulders and upper arms were covered. But the scars down his arms, especially at his wrists, were plainly visible for all to see.
What would Princess Elspeth think, seeing how scarred and battered he was? For she would see. As close as they would stand during the ceremony, she could not help but notice.
He already knew what the elven court—those same court nobles that Weylind had to threaten to make them attend—would think. They would scorn. Judge. Curl their mouths in disgust.
He would have to stand before them like this and endure it.
And Weylind thought that marrying a human was the hardest part of today. No, marrying Princess Elspeth was the least of his concerns for that evening.
The brush of Weylind’s footsteps on the stairs gave warning even before Weylind knocked on the frame of Farrendel’s door. When Farrendel did not tell him to go away, the door opened, and Weylind stepped inside. “Everyone is assembled. Your bride is nearly ready.”
Farrendel gave another tug on the tunic, trying to get it to stay in place over a long scar that cut across his chest down to his stomach. “I am ready.”
“Here.” Weylind held out a pair of archer’s vambraces. They were more decorative than those used in battle, with oiled brown leather and silver engraving. “These will help.”
It was not traditional, but Princess Elspeth would not know the difference. Nor would anyone in attendance question why Farrendel was covering most of his arms.
He pulled them on. The vambraces covered his wrists and his forearms nearly up to his elbows. Between the half sleeve of the tunic and the vambrace, only a small portion of his arm around his elbow was visible, and that portion had fewer scars than his wrists and shoulders. He started to tie the laces. “Linshi.”
Weylind reached out and tightened the laces for him. “Are you still sure you wish to do this?”
Farrendel gritted his teeth and met Weylind’s gaze. “Yes.”
Weylind sighed as he tied the vambrace laces. “Very well. Machasheni already gave me a lecture. I have no wish to incur another one by arguing.”
How Farrendel had managed to get their grandmother on his side in this, he was not sure. But he was thankful. She was a force to be reckoned with. “She seemed pleased.”
“That is what worries me,” Weylind muttered. He shook his head, then grasped Farrendel’s upper arms, meeting his gaze. “Dacha would have been proud today.”
Those words ached so fiercely, Farrendel could not breathe for a moment, much less move. It was harder and harder to remember the laughter and the warmth his father had. Every time he thought of Dacha, his mind yanked him to those last moments. The terrible sound of the arrow plunging into Dacha’s back. The blood. The gasping breaths. The way his father had held him, shielding him, even as he was dying.
If Farrendel ached, missing his father today, he only had himself to blame. If he had been strong enough to protect his father during that rescue or if he had avoided being captured in the first place, Dacha would still be alive.
Instead, he had died. Because of Farrendel.
That reminder hardened Farrendel’s jaw. His grandmother’s visit earlier made him think hope was possible, but he could not allow himself to believe that. He could not allow himself to dream about happiness for he knew how easily it could get snatched away.
He stepped out of his brother’s grasp. “Let’s get this done.”
Not the most romantic or hopeful statement, but at that moment, all Farrendel wanted was for this wedding to be over.
* * *
Farrendel stoodat the front of the hall, trying to ignore the horde of courtiers seated in the large room. The hall was grown at the very heart of Ellonahshinel with massive branches arching overhead to form the ceiling while gold glittered as it gilded the small twigs and patterns in the bark. Rows of windows overlooked Estyra and the surrounding forest, letting the beams of the setting sun fall in patterns on the floor and far wall.
Avoiding the gaze of most of those in the crowd, Farrendel focused on the far back of the room. There, a few of his friends among the army had been allowed to slip into the back once the front rows had been filled with the courtiers. It was the unfair part about being an elf prince. Even though the courtiers did not care for him nor he for them, they still showed up for his wedding and still insisted on being shown deference while the people Farrendel actually wanted at his wedding were relegated to the far back.
