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“Not as fancy as the one Alistair wanted to give you,” I snort and shake my head. “The rest of us thought elegant and classy, while he thought as many diamonds as will fit.”
She giggles. “Both would’ve been appreciated, but this is more me.”
“Agreed. Ready?”
“Let’s go make KnightsGate history,” she replies.
We head downstairs, where the rest of the men are waiting, ready for Ever to claim her destiny with us by her side—where we intend to stay.
Alistair helps Ever into the sleek black Mercedes, idling at the curb, and the rest of us pile in with Ben driving.
We drive through the darkened streets; the moon is a sliver in the sky.
I glance at Ever, her eyes reflecting the streetlights. They flicker with nerves, but she’s solid, unflinching. She carries the weight of lineage and expectation.
Tonight, we are more than just her Guardians. We are ready to throw ourselves into whatever darkness we find for her sake and more.
Ever’s hand is cool in mine, and I squeeze it. Not too hard, just enough to remind her I’m here. She answers with a pressure that speaks volumes. No words needed. We’ve never been about the words, much to my relief.
The old gothic building looms ahead, its spires reaching toward the heavens, challenging the stars with its grandeur. It’s old, a relic from a time when buildings were erected to intimidate, to proclaim power. Fitting, then, for what’s to come.
Ben pulls up, and we climb out. Alistair takes Ever’s hand and leads her across the wide pavement, coming to a stop at the foot of the stone steps leading up to the towering double doors. They’re carved with symbols that whisper of ancient history and older secrets.
“Let’s not keep fate waiting,” Ben says, climbing the steps two at a time.
We follow him, our footsteps echoing in the quiet night. There’s no turning back now—not that we’d want to. We’re here for the crowning of our queen, and nothing could drag us away.
As we push open the doors, they groan, a sound fit for a place as steeped in history as this. We step inside together. Always together.
The heavy door shuts behind us with a thud that seals our fate. The vaulted ceiling of the building arches overhead, shadows clinging to its ribs like spectres of the past. Chancellor Aldritch stands at the far end of the room, surrounded by other high-ranking members of the sect, including our parents, their faces etched with the gravity of the night. But this isn’t about us or them. It’s about Ever.
We ignore our families as we take Ever down the aisle, feeling her nerves bounce around the room.
Aldritch nods in my direction as I approach, his gaze flicking over to Ever with a discerning eye. “Ever.”
“Elder,” I return the nod, feeling the weight of the man’s authority even in the simple greeting. Ever’s hand trembles slightly in mine, and I give it a reassuring squeeze. We’re here, and she’s ready, nerves be damned.
“Tonight marks a turning point,” Aldritch says, his voice low but carrying through the hushed room. The others murmur their assent.
Alistair is a pillar of strength on Ever’s other side, his presence seems to fortify Ever further. Charlie and Ben are behind us, surrounding her. No one will ever get to her again.
I scan the room, the dim light from the candles casting quivering shadows on the walls, making the stony figures of gargoyles seem alive.
The air hangs thick with an energy that whispers of change, of power soon to be claimed.
A hushed silence falls, and then the invocation begins. Latin words fill the space, archaic and resonant, spoken by Chancellor Aldritch with a gravity that belies their ancient power. The atmosphere tightens around us, an invisible coil winding tighter with each syllable.
“Ad destinatum tuum accede,” he intones, and a shiver runs down my spine. Something about the ancient language inspires awe and nervousness all rolled into one.Approach your destiny. The words aren’t just spoken; they’re an invocation, pulling at something primal within us all.
The room seems to pulse with the weight of what we’re doing, of the history we’re writing with our very breaths. I can almost taste the charged energy, metallic and alive, on my tongue. This isn’t just a ceremony; it’s the forging of a queen in the fires of tradition and ambition.
“Pro sanguine et anima,” the Chancellor’s voice rises.For blood and soul. The words echo against stone walls, a binding oath that ties Ever to her lineage, to us, to the darkness we’ve embraced.
I stand by her, unflinching. Whatever comes next, it starts here—with her, with us, bound together under the watchful gaze of flickering candles and whispered Latin promises.
The Chancellor’s voice drops to a whisper, yet it thrums through the room like thunder. A blade gleams in the candlelight, its edge cruelly sharp. “Sanguis vestri, nexum perpetuum,” he murmurs.Your blood, an eternal bond.
I don’t flinch as the silver slices a thin line across my palm, the sting insignificant compared to the pain I inflict on myself. Ever’s gaze meets mine, fierce and full of lust, which makes me smile. Aldritch takes her hand and slices the blade across her palm.
