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I clear my throat. Here’s my chance for a delay. “On the other hand, we can’t afford not to. If Auberon realizes we skipped the boars and the pigeons, he could pronounce that we aren’t truly married. Surely we want to follow the ancient traditions for members of the royal family.”

“Five hundred pigeons?” Talan narrows his eyes at me. “Do you have any idea how long it would take to organize that?”

“Lady Nia is quite right,” Griflet says, gripping his little leather bag like his life depends on it. “Of course, this is all quite symbolic. We could try to perform the ritual with somethingsymbolizingthe pigeons and the wild boars.”

“Like what?” Talan asks.

“Well, the intent is a sacrifice. We could, for example, sacrifice some finely baked biscuits and release a chicken from my coop.”

“Are you serious?” I ask.

Griflet nods wildly. “Yes, yes. I’m always serious when it comes to the gods. The ancient texts permit me some leeway. It’s about theintent,you see.”

“Excellent.” Talan runs his tongue over one of his sharp canines. “Let’s sacrifice the biscuits.”

Griflet clutches the bisen-root to his chest. Snatching up a pen with his free hand, he starts to scribble on the parchment. “Now, for the guests…in royal weddings, all the nobles throughout the land are invited to witness the sacred matrimony.”

“Right. We can’t do that.” The firelight gilds Talan’s perfect features. “Because, as I said, this needs to happen tonight.”

Griflet looks up, wide-eyed. “I’m afraid we must. You are the heir to the crown, should anything happen to Auberon,gods forbid. You have been chosen by the gods. All the nobles from the Court of Morgan must be invited. It’s what the gods demand.”

“Griflet, you will be our witness.” A knife’s edge cuts through the low tenor of Talan’s voice.

Griflet’s jaw clenches. “Your Highness, I will not cross the gods, not for all the bisen-root in the world.”

“And yet, you would cross me?”

A chill spreads through the room. Outside, thunder rumbles.

“Well, I’d rather not. But even you are not the gods, and I will not ignore their demands.”

Already, Griflet is pouring more bisen-root onto the parchment. He pulls out a small silver straw and snorts a line. I stir uneasily on the bench. He reminds me of my mom, and I wonder what she’s up to at Avalon Tower. Wrapped up in Tarquin’s machinations, no doubt.

I touch Talan’s arm. “Maybe there’s another way besides marriage.”

Talan’s eyes spark in the firelight. “There isn’t.”

Griflet stares at the ceiling, blinking wildly.

“Stay with me, Griflet,” says Talan. “So, the gods demand that we invite the nobles. But do we need to wait for them to arrive?”

Griflet drags his gaze back down to Talan, his eyes glinting. “Let’s consult the texts. They have been my closest companions these long years, and I think I remember…” He trails off. Standing, he leaps over to a dusty bookshelf.

Talan brushes the melting snow off his trousers. “I have full confidence in you.”

Griflet pulls a dusty tome from his bookshelf and darts back to his chair, flipping through the pages. After several moments of perusal, he raises his eyes from the book. “We are required to invite them. That is all.”

“Fine.” Talan shrugs. “I will send out a messenger. He’ll deliver those invitations on foot. They’ll all be invited. Too bad that they won’t receive notice in time.”

“You’ll need actual witnesses,” Griflet says.

“How many?”

“Two should do the trick, one more besides me.”

Talan sips from his mug. “I’ll handle it.”

Griflet nods, writing it down on his parchment. “Now, royal weddings are always conducted when the red moon shines brightest.”