Page 93 of Golden Queen (Idrigard #1)

Io reached his hand up to cover my ear, pulling my head against his chest to protect me from the sound that reverberated through my entire body. "Calm yourself, beasts. You'll shatter Sera's eardrums! We are nearly there."

And we were. The Fortress was just in front of us.

I could see balconies jutting off from hundreds of different castle sections, long walkways stretching between towers where people could be seen milling about, windows of colorful stained glass that looked taller than all of Albiyn castle.

The stonework on the castle was detailed—nearly every wall, every window, every facet, carved with some kind of flourish or face—long dragons in relief, wings extending from the corners of the balustrades, battle scenes, monsters, and myths.

It was the most beautiful building I had ever seen. The sheer amount of work that had to go into making all the fine details must have taken hundreds, maybe even thousands of years.

It made the hulking monstrosity of Albiyn castle look absolutely primitive in comparison—like something children had cobbled together.

Veles angled to the side as we reached the fortress. I heard shouts from one of the balconies. People had recognized Io, I realized. They were waving their arms in greeting.

Veles banked again, and I saw a huge carved platform on the side of the mountain attached to the fortress. The castle itself rose above it, curving around and up to the top of the mountain.

Veles aimed for the platform. A layer of fine powdery snow kicked up under him as he halted above the flat rock, beating his wings, and lowering to the ground.

A group of people was already coming from a wide set of doors at the top of a massive, sweeping staircase.

One small figure raced out in front, her pale, bluish gray hair streaming out behind her.

Io handed me down and took my hand. The air was bracingly cold, but the contact with his hand warmed me quickly.

The girl ran headlong into Io's chest with a thud, and he momentarily released my hand to embrace her. "Fyr," he said, smiling. "What in the hell are you doing here?"

"I had Anghur bring me with Eyildr. It was much too crowded in the palace with the lords and generals gathered, so we wanted to stay here. I didn't think you'd be home for ages!"

Io released his sister and turned to me. Fyr's brows drew together in confusion. She had not noticed me standing behind him. "Fyr, this is my Aelia—soon to be Lady of Darkwatch."

"Mother's bones," she breathed, eyes going wide as saucers. She was strikingly pretty with light brown skin under that pale blue-gray Withian hair. She turned back to Io. "Are you serious?"

"Very serious, Fyr." He drew his brows together and nodded gravely, though his half smile was in place as his eyes slid back to me.

"It's very nice to meet you, Princess," I told her, extending my hand and smiling at her astonished expression.

It only took another heartbeat before Fyr's smile returned, making her beautiful face light up. She had Io's features, but in her they were softened and delicate.

She threw her arms around me and hugged me tightly. "Welcome to the family, Aelia. There is absolutely no doubt that anyone my brother loves, I too, shall love. He is so damned picky about his friends that I know you must be absolutely delightful company."

She released me, narrowing her eyes slightly. "You're not…” She turned to Io. “She’s not…Aelia of Windemere?" she demanded.

"She is," Io said at the same time I gave her a rueful smile.

Fyr turned back to me, steepling her fingers in front of a mouth still hanging open in shock. "Well fuck me sideways," she said, earning herself a disapproving look from Io.

Fyr frowned at his look. "Have you got her pregnant?" she asked.

"Fyr!" Io said sharply.

"No," I said definitively with a shaky laugh.

"So...you just…” she looked between us again before settling her pretty lilac-colored eyes on me. “You just love each other then?" Her grin returned as her eyes warmed with the idea.

"Yes, Fyr. We just love each other." Io told her.

"Well isn't this just the mother's bones dipped in sour salt?" she said.

I nodded in agreement, chuckling at her colorful expression.

The group that had come with Fyr from the double doors waited at the bottom of the steps as the three of us strode across the wide platform. They appeared to be nobles and courtiers, but it was hard to tell with so many different types of clothing. None of them were easily identifiable as servants.

The group bowed as Io strode up. He nodded to them and pulled me up to his side. “This is Aelia of Windemere, Queen of the Godsgrass Kingdom and future Lady of Darkwatch.

I cringed as he introduced me to so many stunned faces.

Every introduction seemed like another step further into the madness of what we were doing—another step past the point where I could extricate myself from the trajectory that would likely end up with my people being subjects of Penjan for all eternity.

And war—war that these people might need to fight solely for the privilege of having me as their Lady.

The nobles were kind, their faces friendly and smiling. Their names went straight in one ear and out the other, though I noted there had not been a single title given from among them. There were no lords of Darkwatch save the one, I remembered.

That changed, though, as we greeted Lord Jhol Azmial, just inside the castle. Io offered me no official title for him, save for Lord, but the man's entire bearing and attitude, the sight of him alone, begged for one.

He was a tall, lithe man in an embroidered butter-yellow coat with yards of ruffled white lace spilling out of the collar.

He wore a tight-fitting brocade vest that nearly corseted his narrow waist. His auburn hair was cut in a style I’d never seen before.

Short on the sides with wild curls spilling over the front to hang artfully before one of his eyes.

It made him look dashing—daring even, like he might just belong on the deck of a fast ship sailing off the edge of the world on some grand adventure.

Jhol took my hand, looking into my eyes as he smiled.

He was exquisitely crafted—huge blue-green eyes in a smooth, blushing complexion.

His face was made of both softness and steel—straight nose and sculpted brows—all of it seeming to flow down into a central focal point of the loveliest lips I had ever seen.

He looked rather a lot like some very beautiful, lithe predator.

Like a spider whose beauty might just be designed to lure in its prey.

"Enchanted," Jhol said, never taking his eyes from me.

His perfect lips curved higher on one side, revealing a delicately pointed canine.

It made him look just like a cat sighting a mouse.

"Absolutely enchanted by this golden queen.

" He spoke in a smooth, silken voice, drawing the words out as he gave me a once-over.

He brought my hand to his lips as he reached out to tuck a curl behind my ear.

I smiled at him despite myself, despite the fact that I was sure Io would haul the man away by his throat at any moment. "The feeling is quite mutual, Lord Azmial," I told him, receiving his assessment of me with unexpected pleasure.

I dared a look up at Io. He was grinning at me quite wickedly. "Jhol is something of a spymaster for Darkwatch," he told me, finally stepping forward to extricate me from the man's grasp. "Though I know he really only stays for the pretty skies."

Jhol rolled his eyes, "Amon knows me well. I am much too colorful to exist in any but the most vibrant of worlds."

Lord Azmial looked at me again, intently.

"But more often than not, those colors clash with me.

" He ran a long finger down my cheek, looking thoughtful, and not the least bit lascivious or inappropriate.

"You, my dear, are like an unspoiled canvas—simply begging to have the colors of the Iyridian Valley splashed across you.

" He waved his hand, long fingers splayed in front of my face to mime the splashing of the colors.

I barked a startled laugh.

"Jhol is also something of a painter—famous across Alterra for his work."

He rolled his eyes again, "Amon is too kind. I painted those gods-awful angels on the ceiling of your Albiyn castle."

My eyes widened in surprise as his name suddenly came to me. Master Azmial, the famed artist. I had assumed he was long since dead. His paintings had been on the ceilings in Albiyn since before the reign of my parents.

"Do not judge my work by those monstrosities, though, I beg you. I was working under the direction of a group of tiresome old men who would not allow me to do as I wished."

"You're the reason the angel in the council chambers looks like she's slightly aroused, aren't you?

" I blurted, excitedly. I had stared up at that supposedly beneficent face of the lovely gold and white angel on the ceiling of the council room many times.

Arkadian had been the first to say she looked like she was looking at something she wanted—very badly.

Jhol laughed loudly. "You're the first person who's ever noticed that!" he said, beaming. "I imagined her as Danu, looking at the exquisitely naked form of Amundur lying in bed with those glorious white wings fanned out on either side of him."

"Well you captured that well. I thought she looked like she was seeing something she quite literally ached to have. And for that look alone, I could never call her a monstrosity," I told him, meaning it.

Jhol looked at Io, nodding approvingly as if I hit the mark.

Io tilted his head, raising a cocky brow to the man as though in acknowledgment of something.