Page 32

T he day dawned with a blood-red sky. Such a sign was considered the best of omens on a wedding, indicating Passion’s pleasure in the match to be made. The palace had been buzzing since before the sun had risen, when daylight had only been a suggestion in the pre-dawn sky. Aurora would know, as she’d been all but ordered to participate in the wedding as one of Epicasta’s bridal warriors. She sat in the bridal chambers allowing herself to be washed and oiled, perfumed and painted, dressed and ornamented.

The day had come, light spilling into the airy room decorated in pinks and greens and golds, tranquil pastoral scenes painted along the walls with animal mosaics running in circles on the floors. Silks and the softest cottons were paired with rich, lacquered woods, and a mirror that must have cost a small fortune rested in a gilt frame along one wall. This was the princess’ chamber, and yet there wasn’t a single personal touch in the room, nothing to mark the owner’s presence or personality.

Aurora focused her mind on the most minute of details to keep her eyes clear of tears—the heat of the water, the fragrant steam. She let her mind wander as combs glided through her hair, wondering on the exact recipe of the oils they used. The notes of the perfume they’d dabbed on her neck and wrists were next, trying to identify the warm notes below the top notes of florals. Aurora sat as paint was applied to her face, concentrating on the ingredients of the make-up they’d used, what they chose to emphasize and how it differed from her era. When it was time to don the gowns and veils, she kept the pit in her stomach at bay by latching onto the quality and cut of the red gown she wore, pondering where they might have sourced the material, how long the fine silk would have taken to ship from Gilvus, where so much of its production had been centred in the ancient past. She kept her eyes dry as she weighed the heft of the jewels she wore, finer than any of the other bridal warriors. Another bribe, no doubt.

But when the preparations were done, and then the serving of small appetizers and drinks was complete, Aurora had nothing left to distract her from what was coming. Epicasta sent the other bridal warriors to wait in the room outside the bridal chamber while ordering Aurora to remain.

“Have you ever participated in this ritual before?” Epicasta asked, her tone stripped of all emotion.

“No,” Aurora whispered, her voice cracking.

The wedding rituals of her time were quite restrained in comparison, especially for the untitled. Usually, a bride was walked through the streets with her family, soliciting the well-wishes of her neighbours as they made their way to her intended’s house, whereupon she was welcomed, feasted to, and the couple encouraged to retire to the bridal suite to consummate the marriage. Only after that did the new couple go hand-in-hand to the temple of their choosing—usually Knowledge or Justice—to have their names and union recorded.

The rituals for nobles and royalty were much more extravagant, and the wealthier the couple, the more elaborate and taxing the ceremony. Some lasted days, with multiple feasts, games, tournaments, and all manner of public spectacle before the couple was registered in the temples. Only after the party were the couple allowed to retire to consummate their union. Phaedra’s eldest sister’s wedding celebrations had gone on for a straight month as she toured each of the provinces and brought the party with her. Aurora and Phaedra hadn’t wanted to so much as look at a bottle of wine for the next three months afterwards.

Thinking of Phaedra threatened her resolve, her eyes stinging for the first time all morning. What would her friend have done? Probably kidnapped her lover and given the middle finger to her mother as she ran off into the sunset. But Phaedra wasn’t here, and there would be no keeping Theron for herself. Today he married another.

Epicasta gave her a sad smile as she sipped a cup of tea.

“You’re to guard my palanquin as we walk through all the districts in Boreas. The people will be rowdy and drunk, as the festivities began with the dawn. Soldiers will be taking care of the real security, so you needn’t worry about that. When we near the palace, the groom and his warriors will attack the palanquin. The fights are purely for spectacle, so there’s no need to fear.”

“Once I’m taken from the palanquin, your job is to be captured by one of the warriors, who will bring you to the temple of Justice with the rest of mine and Theron’s warriors. The groom will profess his right to wed through right of capture, and I will consent in front of the priestesses, whereupon we will sign our names in their ledgers. Afterwards, Theron and his warriors will carry us to the gates of the palace where the real celebration will begin.”

“Be ready to have your outfit changed at least six times over the course of the day and into the night, and pace yourself with the wine, lest you wish to be seduced by one of the groom’s warriors. While the couplings aren’t frowned upon, the groom’s warriors will be fellow nobles, and Her Majesty hasn’t given up hope on marrying you to one of her allies. If you wish to partake free of consequences, drink this.” Epicasta poured another cup of tea and slid the dubiously scented beverage towards her as she sipped her own. “It’s an effective contraceptive.”

Bile rose in her throat. How could she offer that? How could she think Aurora would be in the mood to tryst on today of all days? Why would she sip it in front of her, as good as telling her what she planned to do later that day?

But as Aurora held back tears, she stared into the murky liquid and a hot coal of anger sparkled to life inside her. If Theron was going to make her watch him marry another, she was going to seduce one of the Aurean soldiers or retainers who would inevitably celebrate. She would find out whomever he found most objectionable and torture Theron as he was set to torture her. Let his heart be set aflame by jealousy, let his gut roil with anger, let his throat constrict with sorrow. Aurora hoped she would make him as miserable as she was.

Aurora took the cup, braced herself and swallowed it down in a single gulp.

She wished she could hate Epicasta, truly hate her. In her heart, Epicasta was the villain, taunting her as she married the man Aurora burned for, but as her eyes saw the truth, her mind recognised she was just another victim. The tea was a sensible precaution to protect some small part of her as she was forced into a marriage she’d never wanted.

“How are you holding up?” Aurora asked.

“As well as could be expected, given the circumstances,” Epicasta replied.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. None of it.”

“If I hadn’t had that vision—”

“Then you would have been accused of being an agent of chaos. Or worse. Her Majesty had planned to use your suffering to hurt King Theron. In truth, I knew the moment he was captured that this was a likely outcome. I tried to warn him, but well…he’s stubborn and proud. What exactly do you see in him?”

Aurora bit her lip, giving herself a physical pain so she could pretend her heart wasn’t shattering as she swallowed passed the emotion choking her. Did she know how cruel it was, to ask her that? To want a defence of the qualities she admired in him? But cruelty wasn’t her intent, and if they were to wed, Epicasta should know that there was goodness in him that deserved her acknowledgement.

“He can be kind in a way few are capable. Protective. Selfless when it counts. He chose his own death over my suffering. If that doesn’t prove he’s a man of honour, then nothing else will.”

Epicasta’s brows rose in bewilderment.

“Merciful Triad, the sex must be transcendent,” she said, sipping her tea. Aurora choked on her next breath, heat creeping up her neck. Epicasta’s eyes widened in shock. “Wait, don’t tell me you’ve never…that you feel all this and he hasn’t even…” Aurora felt her face sizzling the more wide-eyed the princess became. Goddesses, why couldn’t she just crawl under a rock and perish? “Triad’s tits, I think we need something stronger,” Epicasta muttered.

Epicasta left to rummage around in the vanity by the window. She opened a drawer and took out a bottle. The princess returned, downed her tea in an unladylike fashion and then filled their cups with a brew whose bouquet was certain to reach the guards posted outside the door.

It smelled like something that could strip paint and melt metal. Even a single sip had Aurora wheezing as it set fire to her tongue and burned down her throat.

“What is…oh goddesses…” Aurora coughed, fanning her face to beat back the tears the brew had brought to her eyes.

Epicasta sipped it as if it were no more offensive than a rich, smooth wine.

“A princess’ best friend. I’ve been saving this bottle for a special occasion worthy of being completely obliterated from my memory. I think today merits it.”

Aurora had barely managed a few more sips when the guards opened the doors of the bridal chamber and Queen Flora strode inside in a gown of dazzling green and silver.

“What is that stench?” The queen strode over and confiscated the bottle. “Really, Epicasta? Drinking? This is your fourth marriage. What’s there to be nervous about?”

Aurora wished she could blend into the friezes as Epicasta wiped every emotion from her face and set her teacup aside.

“Nothing, Your Majesty. But the oracle was nervous about the proceedings. She’s never been a part of this kind of marriage ritual before.”

Aurora only had a split second to glare at Epicasta. The last thing she wanted was the queen’s attention focused on her.

“Oh? Well, it’s quite invigorating. Drink up and be merry, Aurora. Who knows, you might even find yourself swept off your feet. Passion has blessed this day, after all.”

Aurora pretended to choke down as much of the liquid as she could while under the calculating gaze of the queen. When she set it aside, the queen nodded. If Flora wanted her drunk, then it would be unwise to let her guard down. It seemed she would have to spend the rest of this miserable day distressingly sober.

“The ritual will begin momentarily. It’s time for you two to join the bridal warriors.”

The queen ushered them from the room and down the maze of corridors leading to the front entrance of the palace. Epicasta was helped into a palanquin of emerald and gold, the gauzy green drapes pulled to the side so that all could witness her coming. She pulled the veil down over her crowned head as Aurora was instructed to do the same. The world took on a red haze.

As they walked through the city, jubilant cries met them from all corners. The citizens were dressed in their finest clothes, wearing crowns made of flowers. The cobbles under their feet were made precarious by the thick layer of petals as the people showered them with fragrant, colourful blooms wherever they went.

It was a mockery—every last smile, every last hearty congratulation. Aurora looked up to where Epicasta was seated, a tight, unfeeling smile on the princess’ face as she waved at her people. Aurora couldn’t even muster a mask, preferring to hide her face behind the walking stick she carried, the tinkling of its beads and feathers drowned out by the gaiety of the crowd. As they paraded around the city districts, the sun beat down mercilessly on her back, the veil trapping the heat of her breath close to her sweat-slicked skin.

Unpleasant as it was, Aurora wished it would never end. Because the moment it did, she would be forced to watch Theron abduct Epicasta from her palanquin. Every breath she took as they neared the palace district once more brought an insistent ache in her chest. Every step she took was one where she was forced to crush her own shattered heart beneath her feet. She wanted to scream, to weep, to tear at her hair. This wasn’t a bridal party, it was a funeral procession, and her heart had been laid out for the pyre.

“Protect the bride!”

The words pumped dread through her veins.

The crowd rejoiced, a deafening cacophony. The groom’s warriors with their staffs, in their red pleated kilts, bare chests and ugly masks, converged on the bridal party. The other bridal warriors faced off against them, putting on a show as the crowd ebbed and flowed around them.

Aurora recognised Theron despite his fearsome, horned mask. His golden staff glinted in the noontime sun, its rays catching the gold necklace, earrings, cuffs and belt he wore, making them blaze as if imbued with arcane power. He was glorious as he stood above the crowd, scanning the ritualized melee. Skin of glowing brown ochre, his crimson hair blowing in the breeze, his muscles oiled, he was everything she wanted and the only thing she couldn’t have. As he approached the melee, his steps like those of a predator, her heart broke over and over. She wanted to double over and curl in on herself. Yet she was forced to stand and partake in this farce. Tears blurred her vision as she played her miserable part. She didn’t see the man who absconded with her and didn’t resist either.

As she was picked up and carried off, she closed her eyes, her heart racing. Faster and faster it beat. She would have to watch him stand at another woman’s side and abandon her hope. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t. Heart racing, Aurora couldn’t catch her breath, her chest caught in a vise. She gripped the material of her gown, struggling to take a deep breath, her body shaking. Her captor increased his pace, seeming to sense her distress. He lifted her veil but Aurora refused to open her eyes. If she did, she would break and break until she was nothing but splinters.

“Aurora, breathe. Just breathe.”

She opened her eyes with a gasp.

Theron.

He’d removed his mask, his golden eyes swimming with concern as he held her. His magic washed over her, a comforting cocoon.

“I have you, my fairy. Just breathe. That’s right.”

“No. You.” She couldn’t form the words. Couldn’t speak her thoughts without gasping. Tears slid from her eyes.

“It’s alright. You’re safe. Everything is alright.”

But it wasn’t alright. He was supposed to marry Epicasta. He was supposed to abduct the princess. What was he doing with her in his arms?

“What’s wrong?”

Epicasta? That was her voice. Were they already at the temple, making a spectacle of themselves in front of all?

“Is she hurt?”

Hyllus? But what was he doing at the ceremony? He’d said he had no wish to be there.

Aurora shivered from her attack of nerves. As the princess and avatar came to her side, they looked on her with concern. Except one of them wasn’t Hyllus. The man sounded exactly like the avatar, but looked nothing like him. With his bright blue eyes and wheat-coloured hair, he looked more like Silvanus than the avatar of the first calamity. What in the Loom was going on?

“She’s just catching her breath,” Theron said, more assuring her than answering them.

“I knew we should have told her,” Hyllus grouched.

“The woman is incapable of keeping a straight face. It would have been suicide,” Epicasta snorted. “And on that note, we need to hurry. We’ll meet you in Aureum. You’ll catch her up to speed, Your Majesty?”

“I will. Congratulations, Epicasta, Hyllus.”

“Don’t congratulate us until the deed is done. There’s still time for this to go tits up,” Epicasta hissed.

Aurora took stock of her surroundings as her breaths slowed. Red. Everywhere was red. Not white. Not the temple of Justice, but the temple of Passion? Why?

“You’re doing well, Aurora. Not long now,” he cooed, carrying her deeper into the temple, the sounds of the crowds growing dimmer.

“What’s h-happening?” she asked, gasping.

“Just breathe. I’ll explain,” he said, his voice gentle.

Aurora pressed her cheek into his chest, savouring the feel of his skin on hers, of the steady thump of his heartbeat. She let herself believe, even if only in that moment, that she was safe, that all was right with the world, that he would continue to hold her like this every day forever.

“We’re changing fate, Aurora. Your vision has come to pass, but we’re not bound by the expected conclusion of that event.”

Breaths finally steady, she gazed up at him, his smile a brilliant beacon of hope.

“What do you mean?”

“I made a sacred vow to wed before I left Boreas, fearing that Queen Flora would use any vow more specific to kill my intended and blame me. But there’s still time to thwart her, to take the fate we want and make it ours.” He nodded at the statue of Passion.

Theron set her down, her legs shaky. He steadied her. At Passion’s feet, Epicasta knelt with the blonde man, and a woman who could only be High Priestess Myrina stood over them, reciting a prayer. The high priestess’ ruby-red chiton dress hugged her ample curves, the pink and gold embroidery decorating the hem, her veil secured atop her head by her ruby-encrusted gold diadem. But as beautiful as her attire was, it was the young man who aroused her curiosity.

“Who is…?”

“Hyllus. That’s his true face, one he hid with an ancient artefact. He’s the man Epicasta loves, and so to escape Flora, they’re choosing to be wed in the temple of Passion. Their plan is to escape the city before Flora discovers the ruse.”

A marriage that could only be dissolved by his death or hers, one unassailable by the courts. Not even Flora could undo it. Epicasta would have her freedom after all.

“But then you…?” Aurora looked up at Theron.

If Epicasta married Hyllus, then Theron would be forced to wed another of Flora’s daughters, per his vow. Just as the histories stated.

But where she expected resignation in his eyes, instead they sparkled with mischief. He knelt before her, taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles with reverent care.

“Aurora, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

She stilled, frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs. He must have mistaken her shock for reticence. He pulled her closer.

“You will be the only woman in my life, adored, protected, respected. I will belong to you alone, everything I am, everything I have—yours.”

“But don’t you need a queen?” she blurted out.

He laughed.

“ You will be my queen, Aurora. With an entire army at your back to hunt down Drakon, and a whole kingdom’s worth of resources to do it.”

“But I…”

“Will be a great and compassionate queen, a role you will come into a little more each day. Say you’ll marry me, Aurora. Whenever I look at you, a fire rages in my chest. One I thought could be quenched by your lips on mine, but every touch, every sigh, only makes it burn brighter, hotter, until you’re the whole of my world. Become mine, and make me yours. Irrevocably.”

Aurora wrapped trembling arms around him, their noses touching. Did she want to be bound to this man for the rest of her life? She already knew she couldn’t live with the idea of him belonging to another, that she wanted him fiercely. As she stared into his golden eyes pleading with hers, a part of her felt like it had the hope of a home, a feeling she thought lost to her forever. Theron could be hers. With only a single word, the man who set her heart ablaze would dedicate himself to her for the rest of her days. Was this a dream? If so, she never wished to wake.

“Yes.”

He swept her up against him with a triumphant cry and pressed his lips to hers. She threaded her fingers through his hair and pressed herself as closely as she was able, drinking him in like he was the first rain after a drought.

“Ahem.” A woman clearing her throat interrupted the moment.

It was the high priestess. Now that Aurora had a good look at her, she had the same ochre brown skin as Theron, her hair so dark a shade of red that it appeared almost black, save for a few silver strands. Her amber eyes were kind and full of mischief.