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VEYRION
That eve, slightly before moonsrise, I return from my mission to a castle in chaos.
As I set down, I find my Ironwing Commander and the rest of the horde wearing intricate crowns of flowers. And instead of running drills, Skorrin appears to be on the receiving end of a bitter tirade from a group of nobles.
The nobles stand with their sides to me, facing down Skorrin, who has the flower-crowned horde at his back.
“I just do not see why you cannot command the gravels to give us their nature jewelry crowns!” says Lady Genive, a former consort of my father and the mother of my dead brother.
“Can you not see how deeply unfair this surprise gifting is to those of us who must sleep in our chambers?” adds Lady Yilara’s father, Lord Milinos.
“I cannot use force to compel a re-gifting,” Skorrin answers in a barely level tone. “This is something you would need to bring to our sovereign.”
“But his throne hours are not until next week, and the flowers will be dead by then—along with the Eryx Oblation!” Lady Genive protests. “We need those crowns now!”
“My son did not die so that gravels could parade around in handmade crowns they do not deserve,” Lord Milinos insists.
They are so caught up in their own entitlement that they do not notice I’ve landed until I say, “Interesting, that you would use your son’s unfortunate death to argue for the theft of another’s gift.”
Skorrin and the nobles drop to their knees.
I give only one of them permission to rise.
“Skorrin, with me,” I say, turning toward my keep without waiting to hear the nobles’ excuses for their poor behavior.
Skorrin falls into step beside me and delivers a briefing without needing to be told. “Apparently, the Eryx Oblation gave all of the gravels and soldiers crowns made of nature jewelry while we slept—as a farewell gift. The nobles were left out.”
“Of course she did.” I should not have underestimated how much chaos my little liar could cause in just one day.
Dismissing the whining nobles from my mind, I brief Skorrin on my mission and prepare him for Kinnarick’s arrival, along with the rest of the contingent I took with me.
One would think that would be the most complicated part of my evening.
But when I enter the great hall, I find no fewer than three score goats and several gravels—Gravel Matreon Lyxnia among them—waiting for my audience.
All of them are standing directly in front of the altar.
“Sovereign!” they cry, kneeling in unison.
However, quite a few of them shift subtly left and right, forming a living blockade that effectively clogs both of my paths forward.
And they do not move.
It would take little effort to fly over them, but I come to a stop and ask, “What is this about, then?”
I lift an impatient brow at the crowd, all of whom wear the flower crowns the nobles were coveting moments ago.
Lyxnia keeps her head bowed but speaks for the group at large. “We would never seek to direct or influence our sovereign, but we wonder if there might be an alternative to tonight’s wedding and sacrifice.”
I tilt my head. “An alternative?”
“Yes, Sovereign,” a female goat chimes in. “Perhaps instead of offering Eryx an entire bride, you could give him a wee bit of her blood?”
“A cut on her hand, perhaps, like a blood pact,” one of the male Door Gravels suggests.
“Oh no, not her hands,” says a white goat with a blue beard, lifting his head. “She needs those to garden!”
“Keep your head lowered in the king’s presence!” one of the gravels hisses.
The blue-bearded goat quickly bows again, grumbling, “I’m only saying, it should be somewhere else.”
“Maybe a fleshy part of her arm,” a Stone Fae in a kitchen uniform offers.
“And if you don’t wish to keep her as consort after that,” a female goat adds, “my husband Brelliard and I would be honored to house Sallie Rose in our home and raise her as our daughter.”
“Enough,” I say, lifting a hand to silence them. “I am not yours to command. And tonight, there will be a wedding.”
“No, there will not!”
Another voice cuts through the silence—loud and authoritative.
My father steps forward, with Lady Yilara behind him. She is dragging my soon-to-be bride by the arm, and my father kicks at goats and gravels to clear a path to where I stand.
“There will be no ceremony,” he says. “Only an execution—followed by the razing of Aralysse. Because this female is not the Stone Bride. She is an imposter .”
A collective gasp ripples through the crowd.
For the first time since our initial meeting, Sallie Rose looks truly afraid.
“No, no, I am the Stone Bride!” she insists.
My father lifts a crumpled piece of parchment. “I have a letter here that proves she is not who she claims to be. She is merely the best friend of the true Aralysse princess. An imposter sent in her place.”
I glance from my father to Sallie Rose. Then calmly say to Yilara, “You will unhand her” before holding a palm out to my father for the letter.
Which he gladly hands over as Yilara lets my bride go.
However, Sallie Rose leaps forward, her brown eyes wet and desperate. “No! This is a mistake!”
She has the audacity to snatch at the letter, prompting me to flick a finger and bind her wrists in front of her with shadows so she cannot interfere.
Her bound hands do not silence her voice, however.
“That letter… I wrote that, okay? Back when I thought I could get out of this. It was just a joke! Please don’t punish Aralysse for my cowardice. I’m the tribute. I am, I swear!”
She swears .
I look up from the letter. And just then, a great thunk sounds outside the doors, letting me know the carriage has been dropped off by Kinnarick and the three others.
“What was that?” some of the servants whisper.
But I keep my gaze fixed on Sallie Rose.
“Little liar.”
“I’m not…” Her voice falters. Tears brim in her eyes. “I’m not lying. Please… believe me.”
“I do not,” I say coldly. I lower the letter and stroke a talon over her cheek. “Because I, too, have proof that you are lying.”
I swirl my finger again. The great doors open.
Then Kinnarick and the rest of the contingent I took with me step through—escorting, and in one case, dragging, my four human guests behind them.