Union (25 page)

Faelon led them down the stairs to the entranceway, where Selene, Avelor, and Lerran were waiting. “Queen Ahlyria and King Nihathyl will be down any moment,” Lerran informed them, and as soon as he’d said the words, the door behind them opened.

Ryneq’s eyes widened slightly as the royal couple entered. They were both stunning, and Ryneq could fully appreciate their beauty. Ahlyria’s silver-white hair shone against the dark blue of her dress. The material flowed loose around her, the long sleeves forming a point halfway down the back of her hand. The front plunged low over her chest, and showed off the top of her breasts nicely.

“Ahlyria, you look as lovely as ever.” Ryneq said, and Ahlyria smiled in acknowledgement. “Nihathyl,” he added and inclined his head out of respect.

“Thank you.” Ahlyria returned the favor, her gaze taking in both him and Nykin before she met Ryneq’s eyes again. “You and Nykin make quite the pair yourselves.” She gestured to the door that led out of the royal quarters. “Shall we?”

Faelon hurried to open the door, and they left the relative cool of the entranceway to walk out into the late-afternoon sun. With evening fast approaching, the sun hung low in the sky, and much to Ryneq’s relief, a pleasant warmth greeted them this time.

Two large coaches were waiting out in the courtyard, each pulled by four white horses. “Where’s Morkryn?” Ryneq asked. He’d only just noticed the prince’s absence, and although he knew Cerylea would arrive after them, he’d expected Morkryn to be with his parents.

Ahlyria looked back over her shoulder as she was helped into the first coach. “Morkryn’s already there. He’s with the elders, focusing their magic for the ceremony.”

She settled into her seat, ending the conversation, and Ryneq assumed that was all the explanation he was going to get. He turned in time to see Nykin climb into the carriage behind, and took a moment to watch the way the material of his pants pulled tight across his ass where his jacket rode up.

“Your Highness?” Lerran gestured for him to go next. His expression was carefully neutral, but Ryneq suspected he’d just been caught. Not that he cared in the slightest. He climbed up and sat down next to Nykin, with Selene and Lerran following after and taking the seats opposite.

They left the quiet of the courtyard, and Ryneq thought it odd that no one was here to see them off. A wedding in Torsere would have been cause for a mass celebration. People would come to the palace from all the surrounding villages to watch and join in the festivities.

When they turned the corner out onto a wide-open road, Ryneq took it all back. It looked like the whole of Alel had turned out to see them. Elves lined the sides of the road, a sea of color and smiling faces for as far as Ryneq could see. They cheered as the carriages passed by, and Ryneq wondered if they would do the same when Cerylea came this way. His sister was a princess, a very beautiful one, but she wasn’t an elf. He hoped they showed her the same respect as they did their king and queen.

Nykin moved subtly closer into Ryneq’s side, obviously uncomfortable with so much attention, and Ryneq placed his hand on Nykin’s leg to reassure him. Nykin leaned in to whisper in Ryneq’s ear. “I know we’ve not talked about it since we landed, but do you think Seran has anything planned? This would be his last chance to disrupt the treaty, wouldn’t it?”

Ryneq turned away from the crowd, giving Nykin his full attention. “Torsere won’t be protected by elf magic for a while yet, but I don’t think even Seran could get through the elven wards. Even with a witch’s help.” Ryneq had been trying not to think about Seran for the past few days. He wanted to enjoy his sister’s wedding, and with all the protection surrounding them, he was confident that Seran wouldn’t be able to get anywhere near Alel.

“What about Torsere, though?” Nykin linked his fingers through Ryneq’s to loosely hold his hand. “With both you and Cerylea gone, the palace is vulnerable. I know that almost all the Army is there this time as well as the dragon riders, but still….”

“Torsere is well protected, Nykin. Both Eldin and Nysad are doing border patrol. If he hasn’t attacked before now, then I don’t think he will. Besides, Eldin will let us know if anything happens. I assume Fimor and Kalesh are regularly checking in with Vashek?”

“Yes, once a day. They have to leave Alel to do it, because the elf magic affects how far they can communicate.”

“Well, then, I would suggest you trust in Eldin and Nysad to do their duty and try to enjoy yourself for now.”

Nykin relaxed back into his seat, seemingly satisfied with that answer, and Ryneq prayed to the Gods that he was right this time. His gaze drifted back to the crowd again, and he let the sounds and sights distract him from thoughts of home.

T
HE
G
LADE
of Arethahl was all the way past the treehouses, on the edge of the Hervathian Forest. The trees were tall and thick, blocking out a lot of the sun, and the cooler air was a refreshing change to the heat of Alel.

The carriages came to a halt at the edge of a wide clearing surrounded on three sides by trees. In the middle, a carpet of vibrant green grass covered the forest floor. Five round tables covered with stark white cloth had been set up on one side of the glade. Ryneq could just make out the Hervathian emblem woven into the edge of each one—a Giant Velvet Oak, its branches curled up toward the sky and blue lines for the Nalvaq Sea carved into its trunk.

Ahlyria and Nihathyl were already out of their carriage, and Ryneq waited patiently for the elven guard to open the door to theirs. He climbed down, with Nykin following him, and soon all eight of them were standing at the edge of the clearing.

“Where’re Prince Morkryn and the elven elders?” Ryneq swept his gaze over the whole area, but it looked empty as far as he could see.

Ahlyria turned her head to the left, looking directly into the thick forest, and smiled. “There.” She pointed to a gap in the trees, and sure enough Morkryn appeared moments later with the elders just behind him. All three looked toward the carriages, and Morkryn’s smile was bright and happy as he started to walk to them.

“Will we be the only ones here for the ceremony?” Nykin leaned closer to whisper in Ryneq’s ear, and Ryneq turned slightly to answer him.

“No.” Ryneq thought back to what Ahlyria had told him the day before. “There are other members of the council invited, but I don’t think there’ll be many other elves in attendance.”

“King Ryneq is correct,” Faelon said, as he appeared next to Nykin. “The union of any member of the royal family is a private affair. The city will celebrate properly afterward, when Morkryn and Cerylea come out after their week of isolation.”

“But the crowds that we saw?” Nykin’s brow furrowed. “What will they do now?”

Faelon gestured for them all to follow after Ahlyria and Nihathyl. “They come out to see the royal carriages and then eventually return to their daily routines. But next week the whole city will be alive with color and music. The streets will be filled with stalls providing food and drink.”

They met Prince Morkryn and the elders halfway across the clearing, and Ryneq had to admit that the prince was very easy on the eye. He definitely saw what Cerylea found so appealing. Morkryn’s hair was uncommonly short for an elf, but it suited him and accentuated his high cheekbones. He wore a close-fitting jacket and tight pants, the dark emerald green making his deep-brown eyes sparkle.

Morkryn embraced his parents first with whispered words too quiet for Ryneq to hear.

“King Ryneq, Nykin.” Morkryn smiled as he approached. He looked flushed as though he’d run through the forest, and Ryneq assumed that using magic must be physically draining. “The others will be arriving shortly, and then the ceremony can begin.”

“Don’t we need to wait for Cerylea?” Ryneq scrunched his eyebrows in confusion, because surely they couldn’t actually start without the bride?

Morkryn laughed softly and shook his head. “First we need to prepare the glade for the union. Only I can do that.”

Ahlyria had told Ryneq the basics of what would happen during the ceremony, but Ryneq was coming to realize that the marriage had a lot more to it.

“Ah….” Morkryn’s gaze drifted over Ryneq’s shoulder. “They’re here.” He met Ryneq’s eyes again, looking far more serious than he had a few moments before. “If you would like to join my parents, we can begin.” He turned and gestured behind him where Ahlyria and Nihathyl were standing near a thick wooden arch decorated with intricate carvings, and Ryneq was almost positive it hadn’t been there before.

“No, you’re not imagining things,” Morkryn said as he led them over to it. “The arch only appears when the ceremony is due to start.”

Nykin nudged him in the ribs. “I love elf magic.”

His eyes shone with excitement as he looked around the Glade of Arethahl. Magic tended to make Ryneq uneasy, because magic was an unknown as far as he was concerned, but he could appreciate why it would enthrall Nykin. Nykin’s connection to Fimor was forged by magic, and he had an affinity for it that Ryneq lacked. But even Ryneq felt the magic in the air as Morkryn took his place under the arch in front of the two elven elders. The atmosphere felt almost electric—a soft, underlying tension that seemed to wrap around everyone as the elders began to chant in hushed voices.

“Look.” Nykin leaned close enough to breathe the words into Ryneq’s ear, and his warm breath sent a shiver down Ryneq’s spine. He was pointing at the base of the arch, and when Ryneq tilted his head to the side a little, he saw why. Hundreds of plants with small blue flowers were creeping up over the arch and covering the wood completely. The petals were all closed tight together, and the leaves were so green they sparkled as though freshly watered. Ryneq watched with rapt fascination as the flowers covered the whole of the arch and then seemed to spread in a thick band, leading out from either side of the arch, until they surrounded the whole glade.

“They’re called Neflahstra Ahguil,” Nykin whispered. “It means Night-flowering Water Star, isn’t that beautiful?” Ryneq nodded. “The flowers open wide when darkness falls and the ceremony finishes.”

Ryneq turned to face Nykin with his eyebrow raised. “How do you know all this?” He pitched his voice low so as not to interrupt the chanting.

“Faelon told me.” Nykin grinned and then turned his attention back to Morkryn.

Ryneq glanced around at the other elves who’d joined them—about twenty, from what he could see. Ryneq had already met a few of them when Ahlyria had shown him around the city. The men and women looked equally elegant in their fitted outfits and flowing dresses, and if Ryneq wasn’t comfortable in his own skin, he might start feeling a little inadequate in the midst of all this beauty.

A hushed silence fell across the clearing, and Ryneq abruptly realized that the chanting had ceased. Prince Morkryn was facing them now, looking past them and back to where their carriages had stopped earlier. He had a look of wonder and delight about him, and Ryneq would bet any money that Cerylea had just arrived.

He turned around just as everyone else did, and he couldn’t stop the small gasp that fell from his lips. He’d known Cerylea for twenty-three years, but he had never seen her look more radiant than she did right then.

“By the Gods, Ryneq.” Nykin sounded awed beside him. “She looks amazing.”

Ryneq recognized his mother’s dress, and his heart clenched tightly. She would have been so proud to see her daughter like this, and Ryneq desperately wished both his parents were here. He blindly reached out for Nykin’s hand, relaxing a little as the familiar, comforting warmth wrapped around his fingers.

Cerylea walked toward them, alone because she hadn’t wanted anyone to take the place that should have been their father’s. Her dress was ivory silk, with long sleeves hanging just off the shoulder, and cut low in a heart-shape at the front. The bodice tapered in at the waist, where it was cinched with a wide emerald-green sash to match Morkryn, and the skirt flowed out around her legs, trailing out behind her as she walked.

Ahlyria had requested that Cerylea wear an elven headdress, and the intricate woven silver crown sat proudly atop Cerylea’s golden curls. She smiled as her gaze met Ryneq’s, and he felt a sharp burst of pride.

The small crowd parted, allowing her to pass between them and join Morkryn at the arch. He held out his hand, and she took it with a soft smile on her face. They turned as one to face the elders.

N
YKIN
WASN
’
T
sure how long they stood there as the elders spoke the elvish words to bind Cerylea and Morkryn together. The soft lilting words filled the air like a song, and Nykin reveled in the feeling of magic in the air.

When Morkryn finally cupped Cerylea’s face and drew her in for a soft, chaste kiss, signaling the end of the ceremony, an almighty roar sounded from up above them. Nykin, and everyone else around him, immediately looked up, as Fimor and Kalesh swooped low above the clearing. They roared again, this time following it up with a long jet of fire aimed up into the sky.