Our first stop--begrudgingly--is Lord Trenton’s ho. Evadne drags along, and I am left with no choice to follow, as opposed to my original plans of stuffing my face full of the wondrous pastries made in the carnivals. And replenishing my weapons and getting a new belt.
Trenton’s ho is a humble, sprawling estate alive with music and laughter. The small courtyard is strung with ribbons and lanterns, a crowd of neighbors and soldiers mingling over wine, and too late do we realize we are severely underdressed for the occasion as Eva casually ntions that a mating ceremony is to be held in a couple of hours. Trenton’s. To a woman nad Katherine.
"Didn’t think you would make it," Trenton says with a warm smile, crushing Evadne into his chest in a bear hug. "Katherine is losing it. Threw a vase at my head when I told her she didn’t look fat in her dress. What the hell was I supposed to say when she specifically asked if she looked fat in her dress?"
Evadne chuckles. "Complints only. Loads of it. Maybe so sweets. Definitely plenty of sweets." She punches his arm playfully. "How’s it feel like to know you’re becoming a father? Four centuries in and I never thought I’d see the day coming when you got trapped with a bairn, you sly bastard."
Trent makes a face, but his lips twitch. He looks up at our party, head bowing low as Lucien appraises him with a blank look. "Thank you. For coming."
Lucien looks to the side, wearing a bored look. "It wasn’t my idea," he says, and I sense a tension between them.
The ex-general nods as if he’d predicted that answer, but he smiles anyway. "You look like you were abducted and dressed by barbarians."
The King shoots a pointed look. "I most definitely was."
As if sensing my stare, Trenton’s dark eyes fixate on . "Ah, it’s the little barbarian."
"H-hello," I say, a little shyly, handing him an embroidered baskets Eva had shoved into my hands on the way. "Congratulations on the ceremony. And the baby. I would have brought more...if I knew. I hope it is--"
He takes my hand and shakes my fists vehently. "We appreciate it, very much."
A flush heats my cheeks as he moves on. To Cyrus. He bows curtly. "Cyrus."
"General," Cyrus greets. "We apologize for the invasion, but we have much to discuss. I would hope it doesn’t take much of your ti."
"Of course not," Trent says, showing the n up the sprawling staircases. "This way."
Evadne grabs my elbow as I start to trudge after them. I let her steer away, through the throng of guests who pay us no head. "All n do is talk, talk, talk. asure dick sizes and ego. Here is where the real magic happens."
We step through an oaken door, and the madness beyond. Layer after layer of fabric is scattered across marble floors. Tailors run amok, trying to draw together all the pieces of a wedding dress together.
"For the love of all gods, I cannot breathe in this thing," a woman pants, voice thick with an accent I don’t recognise, and I stall as I find her in the center of the room.
A caral skinned beauty with sea foam green eyes, flowers braided into a coronet atop her brown hair, is fretting over the bodice wrapped tight around her visage. "Can’t it be any looser?" For a second, those eyes snap our way, and the woman whirls. "Oh my gods, Evadne!"
She stumbles over herself and I have all but one second to step out of the way before both won collide, giggling like little girls. A small part of experiences a tinge of mild jealousy as they fuss over each other. At the easiness of their friendship. What it’d feel like to have people I can call my own. It feels as though, I have been alone for a long ti.
"And who might this be?" Katherine asks, then gasps. "Oh wait! This is her?! That Lyra?" She squeals excitedly and throws her arms around like we’re old friends. She slls like lilacs and fresh doughnuts. I stare wide-eyed at her as she pulls back. "My, my, I’ve heard a great deal about you."
"Y-you have?"
She nods enthusiastically. "Which can I call you? Valerian? Valka? Lyra?"
A blush erupts in my cheeks. "Lyra is fine."
"I was there, at the Selection. You were amazing!" And then, she begins rattling off details about how kick ass she thinks I was, and how she would’ve placed a bet on , if she didn’t already place one on Evadne. "You should have pushed that bitch Lilith off the cliff. Here’s to hoping you drown her next week in the last stage. Or talk her into setting herself on fire..." On and on.
"Okay," Eva steps in, gripping Katherine’s shoulder and pushing her back towards the waiting stylists. "The ceremony begins in a few."
And suddenly Katherine’s chipper expression changes swiftly, a dark cloud seeming to loom over her head. "I don’t know if I can do this, Ev."
The latter jerks her chin at the maids and the stylists and they exit the room in at once. Not before Katherine begins bawling, hands covering her face. I note the callouses on her palms, her fingers. Her form feminine, yet strong in a way that tells she’s either steady on her feet or a fighter.
"I don’t know that I’m doing the right thing keeping this baby." Her eyes are reddened as she peers down at Eva, who crouches in front of her, wiping at her tears gently. "I don’t know how to be a wife. Or a mother. Hell, I never even had one."
"You’ll do amazing," Eva says. "And rember that you are not alone in all of this. You have . You have Trent. You have Lucy--"
Katherine scrunches her nose. "We all know Lucien hates children."
My ears perk up at that, but Evadne shakes her head. "He doesn’t. He’s just...scared of..." She trails off, as if recalling that I’m in the room. "They say it takes a whole village to raise a child. Let us be your village."
Katherine’s lips wobble. "I’ve never spent a single day in the kitchens."
Eva snorts. "Trent knew that when he kept returning to your bed like a man bewitched. I’m sure he can managed a few burned toasts." She turns to . "What do you think, Lyra?"
I smile, though my fingers tremble behind . Because sothing... everything about this feels... familiar. The nerves. The jitters. The crying. The pep talk. I fight against the emotions surging through , trying to fill my head with mories of that past life that isn’t mine. A mory from Ilya’s mating rite with Luke. "I think you look beautiful, Kat. I think it is alright to be frightened of the unknown. But letting it rule over you ans never moving forward, and you never could know what possibilities the future holds if you do not take control of it." I join Evadne, crouching before this woman I don’t know, but feel like I do. I catch a lock of her brown hair and tuck it behind her ear. "You are confident. You’ve got this."
Her pupils dilate and I see that unintentionally, I have used my powers. I snatch my hand back from her skin, but the deed has already been done.
She blinks, once, twice, and her chin rises. Her shoulders straighten. And when she rises from the chair, she repeats, "I’ve got this."
Evadne’s eyes et mine, the knowledge of what I’ve just done passing between us. But there is no judgent in her eyes. Only gratitude.
****
The ceremony is short. Magical.
The guests gather in the tiny stone courtyard. An old woman, a priestess, steps forward and spoke blessings to the moon. She doesn’t have any of the elaborate words you read in books. It is plain, and yet holy. She whispers, the wind catching it, and for a second, the light in the skies sift, forming a halo around them, and the hair on my skin rises at the otherworldly presence that suddenly fills the air.
Silver threads bloom from the ground, weaving themselves into glowing ribbons around Kat’s wrists, curling upward until they et the bindings encircling Trenton’s. The light locks, cuff to cuff, chain to chain, a bond sealed and witnessed.
"It’s beautiful," I say, throat tight. And there is this sudden ridiculous tear in my eye as Trent presses a soft kiss to Katherine’s lips, cutting her and drawing first blood.
"It is," Lucien murmurs beside .
I glance at him, only to find that he isn’t looking at the couple at all. He’s looking at .
The weight of that gaze steals the breath from my chest. His eyes trace from mine to my mouth with a languid slowness that makes warmth pool low in my belly. I swallow hard, fingers clammy. "Are you trying to make puke?"
He laughs softly, the sound brushing against my skin like velvet. His fingertips ghost against mine, barely there, but enough to make my pulse stumble. "You were about to cry," he says, voice low for my ears alone. "As tempting as it is to see that, I’d rather those tears fell for ."
My breath catches. My chest rises too fast. Heat coils tight and relentless between my thighs, and gods help . I lean a fraction closer. His pupils bloom black, swallowing the violet, and sothing in the air shifts. The world blurs at the edges until it’s only him and and this dangerous, unbearable pull.
"Here." Cyrus’s voice cuts clean through the mont. I blink and look up to find him holding out a glass of wine.
"Thank you," I say, though my voice cos out huskier than I an it to. I can feel the blush heating my skin, and judging by Lucien’s faint, knowing smile, he can too.
"We’ve co to a decision," Cyrus says as he steps closer, leaning down so his words reach my ear. His breath brushes the curve of my neck, sending a different kind of shiver through . "Ebonheart has Voss’s support. I return ho tomorrow to convince my father and ready the fleet. But the Summit of the Three still holds."
"The Summit of the Three?" I echo, trying--and failing--to ignore the phantom feel of Lucien’s fingers still near mine.
"It’s a eting of the three rulers," he explains. "One last attempt to choose sothing other than war." He hesitates. "But that’s not why I’m telling you this. I’m asking you to reconsider. Co ho with , Lyra. Think it over tonight. By morning... you could be free. An asset to Voss. To ."
The word free lands like a hamr blow. My heart starts racing again from the dizzying possibilities that bloom in its wake.
Free.
And then Lucien’s fingers brush against mine again. Not accidental this ti. Just enough to make my breath hitch and every thought scatter. The jolt that races through is hotter, sharper, realer than anything Cyrus’s promise of freedom stirs.
And that--that is the problem. Because if freedom from Lucien is supposed to make my heart race... why does being touch by him do it better?
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