“Of course.”
“Is that?” King Locryn gestured toward the sword in Marc’s grip.
Marc raised both brows and glanced at Emrys.
Emrys nodded. “The Sword of Kings, Your Grace.”
“Would you like to hold it, Your Grace?” Trystan asked.
Marc passed the sword to his father. Locryn unsheathed the legendary longsword. “By the Gods, it is far more beautiful than I imagined.”
Emrys looked up at the darkening sky. Stars appeared one by one, dotting the heavens. “Moonrise is nearly upon us, and here comes High Priestess Arwyn.”
Locryn sheathed the sword as the priestess entered carrying a basket of petals. White linen wrapped around her body and over one shoulder to form a simple chiton gown. Waves of golden blonde fell to her waist and cascaded loosely over her bare shoulder. She walked several steps past the four men then turned to face them.
“Your Grace, Lord Wyllt, you may leave us now so that we may begin.”
Emrys nodded and turned toward Trystan, his hand extended for the bow. “Is this still the path you choose?”
Trystan handed Emrys the bow, considering the question. Of the two men he loved immensely, Marc was the one who loved him in return.“It is.”
Emrys gave him a tight smile. “I will be right outside with the king’s guard.”
“Thank you, M—Emrys.” Trystan caught himself hopefully before anyone had noticed, but the near mistake stung his heart as flashes of memories from the labyrinth taunted him. He took a deep breath, hiding the pain as he searched for Marc’s hand. When he found it, Trystan squeezed hard.
Marc quickly moved to stand in front of him. “Trystan?”
“I’m fine,” Trystan said, his voice brusque. “Just memories from the labyrinth. False memories.”
Emrys said nothing, only nodded, and turned to leave. He knew Trystan needed him gone, and as much as Trystan had attempted to hide his pain behind a stern bitterness, Emrys still felt it. Once Trystan and Marc bonded, he hoped all the mixed emotions and uncertain choices fled, because there would be nothing that could ever break their bond.
Emrys and Locryn exited the garden.
As the last of dusk faded to darkness leaving only the stars to light the garden, the high priestess scooped petals from the basket into her hand and sprinkled them over the grass between them. She covered a large, round area with the petals before setting the basket on the ground beside her.
“Trystan Arthes, son of Arthur and Guinevere, and Marc of Kaldwyr, son of Locryn and Endelyn, do you stand before me this night of your own accord in order to take your vows beforeSelênêand the Azure Moon?”
“Yes, my lady,” Trystan and Marc answered in unison.
“Disrobe, place your garments in the basket, and step onto the carpet of night lilies.” She glanced at Trystan’s hand. “The ring as well, my king.”
Trystan froze momentarily, the words “my king” another reminder of the truth and this new reality in which he now lived. He was the rightful heir and one true king of Loegria and soon, the people of Loegria would know once the regent king upheld his oath and officially delivered the kingdom to him. Apparently, High Priestess Arwyn already knew.
Marc clasped Trystan’s hand, breaking Trystan’s trance, and slid the ring off his finger. He dropped the ring into the basket. “You’ll get used to it, my king.”
Trystan searched Marc’s gaze under the burgeoning light of the stars. Eyes locked on each other, Trystan and Marc untied their robes and slid them off. After placing their clothing in the basket, Marc linked his fingers with Trystan’s and tugged him to the bed of night lily petals.
A gentle breeze swirled around them, bringing with it the potent fragrance of the surrounding moonflowers and the subtle scent of starlight jasmine as the full moon began its ascent. The cool air nipped at their exposed skin, and gooseflesh rippled over their bodies.
Trystan turned to face Marc, and Marc took his other hand, closing the space between them until their chests almost touched.
“In the presence ofSelênê and the Azure Moon, you will repeat these vows together.”
I take you my heart
Here beneath the moon
And her audience of stars
