The fortress central hall has transformed.
Where yesterday there was a memorial for fallen warriors, today there is celebration. The crystal veins in the walls pulse with soft gold light—matching Rynn’s scales, matching the mark on my throat. Someone has arranged actual flowers, which must have cost a fortune to transport to a Zaterran outpost. Candles flicker in elaborate holders that look suspiciously Valorian in origin.
And the people.
On one side of the aisle: the Valorian delegation. Stiff, formal, draped in ceremonial regalia that probably costs more than my ship. Lord Valorian stands like a statue in military dress. Lady Valorian is ice and elegance, her expression carefully blank. Behind them, a sea of nobles I don’t know and probably won’t like.
On the other side: chaos. OOPS couriers who survived the battle, still looking a little rough around the edges but grinning like maniacs. Henrok’s warriors, massive and scarred, some of them wearing what I suspect are their “formal” kill marks. Luzrak with a datapad, probably already calculating betting odds on something. Vex’ra coordinating the Zaterran civilians who’ve somehow been invited.
Two worlds. Two families. Colliding in the middle for me.
I stand at the entrance to the hall, heart pounding, and realize I have no idea what I’m supposed to do next.
Valorian tradition says someone walks the bride to the altar. But I’m a Fringe orphan. No parents, no family, no one to—
“You planning to stand there all day, West?”
Mother appears at my elbow. She’s still in her OOPS uniform—of course she is, Mother probably sleeps in the thing—but someone has pinned a small flower to her collar. It looks deeply uncomfortable on her.
“I don’t—” I swallow. “There’s no one to—”
“I’ve been watching over you for five years, kid.” Her voice is gruff, almost annoyed, but her hand comes up to grip my elbow with surprising gentleness. “Might as well see this through.”
My eyes sting. “Mother—”
“Don’t youdarecry. You’ll ruin your makeup.”
“You’re ruining my makeup by beingnice.”
“Walk, West.” But her grip on my elbow is steady. “Before I change my mind.”
We walk.
The aisle stretches before me like an eternity. I’m aware of eyes on me—Valorian judgment, OOPS excitement, Zaterran curiosity—but none of it matters.
Because at the end of the aisle, waiting for me, is Rynn.
He’s in full Valorian ceremonial attire: dark fabric threaded with gold, structured shoulders, a sash that marks his house. He should look stiff. Formal. Intimidating.
Instead, he looks at me like I’m the only person in the room. Like the rest of the universe has ceased to exist the moment I appear in the doorway.
Those golden eyes. That sharp jaw. The faint shimmer of scales at his temples, flushing darker as I approach—
Through the bond:overwhelming love, pride, certainty. A wave of emotion so strong it nearly knocks me off my feet.
I stumble. Just a little.
Worth it for the way his lips curve into that almost-smile.
Mother delivers me to the altar with a grip that saysdon’t screw this upand a look that saysI’m proud of you, and then she steps back and I’m standing in front of the man I’m about to marry.
“Hi,” I breathe.
“Hello.” His voice is rough. Through the bond, I feel him fighting for composure. “You look—”
“Like someone who might actually belong at a fancy ceremony?”
“Like everything I never knew I wanted.” He says it simply, without artifice, and my heart cracks open a little more.
