I should be with him, she thought with a stab of sorrow. If he had only returned a day sooner, she would be at his side, wearing the late queen Anathalda’s matching crown instead of seated at the far end of the dais as, what, the royal harlot?
“My people,” Rangar called in a booming voice that echoed his father’s gruff tone. “This oath I swear to you: Our lands shall be under no kingdom’s rule but our own. Our forest shall be full of deer, our seas plentiful of fish, our fields rich with grain. Each village, farm, and house within the Baer border shall be protected by the full power of the Baer army. Should any of these things not come to pass, I will fight without rest until they are so.”
The crowd cheered with such vigor that Bryn’s heart jumped in her chest.
“I ask you now to swear your own oath to me,” Rangar bellowed. “As you once swore it to my father.”
Almost as one, the crowd kneeled on the sand sprinkled throughout the village square. Bryn felt a swell of awe to see people who truly believed in their ruler, not out of fear but of trust.
Rangar has helped these people his entire life, Bryn thought. He’d chopped wood with them during long winters. He’d herded sheep during the sheering season. He’d fought at the borders to defend them.He has earned their trust not with a crown but with the strength of his two hands.
“We declare our allegiance to you and your reign,” cried the people.
Amid her pride in seeing the crowd bowing to their new king, one figure caught her eye. Prince Anter Jarkkinen stood at the edge of the crowd, unkneeling. It was no surprise—a royal did not need to swear an oath to another royal of a different kingdom. But he stuck out enough among the lowered crowd that Mage Marna and Valenden and even Rangar himself seemed to finally take notice of his presence.
A flutter of nerves pattered in Bryn’s chest. Why had Prince Anter come unannounced—and why was he armed so heavily?
Chapter 17
THE FOREST PRINCE . . . deer hearts and dances . . . a visitor with a request . . . a journey into the woods
It was done.
Aleth Barendur’s body had been given to the sea, and Rangar Barendur sworn in as the next king of the Baersladen.
Bryn couldn’t take her eyes off Rangar throughout the duration of the coronation feast. In his glittering bear claw crown atop his swept-back curls, he didn’t look like the brooding boy hiding his scars who’d approached her at the Low Sun Gathering. He looked every bit like a king. Her heart felt torn; she loved both versions of him equally, though something simply felt right about seeing him raising his glass to the kingdom’s prosperity and being answered by vociferous bellows.
Everything about the feast was unrefined, wild, earthy—just like the Baersladen itself. It was why she had fallen in love with these untamed lands, and with Rangar himself as an embodiment of them. Roxin had prepared the food she’d stored for their wedding feast into a coronation banquet full of roasted meats, hearty winter stews, plentiful ale, and even raw deer hearts. Though he maintained his composure as king, Rangar drank heartily with his fellow soldiers and citizens, and it wasn’t long before his gruff voice rose in song and jest with everyone else.
Bryn took a sip of fig brandy that had been intended for her wedding. She ran her fingers over the white grieving sash around her waist that she’d wear for the next month, according to Baer tradition.
“Won’t you try the deer heart, darling?” Rangar sank into his throne at the dining table and leaned over to kiss her cheek messily.
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not queen yet. I don’t have to partake ineveryBaer tradition.”
He laughed huskily as he smoothed a hand over her intricate braids. “Soon, you will wear my mother’s crown. The people already accept you as their queen. As my wife.”
With a devilish look in his eye, he pulled her out of her chair as musicians started avelta. She joined him in a dance with other couples, smiling to see him so engaged with his people. His hands tightened on her waist as he spun her in circles. His palms moved scandalously low on her backside, but no one seemed to mind their king pawing at his fiancée. She rested her head on his shoulder as they swayed, closing her eyes briefly.
There were dangers still, but did she ever think she’d be this happy?
It came time to trade partners, and Bryn was reluctant to surrender him to Aya and dance with Oliver instead, though he was a skilled dancer. She moved on to one of the blacksmiths next, then a fisherman, and then two twin brothers from a farm outside the village. She was quite exhausted when she finally broke away to search for some water.
As soon as she’d located a chalice and drank, Valenden appeared at her side. “Bryn. A moment?”
She wiped her mouth. She was still out of breath from the dancing. “Give me a rest, Val, then I’ll dance with you.”
Valenden was in a rarely serious mood, though. “I’m not talking about a dance.” He nodded toward the yew courtyard, where Prince Anter of Vil-Kevi stood waiting.
Bryn’s good mood faltered. She set down the chalice and swallowed. “Right.”
Valenden placed a guiding hand on her back as he ushered her toward the forest prince. “Prince Anter has news I think we need to listen carefully to.”
As they stepped outside the great hall’s warmth, Bryn wrapped her arms around her chest. Though a roof covered the courtyard’s passages, the sides facing the yew were left to the open air, and it was a cold night.
“Prince Anter,” Bryn said with a nod. “I noted your presence at the coronation. I haven’t seen you since the Low Sun Gathering in the Mirien. Much has changed since then throughout all corners of the Eyrie.”
The forest prince’s green eyes shifted to Rangar among the crowd back in the great hall. “Very true, Lady Bryn.”
