Bryn’s heart went out to Saraj. Months had passed since Trei’s death, but broken hearts could take a lifetime to mend.
“That was a difficult day,” Bryn admitted somberly. “For many of us.”
Silence filled the room until Roxin belched. “Ah! Pardon me, ladies. Here, one more drink, and then it’s off to the village square with you, pretty bride.”
Bryn accepted another pour of brandy, though she was wary. Her head was already starting to spin. She took a polite sip and looked out the window. The first tinges of pink hugged the horizon.
“I guess this is it,” she said, clutching her chain necklace on habit.
Saraj stood up and rested her hands on Bryn’s shoulders. Looking her squarely in the eye, she said, “Today will be a happy day for you, Bryn. Fate brought you and Rangar together all those years ago. It was meant to be.”
“Thank you, Saraj.” Bryn wanted to tell the falconer how much her friendship had meant to her over the many months of knowing her. The Baersladen was her home now, but it was a harsh land, and if she hadn’t had a kind soul to help her ease into life here, she might never have fallen in love with the land and people as she had.
“Would you help me with one last thing?” Bryn asked.
“Of course.”
Bryn took out the sapphire necklace from its box on her desk. “Help me put this on?”
When she was ready, the guards escorted her into the village square just as bright pinks and oranges erupted on the horizon, reflecting off the beautiful snowbanks. A crowd was already gathered, and as soon as Bryn stepped across the drawbridge, her breath caught.
Each person in the crowd held a dried wheat berry stalk. The effect was a sea of golden rays like a fresh dawn. The dais was decorated with more wheat berry stalks and the few remaining maiden roses of the season, all wrapped up in golden ribbons to symbolize Bryn’s homeland.
But what stopped Bryn in her tracks was Rangar.
He stood between Mage Marna and Valenden, dressed in his coronation suit with his hair smoothed back and the bear claw crown glittering on his head. He’d never looked more handsome, not even at his coronation. Then, he’d been mired in grief over his father’s death and the gravity of accepting responsibility for an entire kingdom. But today, a rare lightness graced his features. As long as she’d known him, Rangar had been all growls and snarls and brooding looks in the shadows. He stood at his full height for once, rivaling even Valenden’s stature. His scars only made him all the more beautiful, Bryn thought, because no one else in the world had them.
She briefly touched her own scars outside of her gown.
“My lady?” one of the guards prompted.
She cleared her throat, returning to the present, and picked up her hem over the snow. “Right.”
They escorted her to the dais stairs, where Valenden extended his hand to help her. The same old vicar who had married her and Trei clutched the Tome of the Divine, the sacred Baer text, looking even more ancient and tottering this time around, but she just smiled to herself. Something was endearing about the old vicar.
Mage Marna bowed her head. “Lady Bryn. Congratulations.”
Bryn couldn’t hide her wide grin. Mage Marna had terrified her the first time they’d met. With her white hair and perpetual frowns, she’d struck young Bryn as a cruel enchantress. But Bryn had come to see deep wisdom and good in Mage Marna. Buried under her cold exterior was a woman who cared intensely about her kingdom.
When Bryn faced Rangar and slowly lifted her gaze to meet his, wonder washed over her that they were finally at the altar despite all the obstacles that had stood in their way.
Rangar’s lips parted as his head tipped down to fully view her in the gown. Love shone in his eyes, rivaling the gleaming lights of the setting sun. “My bride,” he whispered low enough for only her to hear. “I’ve waited so long for this moment. In my heart, I knew it would always come. I never doubted.”
And it was true. Ever since he had approached her at the Low Sun Gathering, Rangar had been unwavering in his belief that they belonged together. Even when she’d wed his brother, he’d insisted fate would find a way for them to be united.
“My wild prince,” she replied. “The best thing I ever did was trust you enough to run away with you.”
Though the vicar had not yet instructed them to clasp hands, Rangar reached for hers. Yet as soon as his thumb brushed her palm, a commotion in the crowd sent a shockwave through Bryn’s heart. Her head spun toward the village square, where at the far end, a sudden bustle had drawn everyone’s attention. She stood on tiptoes to try to see what was happening.
“A carriage arrives,” Rangar said darkly.
Her teeth clenched together.No! She and Rangar had withstood so much that she wouldn’t let anything stop this wedding now . . .
Rangar signaled to Oliver at the front of the crowd. “Gather the soldiers—”
Valenden rested his hand on Rangar’s arm. “Wait. Look.”
As the carriage made its way through the parting crowd, gleaming gold banners on its sides caught the setting sun.
