As her heart thundered, Bryn knelt to receive the crown. Once, she had been the successor to the greatest throne of the Eyrie. The heavy, jewel-encrusted crown atop Mars’s head would have been hers. And yet this humble bronze crown on a simple wooden dais in a small village square was exactly where she belonged.
“This is my new homeland,” she said to Rangar and Mage Marna. “I shall honor it as queen.”
Saraj jumped up and down in the front row, cheering loudly with tears in her eyes. Bryn recognized Helna, Roxin, and even Mam Delice, who had decided to remain in the Baersladen instead of returning to the Mirien. Even Aya, Rangar’s former lover for a time, was clapping with sincere enthusiasm.
Guards threw open the doors to the great hall, where the sound of musicians playing a lively tune poured out along with the smell of Roxin’s delicious feast. Rangar started to guide Bryn toward the stairs, but she dug in her heels.
“Wait.” She pressed her hand against his chest. “You gave me two wedding gifts. My horse and my mother’s necklace. I have nothing so fine as jewels to give you, but I want to show a token of my love. I know you plan to give me a third wedding gift . . . but it would be my honor to give you one instead.”
Rangar’s brow furrowed with a touch of curiosity.
Bryn glanced over her shoulder at Valenden, who nodded. He signaled to Oliver in the front row, who went to the tall posts where King Aleth’s mourning banners had hung. He tugged on a cord. A lattice of fishing nets rolled down the post. He did the same with the three other posts.
Rangar’s lips parted in curiosity. “What is . . .”
“Wait,” she admonished before turning to face the village square. Taking a deep breath, she raised her hands in the air. “Vaxa terra friasa,” she said under her breath while tracing the shape of a hex Mage Marna had given her on her back where her hair had hidden it.
People in the crowd looked around expectantly, wondering what spell their new queen was performing. Surely some recognized the hex shape, but those that did must have been equally stumped, as it wasn’t a spell normally associated with gifts or marriage.
“Weeds?” Rangar said uncertainly as he recognized the spell. “Ah, darling, did you mean to . . .”
But his words faded as vines began to burst from the hard ground and snake up the fishing nets. Green leaves unfurled as the vines climbed and climbed, filling out the netting until it looked like spring-green banners had been hung. Once the vines reached the top of the posts, they burst into hundreds of blooms.
The villagers gasped in delight.
“Maiden roses,” Bryn whispered, turning to Rangar. “They’re technically a weed, but the first thing you taught me when we came here was that weeds have beauty, too. You told me I could flourish and adapt just like them. And I have.”
He cupped her cheek, shaking his head softly. “My rose. My beloved. My life.”
He kissed her again, softer this time, as the smell of maiden roses wafted into the dusky air.
The crowd made their way into the great hall, freshly plucked maiden roses woven into their hair and buttonholes. Guards escorted Bryn and Rangar, along with Mars and Illiana, to the head table. Bryn took in the great hall decorations in wonder—maids must have decorated it during the ceremony because it now burst with winter greenery and clusters of red berries and even an ice sculpture of a crown.
She caught sight of Roxin and threw her arms around her. “It’s all so beautiful, Roxin!”
Roxin wiggled her eyebrows. “Wait until you try the food.”
The tables were already filled with villagers digging into the salmon and pheasant and venison. The quartet of musicians was at the far end of the hall from the royal banquet table, but their music was so rousing that it filled the entire room.
Rangar pulled out a chair for Bryn. “My queen.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “I guess I don’t have to scold you anymore for inaccuracy. Now I trulyamyour queen.”
He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You always were.” His voice was low, and the smile was gone from his face, replaced by a fire in his eyes. A spark shot through Bryn, sending her heart pounding all over again.
The wedding night is still ahead of us, she thought with a thrill. A time just for her and Rangar to celebrate. But as eager as she was to make love to Rangar now that he was her husband, she wanted to thoroughly enjoy the party first. She tore into some butter biscuits dripping with melted cheese and downed a glass of fig brandy.
Illiana, across the table, raised her glass. “A toast to the new King and Queen of the Baersladen. The most star-crossed couple in the Eyrie. Fate smiles on you this day.”
Bryn downed more brandy, grinning. “This is a more pleasant feast than my first wedding, it’s true.” She nudged Rangar in the side. “Someoneinterrupted it and ruined everything.”
He licked a trace of brandy off his own lips. “You’d just married my brother. I had to take fate into my own hands, darling.”
She nudged him again playfully.
Memories of Trei were heavy in her heart, and as she looked over the happy feast, she wished the past had turned out differently. As glad as she was to be with Rangar, it came at a heavy cost. She would have given anything for Trei to be here now with Saraj at his side. But she’d learned to accept the past—she would always remember Trei, as would everyone in the Baersladen who had loved him.
“Oh, the villagers are starting to dance!” Illiana exclaimed. “Mars, won’t you dance with me?”
