“I thought Lord Kendan picked the golden dress for you,” I observe, leaning back on the bed to admire the view.
“He did.” Sabine holds up the gold filigree dress, running her fingers down the metallic laces that span the sides. “Gold is my father’s color. Kendan and I agreed it would be an indication of welcome. Of solidarity. Of—peace.”
My heartbeat kicks up, and I fidget with the caribou pelt blanket. “But now?”
She hangs the golden dress up, then reaches for another, hesitating a beat before selecting it. She takes it out, holding it over her frame, and turns to me for my opinion.
Tawny brown with a white sash—the color of fawns. Rising over each shoulder, intricately embroidered pine-green antlers mirror one another, meeting around behind her back. On the hem, embroidery of the Innis River.
It’s simple yet complex. It’s pure nature in thread and cotton.
It’s…her.
“Ferra brought me this last night,” Sabine admits. “She and the seamstresses have been stitching it secretly for weeks. She called it a luck charm…for when I need good fortune.”
I stand up, walking behind her, looking at her with the dress held up in the mirror. I brush aside her hair and kiss her neck. “And that’s today?”
“No.” Sabine’s answer is swift, certain. She runs her hands over the river embroidery. “Immortal Popelin deals in luck. I trade in harder currency. Water. Wings. Brimfire.”
My lips curve in a smile. “Wear it.”
We dress—both in our antlered attire, the symbol of our reign—and are ready when the guards alert us that Vale’s parade has reached the gate.
Already, I can hear the city’s excitement. The festivities don’t officially begin until midday, and yet, footsteps fill every street. Children’s joyous calls echo in the arena’s waiting line. The smell of sugared, roasted almonds hangs in every breeze.
We find Kendan and Rian impatiently waiting for us in Raven Hall. Kendan is the spitting image of decorum, in his freshly polished Lord of the Iron Banner chainmail sash, his neck shaved within an inch of its life.
Rian, on the other hand, sips from his whisky flask while he sings an old fae ballad under his breath, his bone dice clattering sinfully in his pocket as he paces, his eyes freshly lined in blue kohl.
I roll my eyes. I can’t believe I let such a fool put his hands all over Sabine. It won’t happen again—but the one time?
It was a wrong that somehow righted us.
“Majesties.” Kendan bows his head. “The fae court has reached Old Coros, and with your blessing, our guards gave passage through the gate. They’ll now make their way to the royal arena.”
I grumble under my breath.
Sabine squeezes my arms, a scold with no real teeth. “We’ll be ready to receive them there.”
A line of carriages waits in the front courtyard. Lord Kenan takes the first, along with a fleet of our highest-ranking soldiers. Then, it’s the royal advisors, and the next few carriages are all taken by minor lords and ladies. Lady Suri climbs into one pulled by dappled gray mares, and Rian attempts to casually slide in beside her—but she shuts the door in his face, then shuts the window, too.
I have no idea what’s going on between the two of them.A few days ago, he had his lips all over Sabine, so I’d be hard pressed to believe he has any real intentions with Lady Suri.
On the other hand, it felt clear in that tussle on the throne that Rian might have once desired Sabine, even fancied himself in love with her—but it wasn’t real love. Not as I love her.
And I think Rian understands that now, too.
He chuckles, intrigued by Suri’s challenge, before getting in the next carriage with Folke and Ferra.
Sabine and I are shuffled into the royal carriage at the end, pulled by Ranger and a matching chestnut gelding.
Sabine slides her hand into mine but is silent as we roll through the city.
We stare fixedly out of either window at the lines of citizens waving and calling to us, carrying children on their shoulders to witness this monumental day.
“A day one thousand years in the making,” I murmur under my breath, heavy with irony, as I wave my hand in the air like a showman. “The Third Return.”
Sabine rolls her eyes good-naturedly at my dramatics. “Does it count as an official Return if only seven out of the ten have risen?”
