“Saints-Anointed Sovereign of the Ninefold Line…”
Anointed with arrogance, perhaps, but no Saints were involved.
“First of His Name…”
Except, all the kings of Avandria have been named Edric from the beginning. Do they refer to his middle name? Yes, how groundbreakingly unique.
“Warden of the Golden Throne…”
Because he is the only one allowed to sit upon it?
Lord of the Lion
What does that even mean?
“…to be your lawfully wedded husband, and agree to submit to and serve him and the Kingdom of Avandria for the rest of your days?”
Submit.
Serve.
Curious, how those words had not appeared in Edric’s vows.
My hands began to shake. I opened my mouth. Closed it.
Edric’s grip tightened, bruising. “Quinnie…” The nickname left his lips as a threat.
Whispers sounded from the crowd. My heart pounded.
“I…” My voice cracked. “I…would you please repeat the question?”
Muted laughter rippled through the chamber. Edric’s smile faltered, a hairline fracture of fury beneath his polished exterior.
The officiant repeated himself, arriving again at the moment when I would acquiesce to this union. I reached for the ring meant for Edric, my fingers trembling so violently it nearly fell from my grasp.
Edric leaned closer to me, breath hot and vile. “Say the words,” he growled through his teeth. “Place the ring.”
The officiant spoke my name, but the sound was muffled, as if I were underwater. Panic slicked my palms. I lost feeling in my fingers as my vision began to blur at the edges. I could not bring myself to say the words.
BOOM!
The ballroom doors slammed open with a thunderclap, crashing against the walls.
Gasps split the air. The grand vizier fell silent. All heads snapped toward the sound. My soul knew before my eyes confirmed.
Mav.
He stood framed in sunlight, cradling a lute; a silhouette I would recognize anywhere. Hair tousled, clothes rumpled and dirt-streaked, skin sallow with exhaustion and bruises, but gloriously alive. His eyes locked on mine as if I were the only person in existence.
I staggered. A sob tore out of me, raw and loud. I clutched the sides of my gown to keep from falling. Thistle strode at his left, a sheen of moss blooming over her fingers, Vesper perched on her shoulder. Branrir at his right, a broad grin stretching his face, weapons in both hands.
“Guards!” Edric roared. “Seize them!”
Mav did not spare Edric a glance. He strummed the lute and sang.
“You do not want to seize us,
You’d much rather please us,
