“I don’t recall.”
“Right,” he said. “You know it won’t be hard for me to figure out who you’re friends with.”
“Ser,” I said.
“It might,” Cyrus replied. “I’m not friends with any of you Blades.”
“How is this not an argument?” I asked. “I’m uncomfortable.”
Willoughby rolled his eyes, but he changed the subject, and I watched as they wandered back into a smooth conversation, exploiting every secret of famous Swordsmen and then moving on to little things like where merchant carts would lie in town the week of the tourney, and what each might be selling. Cyrusseemed to enjoy my knight, and I was offended that neither barely spoke to me until we arrived at the cherry blossoms twenty minutes later.
“We’ll take a left up here,” he explained.
I swayed in my seat anxiously, replaying his original complaint. “You know, we don’thaveto see the chapel today,” I said, overly cautious of hisnotwanting to see it. “I’m sure my cousin might care more for what the Capitol has to offer him than silly altars for silly weddings, right?”
“On the contrary,” he said. “I am excited to see where you’ll take your vows.”
“You are?” I asked.
“Aye,” he said. “Just yesterday, His Royal Highness explained the site’s romantic blessing. I’ve been strangely eager to see it for myself.”
“Ah, yes, the blessing,” Cyrus muttered.
“What blessing?” I asked. “You mean that they all marry there?”
Willoughby shrugged. “Aye, but the reason they do. As I understand it, his parents, his grandparents, and theirsall wed in the very place that you’ll stand. There’sbeautyin that, I think.”
“Sure,” I said. “Somewhere. Though I must admit, I was unaware you were such a sentimentalist, Ser Willoughby.”
“Guilty. Believe me, ma’am, if anyone is a seer of signs in this world, it’s me. Especially with love.” He smiled. “Though I have it on good authority, the blessing is quite real. Miss Jocelyn has heard it from the staff herself.”
Cyrus interrupted. “Yes, yes. Well. It’s just over there.”
When we arrived at the clearing that held the Chapel, it was as incredible as anything else the country offered. The church was small butquaint,as Sameer had rightfully deemed it. Not a cathedral, but an open, one-room box that wore the features you would expect of any house of worship. Stained glass, wooden doors, white planks lining the walls—a large, erected cross at the top. It had personality, and I loved it. Ilovedit so much that I hated myself for the affection.
We dismounted, and Mr. Evergreen tied our horses to the adjoining post. He watched my hand as it followed the details of a statue near the steps, and I feltguilty, liking the angel so much. I silently prayed that he didn’t read into it as anything more than art, and I even considered explaining it, though I was not sure how to get it by my cousin.
Mr. Evergreen went on ahead. His deep, wonderful voice echoed with the acoustics as soon as he’d opened the door, and he gave the room a sarcastically cheerful, “Hello?Hello. Hello.”
“Do you feel that?” Willoughby asked, moving by.
“What?” I covered my arms. “Is it a bug?”
“No. The magic,” he said, amused.
I frowned. “Magic? ” I asked.
“The blessing,” he said.
“What?” I asked. “I feel nothing. A blessing is just words.”
Willoughby laughed. “Come, cousin. You don’t believe that? Theyallmarry here.”
“There’s probably not a lot of venues, Ser,” I said.
Cyrus rolled his eyes. “No, it’s the superstition.” He walked to the front of the room and paused, glancing up at the stained glass.
“Superstition?” I asked. “Again, just words. Though I’ll concede, itispretty in here.”
