Val-Theris’s eyes shifted downward to the shape of Jesenia’s lips, and he could not resist leaning forward and touching them with his own. When they parted, he confidently repeated the line he had been trying to say before.
“My life is yours.”
Jesenia smiled faintly against his lips. “There,” she said lightly. “No goats.”
His thumb circled lightly on her lower back, and he stared at the girl at his side like a lovesick fool, the corner of his mouth curled subtly, but certain.
It was late,and the palace gardens were hushed beneath the silver wash of moonlight. The roses swayed faintly in the breeze, their petals glimmering like spilled stars. Jesenia stood among them, shawl pulled close, her eyes turned skyward.
“Jesenia,” Val-Theris said softly, his voice low but sure.
She turned, surprised to see him. He had been distracted lately, busy with his duties. He stood before her without his cloak of state, without the guards or Rohannes at his side. Only himself, his golden hair catching the moonlight, and his wings folded close.
“I could not sleep.” she said gently. He did not respond, but she could see it in his eyes that he came for her intentionally. He held out something folded carefully in his hands.
It was a strip of deep blue cloth, handwoven, uneven in its stitching but clearly labored over. The edges were frayed from where his fingers had worked it raw, but woven through its center was a pattern: Seraveth’s golden thread knotted into Lunareth’s crescent motif.
“Seraveth offers rings,” Val-Theris said, his voice unsteady. “But Lunareth offers a promise cloth. I thought…” His pale eyes lifted to hers, raw and uncertain. “You deserve better than my politics, and I’m sorry I did not show you that before.”
Her breath caught as she reached for the cloth, her fingers brushing his.
“You made this?” she whispered, feeling over the delicate stitching.
He nodded, wings shuddering faintly. “I honor you, Jesenia. Not as a queen to silence my council. Not as a refugee to soothe my guilt. But as the woman I cannot breathe without.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she held the cloth against her heart, the fabric clutched in her hands.
“You are not my burden. You are my choice. My vow. My future,” Val-Theris said, fierce and trembling. “I want to marry you with only the moon and stars as our witness, where my love for you is not some public spectacle to be judged by those blinded by prejudice. I want it to be yours and only yours.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper as he carefully pronounced her native language. “My life is yours.”
This time, he spoke the words perfectly.
For a long moment, the garden was silent save for the rustle of roses in the wind. Jesenia’s tears slipped freely now, but her smile was luminous.
“Yes,” she whispered, her hand finding his, squeezing it. “Yes, Val-Theris. My life is yours.”
He bowed his head, relief breaking across his features like dawn, and pressed his forehead to hers, his wings folding around them both as though to hide them from the watching world.
And for that one fragile moment, in the moonlit garden, the only thing that mattered was each other.
TWENTY-FOUR
The night was clear.The stars shimmered over Solmiris, spilling their silver light across the palace gardens. Roses swayed faintly in the night air, their scent heavy and sweet, carrying with it the hush of secrecy.
Jesenia stood among them, wrapped in a dress she had sewn herself from linen that Val-Theris had given to her in secret. It was simple, unadorned, and a deep blue. Moonlight clung to her shoulders, making her seem almost ethereal.
Val-Theris stepped toward her without the golden cloak and armor of his station—only a simple red tunic, hair gleaming, wings folded low in humility. In his hands, he carried the promise cloth, blue and gold and silver threads woven into the Lunareth crescent.
There were no priests, no councilors, no crowd. Only Rohannes stood close by, keeping quiet vigil at the edge of the gardens, his eyes respectfully averted. Jesenia’s heart thudded as Val-Theris stopped before her. His voice was soft, unsteady, but sure in intent.
“In Solmiris,” he said, “they would demand we kneel before priest and crown. But I would rather stand here, with you. By the stars, Jesenia, I give you my vow.”
He unfolded the cloth, wrapping it gently around their joined hands, binding them together in a ritual he had been studying for weeks. His eyes lifted to hers, luminous in the starlight.
“My life is yours, Jesenia,” he whispered in her tongue, perfectly.
Tears welled in her eyes as she repeated the vow, her voice trembling but radiant.
“My life is yours, Val-Theris.”
