Their judgment hums beneath the cordial surface, masked by polite smiles and glittering jewels.
The officiant clears his throat—some senior adviser on Varad’s council. “Today marks a new beginning!” he declares, sweeping his arms in a wide arc. “The union between Prince Zevayr and Princess Mayah will usher in an era of peace between Arbinj and Tundrayn.”
I tune out the rest of his stuffy speech about diplomacy and happiness. As if any of the simpering nobles truly care about Tundrayn—they’d rejoice if the ocean swallowed my homeland tomorrow.
“…a demonstration of powers.”
My attention snaps back to the officiant. I need to prove I’m a capable wielderagain? My lips purse with displeasure, and Zev’s eyes light with apology. Similar to the betrothal, he cuts a deep gash into his palm, and I heal it within seconds. The assembled guests clap politely.
“Now, Prince Zevayr will show us the might of Arbinj!”
My heart stops.
Tides suffocate me.
He’s going to summon a storm? Now?
I can’t crumple into a trembling ball in front of all these hateful nobles.
A heavy weight compresses my lungs.
The sky darkens, ominous clouds blotting out the bright sunlight. Wide-eyed, I tilt my face, watching my greatest fear churn above me.
“Hey,” Zev murmurs, his voice pitched low. “Eyes on me.”
I obey, flicking my gaze to his. He clasps my hand and splays it over his heart, its steady beat thudding against my palm. Keeping his eyes locked with mine, Zev raises a hand overhead. Thunder rumbles, and I stiffen. He clenches my hand tighter. I anchor myself to him, to the steady thrum of his heart.
In his eyes, there is no judgment.
Only care.
Only affection.
Onlyhim.
The rise and fall of his chest is measured, and I match my breaths to his.
Deep. Deliberate.
“Brace now, baby,” he whispers, but the words barely register. I’m lost in the molten steel of his eyes, gazing at me with so much tidescursed affection, that I want to shuck my armored exterior and hide away inside him.
A modest bolt of lightning flashes and strikes a large spire at the top of one of the palace towers.
There’s a beat of silence. Of waiting.
Then, thunderous applause rings out. The guests stand and clap for their prince in a way they will never clap for me. Faramir slouches in the front row, his smirk stretched wide enough to reach me at the altar.
He isn’t clapping.
The crowd is still cheering, but the sound is muffled. My pulse still beats in my ears. I blink hard. The storm is over. It’sover. It was only Zevayr. Safe. I am safe.
Between one breath and the next, the sky clears.
My shoulders drop slightly, and Zev presses a lingering kiss to my knuckles, grounding me once more. The officiant completes the ceremony with a few more words.
The audience rises to their feet.
It’s done. I am Zev’s wife.
