The entourage in the room with us is small compared to masses now milling out from the pews, but still crowded.
Soria steps forward, gentle hands lifting the crown from my head. She coaxes free the errant hairs caught beneath it, letting them fall in soft rivulets around my face.
Vale’s entire demeanor shifts. Where first he carried anguish, somehow transformed to poise through the ceremonies, a blazing anger now takes hold.
He turns to Odrin, voice low and laced with steel. “I want himsecured. I will draw the truth from him myself, and I will be the one to make him regret every decision he has ever made.”
A shiver skates down my spine. His fury is barely contained, each syllable thrumming with tightly leashed wrath. Soria continues her task with deliberate grace, a veil of calm for us both. Ace leans at the edge of the room, an uneasy picture of casual detachment in a space that no longer has room for his humor.
Odrin exits with the guards, but I hear them settle just outside the door, sentries for what comes next.
Vale runs his hands through his dark hair, tugging slightly. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, not pacing, but just barely restrained. His eyes sweep the room, meeting Ace’s, then Soria’s. A single terse nod sends them both away.
The door opens. Closes. We are now alone.
Only now, with the room emptied and the crown gone, do I feel it.
The tremble beneath my skin. The coil of fear in my chest. The ache of what nearly was.
I had been so focused on surviving the pageantry, so determined to stay composed through every rite and ritual, that none of it had a chance to truly settle.
Until now.
In quick, long strides, Vale is in front of me. My instinct is to comfort him, but when I meet his eyes, when I read the storm carved into his face, I see it clearly.
The fury.
The love.
And the terror.
He thought he lost me. Even if only for a moment, it was a moment too cruel. I wince at the depth of pain etched across his face.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, voice thick, eyes scanning for injuries.
“I’m alright,” I say softly, tilting my head and stepping closer. “I promise you, I am.”
“We should call the healers,” he says, glancing toward the door.
I reach up, cupping his face with my palm. “We can, if it would ease your mind. But it was just a blow. I was caught off guard, knocked down; it would rattle anyone.” I feel myself tremble despitemy own words. I fortify my strength, not just for his sake, but my own as well.
“Mira,” he breathes. “You were gone. Limp in my arms. I—I saw the knife.” His eyes close tight. The memory still burns behind them.
I take his hand and guide it to rest over my heart, the place the blade had aimed, the place where my pulse still beats strong and sure. “I’m here,” I whisper. “Whatever happened… I am here. Not only that?—”
I tip his chin up, echoing the move he so often uses on me. “I am your wife.”
I smile then, warm and unwavering. “We made it true last night, but now… now we stand for all to see. Husband and wife.” The truth of that fact is my main source of peace at a time when everything feels so close to falling apart.
I don’t say king and queen. I know what those titles mean. But right now, I need this to be simpler than that.
I am just a woman.
He is just a man.
And we belong to each other.
He pulls me into his arms, my head finding its familiar home against his chest. One hand cradles my head, the other presses firm along my spine. I melt into his hold, letting it anchor me.
