“What’s wrong?” Marek asks from the door.
Sei turns his empty glass, as if fascinated by the last traces of wine. “Julien and Whisper were nice.”
“Watch out. That’s the most dangerous thing about Julien Sandry.”
Sei glances up. The entire parlor separates them, but they still feel close. “Did you fight in the war?”
“Barely.” Marek crosses the room, because feeling close isn’t enough. “I slapped back a few Silaisan mages who tried to circle in through the north. Otherwise, Gabra kept me away from the front. I was still fifteen when the war started.”
“That’s very young.”
“War is more fun when you’re young, especially when you barely dip your toes in.” Marek contemplates the bottle of wine and the poison-tasting charm. “I’ve never understood why Father agreed to an armistice.”
Sei sets down his glass. “What do you mean?”
“Father declared war over territory, because he believes about half of Silaise rightfully belongs to House Dire.” Marek doesn’t quite agree—maybe a quarter of Silaise at most was originally Draskoran. Reclaiming it now would be more trouble than it’s worth. “But the war ended without any borders changing.”
“The guildmasters said that was because both sides were evenly matched.”
“Imrik is a careful, stubborn man.” Marek turns the question over. “He wouldn’t withdraw without achieving his objective.”
Sei is a quick study. “You think His Majesty wanted something besides territory.”
“Exactly,” Marek says. “And whatever it was, I believe he got it.”
?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sei
Arriving at the ceremony is a bad time for Sei to realize he isn’t ready. Dizzying purple light floods from the open doors. Sei forces himself to lift his chin as he and Marek cross the threshold. The ceremonial glass goblet trembles in Sei’s grasp. He can’t let the Fellrian wine spill.
If the great hall is meant to impress, Warlord Navlin has succeeded. The scalestone pillars are hollow and filled with magelight. Their shimmer dances through the entire room. Even the scalestone path to the altar glows with magic.
Hundreds of illuminated faces turn towards Sei and Marek. Sei’s chest tightens with quiet panic.
Draskoran nobles. Delegations from Silaise and Patha. Sei has met some of the wedding guests over the past few days. He enjoyed the meetings, especially with Marek at his side. But right now, his mind is too numb to recall names or titles. Everyone is a stranger. A threat.
Sei is a grail. He’s supposed to be treasured. His magic is a wonderful gift. But Prince Kazia’s warnings echo in Sei’s head. Do these strangers see Sei as a treasure to be cherished or a tool to be used? A weapon to be wielded?
Do they see him as a person?
Sei’s training carries him the rest of the way down the aisle. By the time he and Marek reach the dais, the wine in Sei’s goblet barely trembles.
He feels tiny and insignificant at Marek’s side, especially with the bulk of Marek’s house cloak. Violet brocade and silver fur trails the ground behind them as if the chains of House Dire whisper at their heels. A silver and scalestone crown sits in Marek’s dark blue hair.
Sei has neither crown nor cloak. His undyed silk suit is colorless except for the floral epaulet on his right shoulder. Fellrin’s ruby red, without marking a particular house. As Sei crosses the scalestone tiles, the refracted light stains his boots and trousers purple.
Drasgard line the walls. Practically, they’re there for protection. Traditionally, they’re to keep the prince’s claim from escaping. That’s why Sei and Marek walk into the hall side by side. Because by tradition, Marek and his household have been guarding Sei ever since the betrothal.
The supervision chafes. Weeks ago, Sei forbade Marek from leaving him at the altar. Now he’s the one who wants to run.
But he doesn’t. Because when they halt before the altar and face each other, Sei’s nerves are mirrored in Marek’s eyes. That same trapped anxiety hides behind Marek’s stern features. It’s subtle. Perhaps only Sei would notice.
This ceremony is wrong. Sei and Marek are about to promise their lives to each other in a room of hostile strangers. But the promise Sei wants is the one he’s already chosen—one year. One true beginning.
Today is just one day in that year. Sei can live with his own worries, but he would rather see Marek smile.
