Page 11

I ate a simple meal.

A piece of morning bread, having shared my rice with the smith’s young son earlier. The last slice of cheese bought at the market three days prior, and an apple from the basket on the counter. It was the familiar food of my daily life, and I ate slowly. The bread came from the baker’s wife, the cheese from the local dairy women, and the apple from the communal orchard.

I would not eat this food again, and I knew I would miss it.

Yet the realization brought no sadness. I was taking the nourishment of this place with me, carried inside my body. The woman walking into the imperial court tomorrow would be built from twenty-one years of village rice, bread, cheese, and apples. The court would see only a peasant girl in a gown provided by the emperor for an ancient bonding ritual, but beneath the fabric, the village would remain a part of me.

Finished, I cleared the table.

I sat in my mother’s chair beside the altar for a long time, watching the lamp light flicker against the wooden face of Kahantsu. As a young girl, I had stared at the carved fertility god with its composed expression and detailed form. My thoughts drifted to Drystan, and to the humble temple altar I had imagined in the clearing that morning, where the two of us stood in simple clothes, bound by choice alone. In the quiet dark of the cottage, a deep longing surfaced.

The wedding.

I had held this dream beneath all others for weeks, never daring to name it out of caution. I had loved him without allowing myself to picture the ceremony. Today, he had made it possible.

He had not spoken the promise directly, telling me only that I would arrive at the gates as his chosen, a title of profound weight bound to the rites of the ancient gods. To be chosen was the first step, followed by the public declaration, and then the bonding ritual where the court sorceress would verify the truth of our love. From that truth, the wedding would follow.

I had only heard descriptions of the imperial temple, with its white stone, gold inlay, and grand architecture. I pictured the high priest in ceremonial robes, the assembled court, and my hand resting in Drystan’s as the ancient words were spoken. Over my silver hair, I would wear my mother’s wedding shawl, bringing the relic off the altar and into the light. The line of women who had carried it would reach its peak in me, a daughter marrying not into the village, but onto the throne, the old shawl serving as the thread between her humble wedding and my own.

The desire was clear and honest. The hesitation was gone, replaced by the realization that Drystan had opened this path when he spoke the word chosen at the crossroads.

My hand rose to the pendant at my throat.

It was still warm.

I stood and walked to the mattress, undressing with slow movements. I folded the cotton dress I had worn into the grove, setting it on the chest beside the bed. It was the dress that had lain beneath Drystan’s velvet, dropped from the cliff, and pressed to his face. I would wear it one last time tomorrow on the ride to the capital, after which it would be stored away, a reminder of where everything began.

* * *

I climbed onto the mattress and lay down.

It was the same thin bed I had known my entire life, far harder than the sun-warmed grass of the clearing, yet it felt comforting. It marked the final night of a life I cherished, a quiet chapter closing as I prepared to step into something greater. I would sleep here once more before waking to the life prepared for me in the capital.

I closed my eyes, but sleep did not come.

Instead, my mind replayed every detail of the day. His hands at my neck fastening the broken chain, his lips against my shoulder, and the quiet intensity of everything that followed. The kiss that bound us, his touch guiding me to the earth, the press of his mouth, the feeling of absolute fullness, and his soft “I love you.”

A familiar warmth stirred within me, an inner heat I recognized as my own. I let it swell in the quiet of the cottage while the single oil lamp burned low on the table.

Tomorrow.

The capital gates, the ritual dress, the unfamiliar customs of the court, and my devotion to Drystan.

Drystan.

He would be exhausted from the long ride and the late preparations. I imagined him moving through the stone corridors of the palace with quiet authority, giving orders for my arrival. Perhaps he stood in his private chambers now, looking out over the imperial gardens, his thoughts matching mine across the distance.

The image held me.

It was the absolute trust I sent across the dark miles, built from weeks of quiet touches and shared understandings. It was the trust I gave when I allowed him to fasten the chain at my throat, when I welcomed his touch, and when I surrendered to his weight above me. I sent that trust into whatever room he occupied tonight, whatever decisions he was making for the woman arriving at his gates tomorrow.

I allowed myself to believe entirely.

Against my chest, the silver pendant remained warm. Lost in thoughts of tomorrow, I failed to notice the exact moment the heat began to turn.

I did not notice because I was imagining Drystan pressing his forehead against his chamber window, just as he had pressed it against mine in the upper clearing. I imagined him speaking my name into the quiet dark of the imperial palace, just as he had spoken it after diving into the silver pool.

I imagined him loving me.