Page 82 of Given

GIVEN

The carriage moved slowly through the streets of Lar Katerin. I sat alone, my bouquet of night-blooming roses on the empty seat opposite mine. Snow flew outside under a cold winter sun, but the carriage was warm. A bead of sweat trickled down my back. I leaned into the seat to stop the moisture’s descent.

“Are you nervous, Your Highness?” one of the serving girls had asked this morning as she helped me dress. My face must have provided the answer, because she’d pressed a goblet into my hands. “Blood-wine with a little something extra.”

I’d downed it without thinking—something I regretted now. I had no way of knowing if the “something extra” was responsible for the warmth spreading under my skin, but the interior of the carriage felt like a prison.

Or maybe that was just the knowledge of what lay at the end of my journey.

Laurent had wasted no time planning our wedding. In the space of forty-eight hours, he’d summoned the heads of all the noble houses, set the palace staff preparing a feast, and arranged for a lavish ceremony in the Sanctum.

I knew why he hurried. News traveled quickly. By now, Rolund was probably aware of my decision to marry without his permission. He might already be assembling his army. If Laurent and I delayed, it would create an opportunity for my brother to stop our union from going forward.

Normally, Rolund would be within his rights to start a war over my unsanctioned wedding. But he’d sent me over the Rift. Put me into Laurent’s hands.

Plotted my death.

I twisted my fingers together in my lap. “The savior of the realm will be bound in blood and reborn from the Rift.” Crasor had recited it as if he’d said it many times before. But what did it mean? “Realm” could refer to Sithistra or Nor Doru. It might even mean Wesyfedd or Eldenvalla, although I doubted it.

But I doubted everything, including my decision to become Laurent’s queen.

My heart pounded as I looked at the throngs of lowpeople outside the window. They lined the streets, slowing the carriage’s progress. The king’s wedding and the coronation of a new queen were unparalleled events, and the city had been celebrating for two days. Animals had been slaughtered in markets throughout the city, and blood-wine flowed from great casks Laurent’s knights had set up on every corner.

Knights from the warrior class walked alongside the carriage, serving as a deterrent to anyone drunk or foolish enough to get too close. But their presence did nothing to dampen the roar of the crowd. The noise was deafening.

Little by little, the carriage creaked forward. The interior grew stuffier. Eventually, I leaned back and closed my eyes. Lulled by the carriage’s gentle rocking, I drifted off.

A gust of cold air hit my face.

I jerked awake just as Laurent’s frame filled the open door. He wore his ruby-studded crown, and his eyes were as pale as the muted sky I glimpsed behind him. Between his crown and his black, fur-lined mantle, he looked every inch a king.

“Oh! Forgive me, Your Grace.” I pushed myself upright and smoothed my heavy skirts.

Faint amusement touched his expression. “You fell asleep on the way to our wedding? I’m not sure that’s a good sign, Princess.”

I bit my lip as I reached for my bouquet. “I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

His features softened. “A common affliction of brides-to-be, I’m told.” His eyes moved over me. “You look beautiful. The kind of queen I envisioned as a boy.”

The words warmed me. I looked down, letting my hair swing forward to obscure my burning cheeks. According to the servants, it was Nor Doruvian tradition for royal brides to wear their hair unbound. Nothing would touch my head until Laurent crowned me. My gown was a rich black with long sleeves and a bodice that plunged in a deep vee, revealing the sides of my breasts and most of my stomach.

Elissa would faint if she could see me.

Laurent extended a beringed hand. “Come. The nobles are waiting, and there’s nothing more dangerous than hungry people in their finest clothes. If the blood-wine doesn’t start flowing soon, the lords on my council might foment a rebellion.”

He escorted me inside the Sanctum. Its glittering obsidian exterior was matched by more glossy black stone on the inside. The walls soared to impossible heights, and the ceiling was supported by massive columns cut in a way that made the inky-colored stone reflect the light.

There were no lowpeople inside. Just nobles—and far more than I’d seen at court. The men wore night-blooming roses pinned to fine, quilted jackets. The ladies were like a field of wildflowers, their clinging, low-cut dresses dyed every color of the rainbow. Rowena and her husband were absent. According to the servants, they had returned to Lar Kessa, where they would remain for the winter.

“The south is with you.”

I looked at the Sanctum’s black columns. Not anymore.

Laurent guided me down the long aisle, which was carpeted in rose petals. The scent perfumed the air as we crushed them under our feet. The High Priest, Petru, waited before an altar covered in red candles. More than a dozen priests in black robes fanned out on either side of him.

My hands might have shaken if not for the flowers and Laurent’s grip on my fingers. He nodded to nobles as we passed, but our procession was silent except for the whisper of my gown and the shifting of the rose petals. Before I knew it, we stood before Petru, who motioned for us to kneel.

The ceremony was brief and simple. I pledged my loyalty and obedience to Laurent. He vowed to protect and provide for me.

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