Page 149 of An Archer's Redemption

“What? Why are you smiling?” she snarled.

“Because . . . you are your father’s daughter.” He swallowed hard, then struggled through words. “I see him in you, Jess. I always have, even when you were a babe. I was there when you were born. Did you know that?”

Jess’s entire being relaxed as she nodded. “Father told me many times.”

Marks placed a hand on her shoulder. His smile grew warmer. His eyes grew distant with memory. “You squalled and squealed, demanding attention and obedience. I remember the moment your mother put you in my arms. You were born to wear that crown.”

“Uncle—”

“Please, let me finish,” he urged gently. “Jess, you are my goddaughter. You are my friend. You are my Queen. I love and respect you more than I ever dreamed possible. I . . . Your fatherwould want this for you. Today, I mean. Keelan. He liked him. In truth, we all do. You chose well.”

He wiped his brow and looked away, then drew in a breath and looked back. “Jessia Vester, baby girl, I am so proud to stand in your father’s stead and give you away.”

She stared. Her mouth opened, then closed. She blinked several times, then pushed Marks back with both hands.

“High Chancellor Ethan Marks, if you make me cry and I ruin this face paint, I will exile you to the smallest island on the farthest corner—”

Marks’s arms pulling her close silenced whatever edict she was about to issue, and a tiny girl’s chin settled on his shoulder. “Thank you, Uncle Ethan.”

Chapter 64

Declan

Keelan tugged at his collar for the hundredth time.

“If you don’t leave that thing alone, you’ll pull the stitching out,” I scolded as I finished fastening the last of his gilded buttons.

“Does the damned thing have to itch? And why is it so tight? My skin feels like it wants to crawl off and run away.”

“Sure that isn’t just you?” I patted his chest and stepped back. “And stop sweating. You’ll send the whole staff into a tizzy if you—”

“Dec, I’m freakin’ marrying the Queen.”

I couldn’t decide if there was more pleading, nervous energy, adoration, or awe in his voice. Whatever it was, the words were strained, reminding me of a small boy trying to pass a particularly large turd.

A rough laugh slipped out, and I had to turn to cover my mouth.

“Laugh all you want, Dandelion, your day will come.”

When we were boys, he tormented me with that nickname, feeding to all the others who studied with the Mages so they, too, could harass me about my unruly, utterly ungovernable hair. Keelan hadn’t called me Dandelion in years.

He really was nervous.

I turned back to face him.

Keelan was the strongest man I knew—likely the strongest I would ever know—and not just because he towered over most people and had muscles on top of already bulging muscles. Keelan’s true strength lay in his character, in the man he was, in his belief in the goodness of others and his willingness to fight to protect those he loved. He might have been the most steadfast person in all of Melucia.

He knew what was right, and he never wavered in its pursuit.

I worshiped him when we were children. Now, despite the blessings of the Spirits and the Phoenix, I looked up to him in ways that defied understanding. He was the man others looked up to, followed, and believed in.

He was the man I dreamed I might one day become.

But in that moment, his eyes held none of his usually unflappable confidence, the glare that told the world he could mount it and ride into the sunset if the mood struck. Now, only the unsure gaze of my nine-year-old big brother stared back.

My heart melted.

I pulled him into a fierce hug. Screw our fancy coats.

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