Page 152 of An Archer's Redemption

And my heart leaped into my throat.

Ayden, striking in his perfect leathers and sharp verdant Ranger cloak clasped with its gleaming silver owl, smiled at me.

The chamber of nobles and thrones and pages and guards—all of it faded away.

There was only Ayden.

Chapter 65

Ayden

The ceremony was a blur of liturgical formality, far more prescribed than anything we would see back home. Then again, this was the marriage of the Queen of an ancient kingdom. I supposed it warranted a degree of fanfare.

Every eye was glued to the Queen and her intended.

Every eye except mine . . . and Declan’s.

I tried to focus, to do as my father had instructed and represent Melucia well. I wanted to hear what was said, how vows were given, how the Queen wed before her people. I had always been a romantic at heart, anticipating this occasion throughout the months-long trip from Saltstone.

This wedding would be the stuff of legends for generations to come.

But Declan’s gaze was more powerful than any force I had ever encountered.

He caught me staring, and I looked away, narrowing my eyes to focus on some stitch on the Queen’s dress I hardly cared about.

Then he caught me again.

Midway through the ceremony, I surrendered and stared across the massive aisle, longing to wrap him in my arms and never let go.

His eyes never averted. No matter how many times I tried to free myself, each time I snuck another peek, he still stared. His lips still quirked upward at the corners. His eyes still glittered in the magical light.

Had my father turned and seen me so distracted, there would have been hell to pay. He was a kind man, of a sort, but his office was a sacred duty. Therefore, mine was, too.

Some lordling I was.

I almost laughed out loud at that thought.

Declan’s grin widened as though he heard my thoughts.

What had this man done to me?

When the newly married couple turned, and Jess stunned the assembled nobles by announcing Keelan as King, I nearly broke rank and ran across the hall.

Alas, there was a ceremony to entering and exiting.

An order.

A deliberate, painfully slow, agonizingly long process.

The King and Queen left first, followed by Declan and the Privy Council. I watched as a part of my soul vanished through the doorway, saddened to no longer bask in his gaze but giddy at the prospect of being near him soon.

“. . . us out.”

My father had been speaking to me.

“Uh, sorry, sir, what?”

He frowned as other guests stared, wondering at the delay.

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