Page 95 of King's Warrior

The chapel bells struck noon. Time to go. Rufe took the circuitous route, meeting with Yarif in an out-of-the-way stairwell, the best way to avoid seeing Niam until the ceremony.

“Are you ready?” Yarif asked. He’d worn gold today, richly brocaded and as shiny as his personality.

“Doesn’t matter if I am. This is going to happen.” Rufe no longer kept count of his many battles, but none, large or small, caused his hands to tremble so.

Yarif’s smile fell.

“Don’t mind me.” Rufe squeezed Yarif’s arm. “Just nervous.”

The smile returned to Yarif’s face. “To be expected. You don’t resent Niam or being asked to bond, do you?”

What a ridiculous question! “I asked him.” Rufe would gladly have done so before now if he could.

“Oh!” Yarif brightened. “Then I suppose I’m obligated to say ‘hurt my cousin and die.’”

Rufe grinned despite his nerves. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Together, he and Yarif trudged down the stairs and across the courtyard to the chapel’s front door, knowing Niam would come in through the side and likely was already waiting.

Yarif’s brother and sister met them, each holding a basket of flower petals. If only Quillan and Uri could be here.

Rufe breathed in and out slowly a few times, then opened the door, letting the children in first. He followed with Yarif.

The last time Rufe entered Renvalle Castle’s chapel, he’d supported Draylon’s unwanted marriage, which later turned into a love match. He’d stood beside Emperor Soland Aravaid, fighting the urge to skewer the man for making Draylon marry against his will.

Rufe hoped his nuptials proved as successful and that this cleric spoke Renvallian better than the last one who’d mangled Draylon and Yarif’s ceremony. Too bad Nera couldn’t attend, but with her practical mind, she’d understand the expediency.

Likewise, Father and Mother weren’t here. Rufe and Niam would likely have to exchange vows again before their parents, but this ceremony solidified their bond, foiling Whreyn’s schemes.

Someone had been working hard, placing bouquets of colorful flowers in vases and stringing ribbons overhead. The fragrance mixed with the musty scent of a barely used chapel. Where hadanyone found flowers during the winter? Someone must keep a solarium.

Light streamed in through open windows, accompanied by a soft breeze on a mild day. If Rufe had planned to marry, he’d have chosen a day like today.

Niam stood at the altar with Draylon and Avestan. Rufe’s heart pounded. What a beautiful man. And he was to be Rufe’s. Emile and Adrina scattered flower petals down the aisle. Several servants and soldiers sat in the pews instead of family. Niam’s secretary, Willem, sat between two soldiers, looking somewhat worse for wear. Some in attendance had been like family to Rufe for some time now, especially Draylon.

Rufe took Yarif’s arm and strode to the altar, a custom that once depended on a bride or groom’s social standing but was now decided by a coin toss. Rufe stepped carefully, unused to satin footwear and terrified of slipping on a flower petal and sprawling on the hard stone floor.

Niam watched from by the altar, resplendent in green brocade likely borrowed from Yarif. The garments fit him well. Yet the highlight of the bonding ceremony would be taking them off, right?

Taking off Niam’s clothes. Rufe’s mouth went dry, as he imagined peeling off the lovely green brocade, exposing Niam’s body little by little.

Yarif nudged him.

“What?”

Yarif leaned in to whisper, “You stopped moving. Are you all right?”

Oh. Rufe resumed his trek to the altar to do something he’d vowed would never happen—back when he didn’t know anyone he’d want to bond with or who’d bond with him. Once he stood shoulder to shoulder with Niam, Yarif stepped back.

Niam reached out and discreetly gave Rufe’s hand a quick squeeze.

The cleric wore all white, with no emblems to hint at the deity he served. He started in flawless Renvallian, “We are here today before family and friends on this momentous occasion, connecting two illustrious dynasties. Who sanctions this marriage?” He repeated the words in Delletinian, a language Rufe had first become determined to master to know what praise or curses Niam uttered during sex.

And to eavesdrop on chattering nobles.

Avestan said in Cormiran, “I, Emperor Avestan Aravaid, sanction this marriage.” He repeated the phrase in Renvallian and Delletinian.

“Cormiran will do,” Rufe told the cleric, who nodded. The entire wedding party spoke Cormiran, as did many of the soldiers. He wasn’t sure about the servants, but didn’t want the ceremony to last all day.

“Commander Rufe Ferund, son of His Grace, Altonois Ferund and Her Grace, Prichia Ferund, the Duke and Duchess of Haston. Do you enter into this union of your own free will, and of your own free will do youmake these vows?”

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