Page 10 of Straw and Gold
So this was it, then. I’d marriedthisman.
He took a ring from his pocket, slipping it onto my finger. At least he had good taste. An emerald-cut citrine stone sat poised above a golden band with delicate feather details gracing the side, ending in two mossy green, circular stones.
I barely had time to wiggle his own band of gold onto his finger before the priest announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, Changelingfae of the Citrine Cliffs, may I present to you King Killian Brehan and his wife, Queen Morella Brehan.”
Polite clapping followed and what I was sure was a cheer from my new Captain of the Guard.
“Kiss your bride, my king!” the priest called, and if looks could kill, he would have been stone dead by the way my new husband scowled.
The king took a deep breath and I looked on, utterly confused. He bent and quickly pecked my lips in the most chaste kiss I’d ever received.
It was worse than Brekkan Dioltry’s, who’d only known where to stick his parts and nothing else that summer we’d turned nineteen.
“Seriously?” I questioned again.
My husband ignored me, turning us both and walking us back down the aisle, still holding my hand in his arm, still barely acknowledging my existence.
CHAPTER 8
Killian
“It’sa good thing she’s beautiful,” my captain chuckled, winking in my direction.
I downed the rest of my wine, slamming the golden goblet on the table and nodding to the closest servant to refill it.
As she left, I took another gulp. “Is it, Fedir? Is it a good thing? You said she’d have the feet of abird.”
“Raven,” he corrected, leaning back in his chair, balancing on two of its legs with his hands behind his head. We watched the new queen twirl around the crowded room, passing from person to person as the dance allowed, laughing and stumbling slightly all the while.
“Did you really get a good look at her feet yet?” He winked again and I kicked his seat, sending him tumbling back behind the long table set up on the dais in the throne room. His booming laughter followed as he regained himself and I silently studied the queen.
Her laughter rose above everything else in the room, including the song of the finest musicians the Citrine Cliffs had to offer. Her subjects laughed with her, cheering and drinking—over half the room already too far into their wine for the amount of time left in the celebration of our marriage.
I called one of the servants over, whispering in her ear, “Have blankets brought up from storage. Pillows if we have them. Prepare for a crowded hall tonight and a larger breakfast than usual in the morning. We’re going to have a lot of hungover and hungry guests.”
She bowed and scampered away. Fedir stood and downed the rest of his wine. “For the sake of the Goddess, will you go and dance with your wife, Killian?”
“You know I won’t.”
He bowed in mockery. “Then allow me.” He swept his hand out in front of him and I gave a curt nod.
I heard her laugh again in that delightful, joyous sound as Fedir joined her, arm in arm, skipping around in a circle. He led the dance, helping her with the steps she didn’t know. When the music faded, she curtsied, revealing that she most definitely did not have scaly bird feet.
As another dance began and Fedir handed her off to someone else so he could chase down the latest of his bedmates, I rose and began to circle the room. Many congratulations and drunken toasts followed. I shook hands, patted backs, and caught more than one unruly stumble as I found my way to a darkened corner of the hall, out of sight, but in a position to carefully watch her.
Three songs later and well into the darkest hours of the night, she wiped her brow, laughing with her partner and shaking his hand. Charmed, he kissed it and bowed low, almost falling to the wood floor before she caught him, delighted, and the picturesque bride on the night of her wedding. Helping him to a bench seat, she poured herself a goblet of water, swallowing the contents in a few long gulps.
With one more wipe of her hand across her forehead, she undid the ties at her hair, sweeping the black locks up at the back of her head and pinning them away from her neck and face. Another potential dance partner offered his hand as the nextsong began, but she turned him away with a shake of her head and hand over her heart. Taking one last gulp of water, she lifted her red skirts, toeing across the room swiftly.
To my horror, she headed directly toward me, never once looking my way. Arriving in the dark alcove, she turned and leaned back against the cool stone, not two feet from me, her wings tucked in at her back.
She huffed a loud exhale, wiping at her neck. “Will all our celebrations be this exuberant?” she asked, turning to face me in the dark.
“How did you know I was here?” I asked, stepping into the light.
She grinned beautifully, her golden-flecked eyes playful. “I’ve known your placement the entire night. Is it not my duty to know where my husband is?”
“It is not,” I replied, my foul mood at war with the way her cheeks flushed in the dim flicker of candlelight in our corner.
