Page 133 of Anwen of Primewood
I laugh. “At that time, you didn’t know I would be your bride.”
His eyes meet mine, and he raises an eyebrow. “I knew. It was only a matter of convincing you.”
We ride for almost an hour. Just ahead, firelight shines through the trees. Uneasy, I send Galinor a questioning glance. As we draw near, I see a caravan cart.
“It’s all right,” Galinor says. “They’re most likely drunk by this time of night. We will slip by, and they will never know.”
“Do you think they were with Dimitri?”
Galinor shakes his head, but I can tell he’s not sure.
The camp is indeed quiet, but a few figures stand outside, silhouetted by the campfire’s glow.
We’ve almost passed when a voice calls out, “Thought you would leave without us, did you?”
Galinor turns his horse, his hand automatically seeking a weapon. The party comes forward, laughing. I blink when the group draws near enough I recognize them in the night.
“Irving?” I ask, incredulous. “Marigold? Teagan?”
Irving grins and leans against a tree. “Not going to invite us to the wedding?” He shakes his head as if disgusted.
“Is it true?” Marigold ignores Irving and steps forward. “Galinor told Teagan you are eloping!”
I laugh and nod, still surprised to see them.
“We’re coming with you.” Marigold links her arm through Teagan’s and beams at him. “Aren’t we?”
Teagan smiles down at her. “I believe we are.”
Galinor stares down at them all, still bewildered by their presence. “If you’re coming, get your cart and hurry up. We won’t wait all night for you.”
The trio scrambles to break camp. I half expect to see Rosie, though I know she is far away in Triblue. My mindshifts to yesterday’s conversation with Irving. I hope we will see her again.
I ride to Galinor’s side and laugh. He gives me an exasperated look but the expression shifts to a smile.
The sun just peeks over the horizon when the five of us reach the southern village where Galinor and I will wed.
Galinor takes my hand. “Are you ready?”
“More than ready.”
In the sleepy village, just after dawn, Galinor slides the changeling stone over my finger. The stone is still; the magic is gone, lost when the stone was broken. But it shimmers in the morning light with the memory of something exquisite.
More, it shimmers with the promise of something exquisite yet to come.
