Page 68 of A Crown of Tears and Treason
“Blood Brotherhood members have an average of seven first names, and the royal family can sometimes go up to twenty-three, most of them secret, so they tend to get a bit creative. The Rohen dynasty is considered somewhat tame at only eleven for each member. As a…precaution,” Leesa said sheepishly.
I raised my brows. “Against Protectorate spells?”
“And anyone else who could use our full names. Some think only one first name heard by the wrong person can get them in trouble.”
An interesting way of weeding the most superstitious of them. Perhaps that’s why Zandyr hadn’t hesitated in giving me his name. Just one, though the most important of them.
I shook my head, delirious from so much information trying to cram itself into my brain. Leesa was a sergeant disguised as a doll.
She clasped her hands gingerly in front of her. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Goose gulp in the corner. He hadn’tmoved an inch, eyes following Leesa and trying to be coy about it.
“Now, let’s go through the first part of the ceremony again,” she said. “Walk me through each step.”
The wedding had very specific stages, plus a special drum rhythm I needed to walk in tune with. The tempo was supposed to signify the bride and groom’s heartbeats and was traditionally heard throughout all of the Capital, so that each and every Blood Brotherhood member could feel the pulse. I doubted any drummer would be able to keep up with my own galloping heart on that day. Maybe they could bring an out-of-tune flute for Zandyr’s. I still wasn’t sure he had a heart, and it surely wouldn’t sprint as I walked up to him.
“Before or after I get fake-kidnapped?” I asked.
“It’s not a kidnapping.” Leesa shook her head, curls bobbing.
“It’s notnota kidnapping.”
A few days before the ceremony, the bride had to get fake-kidnapped by her own family–impossible for me, so Goose, Adara, Kaya, and Leesa would probably step in–to give her time to reconsider the match, far away from her betrothed. At the same time, the groom had to also be taken away from the Capital, in order to find the bride and fight his way back to her.
It signified the couple’s desire to be with each other and face the world to be together.
My parents had stolen me away–without giving me a choice–and Zandyr had fought his way to me, back at my first wedding. Ironic or tragic, I couldn’t tell.
“After. We got that one covered.” Leesa gave me an encouraging smile.
“After I’m in my full bride garb, I will walk up to our sacred temple–”Theirsacred temple. I wasn’t Blood Brotherhood yet. “–to the beat of the drums. At the bottom of the stairs, there will be a large golden cauldron I will need to place my letter in.”
“You and the prince really need to get started on those letters,” she said as politely as she could while scolding us for breaking the rules.
Zandyr hadn’t told me we needed to writelove lettersand exchange them in sealed envelopes. We had to keep them on ourselves at all hours of the day and underneath our pillows at night, and burn them unopened on the day of the wedding. The longer the fire burned, the longer our alleged love would last. We had to fight the urge to open them until they turned to ash. A symbol of the trust we placed in each other’s feelings.
“Right, those.” I licked my teeth. That tradition sounded weirdly romantic. My heart gave a bitter echo. I’d be walking down the aisle toward a man who didn’t want to marry me for the right reasons. Again.
Perhaps my parents had been right. Clan marriages were only a political grey zone where love had no hope of sprouting.
“When I get to the royal altar,” I went on, to keep the lonely thoughts at bay. “Zandyr will place the crown on my head.”
Leesa nodded. “Without touching you.”
Yes, gods forbid my future husband touched a hair on my head before we were officially married. “Without touching–hold on, how big is this crown?”
Grandpa Constantine’s crown had been forged in the depths of Ember Vale, the iron liquefied from the very cannon that had fired the last fiery sphere in the war against the Northern Clans. The Protectorate had won more than the war that day. The crown had been massive and now rested in his mausoleum. As it should. The weight of it would have crushed a lesser leader; Silas already had the bent neck of someone who cared more for words on pages than actions.
The king, queen, and advisors also had mighty headdresses, ornate and glistening.
“It depends on which one you choose.” Leesa snapped her fingers for the third time, and the last two boxes opened.
The first three had contained items required for the ceremony.
The golden twine Zandyr and I would wrap around our wrists as the priests hummed our blessings.
The golden chalice into which we’d mix our blood together.
The dagger we’d use to cut our palms. Its hilt was also made out of glass, but no blood swirled inside it. Though Leesa had gleefully told me my blood would fill it at the wedding. Lovely and not at all frightening.
