He retrieved his discarded cloak, shook the dust from its folds, and draped it over his gleaming golden orichalcum armor. The tabard, woven by elven hands, bore ancient script and the embroidered crest of a golden chalice wreathed in flames. It had been woven with a ward to keep it unmarred even beneath shattering blows, yet magic, it seemed, could do nothing against simple wrinkles.
After smoothing the rumpled edges of the trailing hem and brushing the grit from his sabatons, he rose.
Properly groomed at last, he stepped out of the tent into a dim, overcast afternoon. A harsh wind had been rising steadily since midday, smelling of imminent rain.
Frowning, Edric caught up a rain cloak and turned toward Talia’s pavilion just as the sacred bell tolled from behind, announcing the start of the rite.
He threw a hurried glance over his shoulder. The Crown Prince and the First Princess had already finished their preparations and were entering the temple doors, trailing their retinue behind them.
He broke into a run across the camp. Passing between massive pillars that seemed carved from living stone, he crossed beneath the arched entrance into the cool, bluish twilight of the temple interior.
Edric checked his stride, scanning the attendants gathered in the nave and the knights standing at attention along the walls.
The Crown Prince and the First Princess stood side by side before the altar, receiving the head priest’s prayer of consecration before the ritual began.
Shifting anxiously on his feet, Edric caught sight of Lord Shearkan waiting near the transept and crossed the nave in a single, breathless dash.
“Commander, Her Highness the Second Princess will be ready shortly. Could you delay the start, if only for a moment?”
At his quiet plea, a calm, measured gaze turned toward him.
Edric instinctively held his breath.
Instead of his knightly plate, Varkas wore a black doublet beneath a cuirass bearing the Shearkan crest, a distinctive mantle pinned over one shoulder. Even to another man, he was chillingly handsome. Edric found himself recalling the princess calling him hideous. If she had grown up looking upon a man like this, any ordinary face would appear dull by comparison.
As stray thoughts flickered through Edric’s mind, his commander, having looked down at him in silence, let out a faint breath and walked toward the altar.
“I ask that the ceremony be halted. Her Highness the Second Princess intends to receive the consecration as well.”
The priest paused his chanting, his eyes flitting in bewilderment between Varkas and the awkward figure of Edric behind him.
As blood of the imperial house, Talia was entitled—and obligated—to join the rite. Had she refused, it would have been another matter, but since she had announced her presence, it was only proper to await her. Yet the head priest hesitated to offer an answer, his eyes darting cautiously toward Gareth’s face.
“Are you telling me to wait for that miserable wretch?”
The Crown Prince ground out every word, glaring at Varkas with venom in his eyes.
“Proceed with the rite at once! I will not waste a single second on that girl!”
Edric’s face stiffened. Having witnessed firsthand the prince’s murderous hatred for his half-sister, he had not expected Gareth to consent easily. Yet he never imagined the Crown Prince would display his hostility so brazenly before an assembly of witnesses. After all, the Second Princess’s presence on this pilgrimage was by imperial decree.
Swallowing his hesitation, Edric spoke up.
“She is imperial blood, acknowledged by His Imperial Majesty. By custom, she too has the right to receive the blessing of the saints.”
Gareth’s burning gaze snapped from Varkas toward him.
Edric swallowed hard. The prince’s sharp features twisted into a snarl as he closed the distance like a prowling beast.
“Do you even know whom you dare address?”
“Forgive me, Your Highness. I only meant—”
Edric bowed his head to apologize, but the air caught in his throat as a violent grip seized his collar and jerked him forward.
He fought to keep his expression steady beneath that bloodthirsty glare. Roused to further fury by the knight’s restraint, the Crown Prince’s dark green eyes flared, and he let out a low, feral growl.
“A common guard presumes to lecture me?”
“Forgive… me—”
Edric clenched his fists at his sides to stop himself from tearing Gareth’s hand away, forcing each strangled syllable past his throat.
Just then, Varkas set a hand on the Crown Prince’s shoulder.
“Your Highness.”
At the low, resonant voice, Gareth’s shoulders seized. Edric saw a flicker of startled tension ripple across the prince’s haughty face.
Varkas spoke quietly.
“There are many eyes here.”
A dark flush crept into Gareth’s cheeks, burning with the humiliation of having recoiled, however briefly, before another man.
The Crown Prince released Edric’s coat, whirling around to glare at Varkas with unbridled malice.
“Did I not warn you never to lay a hand on me again? Do you think my patience is bottomless?”
Gareth knocked the hand from his shoulder and leaned in until their faces were inches apart, his breath coming in jagged hisses. Seeing him poised on the verge of violence, the surrounding knights and even the First Princess stepped forward to intervene.
At that moment, a voice like shattering ice chimed through the sanctuary.
“Had I known such fine entertainment awaited me, I would have attended the earlier rites as well.”
Startled, Edric turned his head to see Talia making her way slowly down the length of the nave, flanked by several maids. The sight stole his breath away.
The princess, who had seemed intent on courting catastrophe at every turn, was gliding toward the altar in flawless, elegant ceremonial dress.
Pale sunlight slanted through the high clerestory, brightly illuminating her features—which bore an uncanny resemblance to the Empress—and her slender silhouette clad in a platinum bliaut.
Edric blinked in dazed wonder, only to realize he was not alone; everyone along the nave was staring at her, transfixed. Instinctively, he glanced toward the Crown Prince and the First Princess.
Gareth was glaring at his half-sister with demonic fury, while the First Princess kept her expression impeccably composed, though her knuckles were bone-white where her fingers were interlaced.
Sensing the suffocating tension coiled between the siblings, Edric slipped quietly to the Second Princess’s side. No one paid him any mind, save for Talia Roem Guirta, who gave him a brief, dismissive flick of her gaze.
Her attention turned immediately back to Varkas and Gareth.
“Why stop now? Weren’t the two of you about to come to blows?”
Gareth ground his teeth until the bone creaked, slowly drawing back from Lord Shearkan. He swept a cold, insolent look over his sister from head to toe, curling his lip in open derision.
“Whom are you trying to seduce, dressed like that? Did you think fine silk would wash away your filthy blood?”
“Did you not reprove me only a few days ago for failing to dress with sufficient modesty? You chided me so persistently that I took special pains today. How disheartening to hear you speak of it so.”
Talia paused, then stepped closer, an inscrutable smile curving her lips.
Edric watched her with terror in his chest. After surviving the prince’s murderous rage only the night before, she was baiting him again. It was beyond recklessness; it was madness.
Yet heedless of any danger, the Second Princess leaned close to Gareth’s ear and whispered in a silken murmur.
“I took such great care to dress exactly to your taste, brother…”
END