The dove knelt before his chosen mate. “Iris Mnesmeus, born of the god Mnesme, Princess of the House of Paradise, will you have me?”
The whole room grew still.
Hardly a moment passed before she stood and removed her mask, amethyst gown fluid in the sun as she took the hand he offered. “I will.”
The princess turned, kissing her parents on the cheek and embracing her two brothers before she followed her mate back to his dais and settled onto the open throne by his side, no longer a member of the House of Paradise but now the future queen of the House of Peace. Their hands were tightly clasped. Without masks, their faces displayed wide smiles full of hope and the slightest bit of fear. The doves cheered when he leaned down to press a soft kiss to the back of her hand. The sound was like a tiding of things to come, a promise that their house would continue to be a place of happiness, of light and air just like their god.
Again, the room grew quiet. The trial committee gestured to the female victor, who had won second choice of mate.
The princess of the House of Peace stood.
Xander had hardly noticed her before, but now he found he couldn’t look away. There was something captivating about her, as though her energy were magnetic, forcing every gaze in the room to pay attention. And they did. The atrium was so silent he heard the scuffing of her silk slippers on the floor as she landed in the center of the room, heard the swish of fabric as the lace folds of her silvery dress settled around her. When she curtsied, her ivory wings ruffled in the sun, brighter than the diamonds woven into her tightly braided hair. As she stood, nimble fingers undid the knots of her mask, revealing her beauty to the room. Plump lips. Defined cheekbones. A rounded nose. And upturned eyes that were slightly big for her face, yet somehow only deepened her allure, especially with the impish way they sparkled, as though she were in on a joke no one else seemed to know.
The room hummed with the sound of a hundred people remembering to breathe, as if they had forgotten to do so at the sight of her. Xander's chest burned for lack of air and he drew in a surprised gulp.
“I am Lyana Aethionus, born of the god Aethios, Princess of the House of Peace,” she said, voice loud and confident, a woman perfectly assured in her person and her decisions, not at all afraid—not at all like Xander, who couldn’t push the doubts from his mind. “And by my god’s favor, I have picked my mate, chosen because we are all small players in a much bigger game, and this was the only move I wished to make.”
Xander frowned. That sounds just like something Rafe would say.
He watched the princess rise into the air, a murmur of whispers growing to a dull roar as she turned toward her chosen mate—as she turned toward him.
Xander jolted, sitting up.
He looked to the left, where the hummingbird prince had already started to stand, gaping at his match in confusion before swiveling toward Xander, hatred simmering in the shadows of his mask.
Then Xander turned right, toward Coralee, his princess, his match, his mate. Her brown eyes were wide. Her mouth parted slightly beneath the feathers hiding the rest of her face. Those honey wings so alive just moments before were tucked close to her back, unsure.
Xander's gaze darted to the committee members who stood, staring in shocked silence. But no protests spilled from their lips. The princess was within her rights. They would not stop her. She’d won this choice. She’d earned it. And if it wasn’t meant to be, the gods themselves would have to intervene.
They didn’t.
Lyana soared closer, no doubt as to her destination. Then she was there, landing on the dais a few feet in front of his throne and curtsying before him, seemingly unaware of the chaos left in her wake. Her attention remained on the floor, as though the confident person he had seen only moments before had been a ruse, and now she was laid bare, vulnerable, afraid that a raven of all people would say no to a dove.
Will I?
Xander swallowed. His gaze flicked to the owl princess again, mind spinning with dreams of parchment and firelight, and days of understanding that turned into nights of exploring that turned into years of love. He looked at the dove and the dream vanished. Their future was uncharted, a blank slate he couldn’t read. She was beautiful, and she was bold. She was different from any match he’d ever imagined.
She’s the daughter of Aethios, the crown prince in the back of his mind whispered, bringing Xander back to reality, reminding him that his heart wasn’t what mattered in this equation. His people were. She’s the queen my god deserves.
“Lysander Taetanus, born of the god Taetanos, Crown Prince of the House of Whispers,” the dove princess murmured, words as smooth as velvet, as though she’d said his name many times before. “Will you have me?”
Xander reached back, arms moving as though the gods commanded them, since his mind was blank with shock and confusion. But his body acted with assurance, and his hand of clay pressed the mask to the side of his face, holding it in place as the fingers of his left hand fumbled with the special knot Rafe had tied, miraculously tugging it loose despite the way they trembled. That was where the miracle ended.
The mask dropped to the floor.
It smacked with an ugly thud against the wood base of the dais, landing on its side before spilling over the edge. A loud clang filled the silent atrium as it hit the tile floor ten feet below and shattered upon impact.
The princess watched it fall, then looked up—and froze. Her wide eyes widened even farther. Her luscious lips dropped open a centimeter. That sparkle in her eyes became one of panic. And he knew why.
Xander knew.
She’d expected Rafe.
She’d expected a warrior and got this instead.
But they’d come too far to turn back now, so Xander slipped from his throne and dropped to one knee as he lifted her hand to his lips. She flinched almost imperceptibly at his touch, but Xander felt the tremor pass beneath her skin.
“Lyana Aethionus,” Xander stated, voice flat, the best he could manage when it felt as though the ground had opened and was swallowing him whole, “born of Aethios, but now Taetanos’s queen. I will have you as my mate.”
28
Lyana
What have I done?
What have I done?
The rest of the matching ceremony passed in the blink of an eye. She couldn’t have described a single moment had her life depended on it. No, Lyana couldn’t focus on anything except for her brother’s concerned gaze, her mother’s pointed stare, Damien’s seething wrath, her own mate’s chilling silence, and the question playing on a loop in the back of her mind.
What have I done?
Because the moment she looked at those lavender eyes, and at that face so strikingly similar to the one she’d expected yet so outrageously different, a chill had crept into her bones, deeper than anything she’d ever felt in her frozen tundra of a homeland.
Who was this imposter by her side?
Where was Lysander?
Where was her mate?
What have I done?
Lyana was numb as the courtship trials drew to a close. Her father spoke the traditional parting words, but her ears had stopped working, as though she’d dropped beneath the surface of her bath and all she could hear were muffled voices sifting through water, dull and far away. Everything was fuzzy. Everything was blurred. As she followed the ravens down the hall and out of the palace, a white speck in a mass of black, her thoughts were nothing but a silent buzzing, as though the panic were so overwhelming her body had simply shut down to avoid it.