“Do they?” Con snapped back. “Forgive me if I haven’t seen much evidence of that.” He propelled himself from the chair. Restless as the wolf in my dreams, as if the chains dragged at him still, he paced to the window and stared out. Then he spun and pinned me with that relentless, determined expression. “What else—or are we done?”
“We’re done,” I agreed. I waited, but he only watched me, also waiting. Had I expected some kind of formal proposal, the warrior bending a knee to request the honor of my hand? No, clearly he had no affection for me—or any real regard, given his contempt for me and what I stood for in his mind. “I’ll marry you,” I clarified, mostly to end the détente, and stood. “Let’s get this over with.”
At least he wouldn’t be as bad as Anure. And I could stay on Calanthe. Until Anure brought his warships to destroy us. The palace towers falling into the sea, the waters boiling with blood. Fire, death, and destruction. The wolf begging me for help, and me breaking and bloodying my fingers on his chains. The dreams had been driving me to this moment all along. I supposed I should’ve capitulated to the demands of fate long before this.
Calanthe had warned me in the beginning, and I couldn’t refuse Her.
Con watched me with that wolf’s wary golden gaze, and I realized I’d lifted my hands and stared at them, the orchid ring’s petals moving with their trembling. Composing myself, I let my hands drift to my sides and I raised my chin, gathering what regal poise I could. I allowed a slight, curious smile. “Well?” I asked. “What is your plan now?”
He offered me a smile, wry and self-deprecating. “Let’s just ask our pet wizard about that.”
A booming thud hit the doors, making me realize how long they’d been quiet. A painting fell off the wall, clattering to the floor. “Best hurry,” I advised.
With a nod of agreement, Con strode across the room and delivered the news. Neither of them seemed surprised as they returned, Ambrose congratulating me warmly and Sondra eyeing the shuddering wall askance.
Con grimaced, looking to Ambrose. “I don’t suppose you thought this through, what you’d do to get us out of the corner you trapped us in?”
“I was mostly focused on making sure the marriage would occur,” Ambrose admitted. Merle danced from foot to foot on his shoulder, muttering an agreement.
“We could open the doors and announce our impending nuptials to My people,” I offered politely. I might’ve tried harder to trick Con that way, if I’d thought I could.
He barely bothered to toss an annoyed look at me. “And have your guards storm in and slaughter us? I don’t think so.”
Ah well. Couldn’t blame a girl for trying. Old habits die hard.
“We can’t stay in here forever,” Sondra reasoned, pacing over to the window and leaning out to scan the walls in every direction. “Given time, we could maybe climb out, but I think we don’t have time.”
Another heavy boom resounded, and plaster shattered where the painting had been. “Ah,” Ambrose said with a note of regret, “they’ve figured out to come through the walls instead. Won’t be long now.”
“Can’t you magic the wall, too?” Con asked.
“No.” The wizard shook his head. “Walls aren’t doors, you know.”
Con briefly closed his eyes, muscle in his jaw pulsing. I tended to sympathize with his frustration. Magic users have such a different understanding of the world that their logic—while eminently reasonable to them—often seems absurd to others. Especially to a man who preferred a hammer and a bag of rocks to other weapons, I was sure.
“Do you have any helpful suggestions, Lia?” he asked, clearly attempting to be patient.
“I don’t have a good solution,” I admitted. Sondra made a scoffing sound, and I gave her a cool look. “This situation is of your own making. I’ll abide by My agreement, but I don’t know how to get through the initial exchange with My people without something terrible happening. I could try going out to speak to them while you remain inside and barricade the door aga—”
“No.” Con folded his arms and dug in.
I’d figured as much, but held up my hands. “Think fast then, because they’ll break through soon.” The thick wall showed many cracks, the repeated thudding creating a sense of urgency I had a difficult time ignoring. If my people made it through, things would happen very fast—and not turn out well at all.
“I can marry you,” Ambrose said, acting as if we’d been missing the obvious solution. Con blinked and unfolded his arms, and Ambrose shrugged modestly. “At least, I can invoke the binding vows of Ejarat and Sawehl. Will your guards recognize that, Your Highness?”
Con frowned, exchanging glances with an equally puzzled Sondra. “They should,” I agreed on a sigh. “As I’m queen of Calanthe, the binding should be quite obvious, though none have seen it since My mother died and widowed My father.”
“What are you talking about?” Con demanded.
I turned to him with some impatience. “Do you really want a detailed explanation or will you trust your own wizard? We’re giving you what you want and saving your sorry life along with your companions’. Quit being difficult.”
He glowered, taking a step to loom over me. “I am not difficult.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” I crooned, refusing to let him physically intimidate me. “You practically created the concept.”
Boom. A hole the size of a finger opened in the wall. Con looked from it to Ambrose. “Do it.”
“Ideally it should be done outside,” Ambrose replied doubtfully.
“Will the balcony do? It will at least put us in the sunlight, if not on Ejarat’s actual soil,” I said. Boom. Pellets of stone fell. Excited voices echoed through the hole. Moving to the balcony would remove us a bit from the distraction of my rescuers. “Meanwhile, the Lady Sondra may use My dressing chamber to bathe and burn that soiled gown. There’s a fire in there you can use. And any number of gowns. Help yourself.”
The taller, more muscular woman looked me up and down. “Your gowns?” she asked dubiously.
“Look at the blue ones,” I advised. “They come in any number of sizes and don’t require the same underpinnings.”
She shook her head but walked toward the bathing room. I led the men onto the flower-draped balcony over the sea, Ambrose putting his back to Sawehl’s sun. Con and I turned as one to face Ambrose, who stood with his staff in front of him, grasping it in both hands. The great emerald at the tip caught the light, scattering it. Merle sat on his shoulder, looking grave.
“Conrí. Queen Euthalia,” Ambrose intoned as if we stood in Ejarat’s cathedral. “Please take each other’s hands.”
I moved to Con’s right side and extended my hand that wore the orchid ring. Giving me a sideways look I couldn’t interpret, Con held out his hand, palm up—and I laid mine on top. His skin was rough, callused from wielding his weapons of violence, yes, and an older hardness in it. The feel of stone and fire. He stared ahead just as stonily, clearly gritting his way through this.
Not how I pictured my wedding. But then, I’d long ago lost any sentimentality over what that might be like.