“Vows are binding, but hearts and wills are not. Will you keep the peace between our kingdoms, Lorcan? Will you help me restore balance to our world?”
Lorcan stood there, staring down at her, a million thoughts and images and plans racing through his mind. She was beautiful—magnificent even. She’d defeated his father. Though he could taste her fear like salt on his tongue, she was resolute and determined. If only I had met you a decade ago, he thought.
But she had been but a youngling then, and it wouldn’t have changed the reality of his life.
“I will make the vow and bind myself to your terms, Evelayn,” he finally said. “And with time, perhaps you will be able to bind my heart and will to your cause, as well. You are not the only one who has suffered at the hands of my father.”
Evelayn held his gaze, her chest rising and falling rapidly. And then without another word, she turned on her heel and strode straight to the door. Just before she left, she called out over her shoulder, “I will accept your vow in five days.”
Lorcan watched as Lord Tanvir followed the queen, waiting for him to turn, as he knew the Light Draíolon would. And sure enough, he paused to look back at Lorcan, his expression murderous.
“Don’t you dare hurt her.”
“I’m making a vow, apparently in five days, to that very end.”
Lord Tanvir looked like he wanted to say more, but his gaze flickered to the Light Sentries, then back to Lorcan. Finally, he added, “She’s been through enough.”
“Haven’t we all?”
Queen Evelayn’s chosen one glared at him for a moment longer, then turned and stormed out of the room after her, leaving Lorcan alone with the sentries, his thoughts, and the lingering scent of violets and determination the queen had left in her wake.
“Evelayn! Evelayn, wait!”
She continued to walk swiftly away from the room and from Lorcan’s smirk, his unreadable quicksilver eyes, and his frost-laced scent of pine trees and something heavier, muskier. Was she making a massive mistake? If he made the vow, he couldn’t break it. Their magic would bind him.
But he was smart and powerful. And desperate. She didn’t feel comfortable around him—she knew she had to tread carefully with the new king of Dorjhalon. Though she’d defeated Bain, there was a nagging feeling, like an itch that always remained just out of reach, that her battles still weren’t over.
“Evelayn,” Tanvir exhaled, jogging up to her side and taking her hand in his, pulling her to a stop. “Look at me.”
She turned reluctantly to face him. Her sentries paused to try and give them some privacy, but remained at the periphery of her vision.
Tanvir lifted her hand—her right hand, where the beautiful ring glittered, even in the dim candlelight—and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Evelayn closed her eyes, relishing the feel of his lips on her skin, the strength of his grip, his familiar scent of citrus and spice that cleared away the lingering memory of Lorcan’s.
“Am I a fool to offer him this?”
Tanvir kissed her knuckles again and then let her hand go. “You are no fool, and if you wish for balance, you really don’t have any other choice.”
Evelayn sighed and gave him a wry look. “That wasn’t very reassuring.”
“If you word the oath correctly you can protect yourself and your people. Everyone will get what they want, and we can finally put all of this behind us.” There was a ferocity behind his words that took Evelayn by surprise. When he met her questioning gaze, his eyes were haunted; the ghosts of the family he’d lost seemed to enshroud him.
“I have five days. That’s plenty of time to make sure I get it right. Then we can finally enjoy peace.” Evelayn paused and glanced down at her right hand. “And start planning our Binding announcement and ceremony.”
“Peace,” Tanvir echoed with a hint of a smile. “I quite like the sound of that. At last.”
THE CROWD WAS GATHERED IN THE GRAND BALLROOM, both Light Draíolon and even some Dark Draíolon in attendance, though they were hesitant to mingle—most choosing to remain separate. Evelayn stood on the dais, Aunt Rylese and High Priestess Teca just to her right; Lorcan, Lothar, and Abarrane were to her left. Tanvir stood at the base of the dais with Ceren and Lord Quinlen. Though rumors had already begun to spread, tonight was not the time to officially announce Evelayn and Tanvir’s betrothal. Evelayn’s right hand felt painfully naked without the ring, even though it had only been five days since he’d given it to her.
High Priestess Teca lifted her arm, signaling the time had come to begin, and a hush fell over the crowd.
“Queen Evelayn of éadrolan will now address us,” the High Priestess announced with a slight nod to Evelayn.
She took a deep breath and stepped forward. “We have gathered here tonight to act as witnesses to King Lorcan’s vow of peace. Our world cannot continue without balance. Light and Dark work together to create the day and night, to bring the seasons through their full cycles. Together, Light and Dark enable life, in all of its forms. I wish for the Dark Draíolon to regain their power—for balance to be restored. But I can only allow it to happen with an assurance of peace.”
Evelayn turned slightly to where Lorcan stood with his shoulders back, his chin lifted, his white hair falling freely around his obsidian-black skin. His silver eyes met hers and the challenge she saw there sent a chill down her spine. Please let this be the right thing.
“And so,” Evelayn continued, refusing to be cowed, “if you will step forward, King Lorcan, and make this Blood Vow—which is unbreakable upon pain of death—you will be free to go and reclaim your power from the Immortal Tree.”
Lorcan stepped forward, all sinewy muscle and raw power, the stone in his forehead still dull, until he was even with her. They turned to face each other as High Priestess Teca took her position between them, one step back.
“Please give me your right hands.”
They did as Teca bade. She took Lorcan’s hand first and withdrew the sacred silver knife of the Dawn Temple from her belt loop. Raising it high, she intoned, “By the blood of your heart and life force of your body, make you this vow Lorcan, King of Dorjhalon, which you shall never break or suffer immediate death.”
Lorcan looked directly into Evelayn’s eyes, his gaze unwavering as Teca cut a thin line across his palm with the knife. Crimson blood bloomed where once was unmarred flesh, but he didn’t so much as flinch. Refusing to appear weaker than Lorcan, Evelayn lifted her chin while Teca took her hand and repeated the process. When the silver blade slipped through her skin like a hot knife through butter, it burned as though she had been branded. But she didn’t flinch. She didn’t so much as blink.