“Join hands so that your blood will bind this vow.”
Again they did as Teca commanded, clasping right hands together. His skin was cool, his grip firm, but when his blood met hers, heat flared, as though fire were racing up her arm to engulf her entire body. But still they stood frozen, locked in a battle of wills that she wouldn’t—couldn’t—lose.
“The blood will bind,” Teca pronounced. “State your vow Lorcan, King of Dorjhalon.”
His fingers flexed against Evelayn’s skin as he began to speak, his eyes never leaving hers. She was trapped in that molten silver of his gaze, in the iron force of his will. “I, Lorcan, King of Dorjhalon, do make this Blood Vow, binding even unto death, that I will maintain peace between éadrolan and Dorjhalon. I vow to respect and honor the power of Lachalonia, both Light and Dark, to help restore the balance my father attempted to destroy. Furthermore, I vow to rule alongside Evelayn, Queen of éadrolan, and will not come against her or the Light Draíolon to battle. My life is bound to hers—if she dies, I, too, shall pass away. This is my vow.”
“So shall it be.” Teca grasped their bound hands, but Evelayn was hardly aware of her anymore. There was only Lorcan, his vow, and the searing pain from their clasped hands.
She’d spent countless hours with her council, writing and rewriting the vow, trying to encompass all their fears without making it so specific that he would refuse to make it for fear of accidentally slipping up and causing himself to die. They’d thought it had been perfected.
But as he’d spoken the words, his voice like the velvet night sky, smooth and infinitely powerful, she’d begun to tremble. What had been meant to be a vow of peace had begun to sound like … more. It was Tanvir who had suggested having Lorcan’s life be tied to Evelayn’s—what better guarantee that he wouldn’t seek to kill her? But as Lorcan had spoken the words, she’d felt a tug, a sudden thread between them that made her unaccountably nervous. And there was that underlying sense that he was somehow still mocking her—that she was playing right into his hands.
Teca finally released them, but he didn’t let go yet.
“I hope you are satisfied, Your Majesty,” Lorcan spoke, but this time it was a low murmur, accompanied by a single stroke of his fingers along the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist.
Evelayn snatched her hand away from him and raised her chin defiantly. “I am.”
She turned to face the gathered crowd, her eyes immediately finding Tanvir’s. They were darkened with rage, the muscles in his jaw tight, his hands fisted at his sides. But she couldn’t do anything about it—yet. “The Blood Vow is complete. Prince Lothar and Dowager Queen Abarrane shall remain here as a guarantee of our joint efforts to restore peace and balance to Lachalonia. King Lorcan, you are free to go and reclaim your power.”
Teca produced two white cloths to wipe the blood from their hands, which Evelayn made quick use of, wanting all trace of Lorcan gone. But he ignored the proffered fabric, his fingers closing over the already-healing wound, his eyes still on Evelayn.
“I look forward to being reunited once I have regained my kingdom’s power. More than you can possibly imagine.” Then he bowed low to her, an elegant folding of his body that should have indicated his respect for her, but somehow still felt like he was merely taunting her. “Until then …” King Lorcan took her right hand in his once more and lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss on her barren ring finger. She didn’t dare react with so many watching, but she wanted to slap him. Or blast him off the dais.
Instead, she stood like a statue as he released her, then turned and sauntered down the steps, off the dais, the crowd parting for him as he strode to the massive double doors at the opposite end of the room. Only when they’d shut behind him did Evelayn release the breath she’d been holding, with a relieved exhale.
The tense silence broke as a few Draíolon began to clap and then suddenly they were all cheering and celebrating, while Evelayn stood on the dais, her hand still burning and her whole body trembling.
THE FOREST WAS QUIETEST IN THE MORNING, WHEN most of éadrolan was still asleep. Dew sprinkled the emerald leaves of the trees like tiny diamonds, and the flowers were only half-awake, their brilliant petals stretching open to the slowly rising sun. It had been months since Lorcan made his vow and left to try to reclaim his power. This late in the year the air was crisp with the promise of winter, but Evelayn merely conjured a soft shaft of sunlight to warm the path she walked, heading toward her favorite place in all of Lachalonia. As beautiful as the forest was at that moment, it was nothing compared to how lovely it looked in the height of summer, when there was no need to use her power to warm herself or to coax the flowers to show their jeweled faces.
But at least she no longer had to worry about the consequences of the balance of power shifting to the Dark Draíolon with the return of winter, now that peace had been restored—and Lorcan had made his vow.
The path wound down through the trees, the ground mossy beneath her bare feet as she moved swiftly away from the palace. Her councillors and priestesses knew she still left every morning by herself, usually to go running, but she’d finally convinced them there was no longer a need for anyone to accompany her and disturb the peace she found in the rare solitude she had at dawn. Tanvir usually came with her, and that was protection enough.
Evelayn continued on for a few more minutes and then, finally, she caught a glimpse of the water and a flash of white. She moved slowly now, not wanting to frighten the flock. They tended to be more nervous in the colder months, when predators were more desperate. One swan lifted her head and watched Evelayn as she carefully sat down upon the log, waiting to see if she’d brought them bread this morning. Only when Evelayn remained motionless for a good minute or two did the swan apparently realize she didn’t have an offering, and begin to lazily paddle away.