The whole city of Enna Aignech was elated. Caer Omaith was once again astride the stallion Mornai, who had returned after escaping the battle. Mornai was a giant white stallion of Fermaige Island. These intelligent horses were magnificent and Mornai was the king of the horses. They freely came and went and were not bound to any man or woman. In fact, all horses of Fernmaige offered themselves as mounts for war when the need arose. The men of Rochad trained with the horses on their home ground, and Mornai was no exception. This stallion knew the importance of this event and had run to meet Caer Omaith as she arrived in the gates. Mornai bowed on his knees and offered his back as a place of glory. He too was relieved to see her as he had felt some responsibility for her capture.

As she arrived at the palace, the crowds lined the streets shouting their support and touching her as she walked past them, such was the people’s love for her.

Standing at the top of the Stairs of Judgment at the entrance of the palace was a line of horsemen. Horses in perfect alignment and one man on another white stallion, it was the Horsemen of Rochad, who had arrived in the night.

Caer Omaith’s heart leapt, and hope arose there. She, like everyone else, knew of the ability and bravery of these warriors and their horses.

Trumpets blew and the old king Magach stepped out to welcome his daughter, flanked by his three sons, Dubthach, Uthecar and Fernmaige, the Lords of Miurthemne. Devorgill was there too, and she felt elated for Tethra. He was looking around at the group of people until his eyes found hers. Her heart leapt when they lingered for a while. He grinned, and she blushed slightly.

***

Tethra walked up the steps. His legs felt like lead with tiredness, but he strode over to the king and kneeled on one knee, bowing his head in respect. His brain was not able to focus on anything but Devorgill.

“Do not kneel to me Tethra, son of Rigdond. For you are now a prince of Enna Aignech. If my daughter agrees, you will marry and be a son of Muirthemne.”

“My king, my heart belongs to another.” Tethra glanced at Caer Omaith and she smiled at him, nodding reassuringly, and then pointed her finger at Devorgill.

“I would marry you, my prince, if you wished it,” said Caer Omaith.

King Magach spoke loudly, “Who is this woman who has the heart of this prince General?” he looked around.

Devorgill stepped forward, bowing as she walked toward the king and Tethra.

“I Devorgill, your foster-daughter.”

Magach’s eyes popped, he had not expected this. Nobody had, and when the gathered crowd realised, they all cheered.

As Devorgill stepped up, once more her eyes found Tethra’s. She could not describe the feeling she had later, all she knew was that Tethra, now a prince, was in love with her, and had gone against the wishes of a good and righteous king. It made her heart race.

The king took her hand and helped her up the stairs. Caer Omaith ceremoniously stepped away from the side of Tethra and was replaced with Devorgill.

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“I have a new adopted son, Prince Tethra,” said Magach. “Do you wish to marry my son?” he asked, turning to Devorgill.

“Yes,” she said hoarsely. The muscles in her neck were taught with the feeling that arose in her.

He turned her toward Tethra by her hand, “Do you both make an oath of devotion to each other?” He placed Devorgill’s hand in Tethra’s. “Yes” they said in unison.

“According to my word, you are husband and wife.”

A tiara was placed on her head, a symbol of their marriage.

The crowd then roared back to life. Cheering and shouting was heard across the city as Tethra held Devorgill’s hand outwards toward the people, adding to their marriage oath, that they would serve the people and Riangbra, as Lord and Lady of Enna Aignech, till the days they both died. The trumpets blared and the people and soldiers bowed to the king and his sons, Caer Omaith, General Tethra and his lady Devorgill.

Later as they relaxed, recovering from the day’s events, Devorgill wondered aloud how a man, so capable in battle and a brilliant general, commanding the armies of two nations, was speechless around her. Caer Omaith laughed at her ignorance. “He is completely and worryingly smitten,” she said to Devorgill. “But why?” asked Devorgill. “I’m not that special!” Caer Omaith shook her head in wonder at the cluelessness of her two friends about their own qualities that made them so attracted to each other.

Later the same evening, after they were rested, Tethra took Devorgill’s hand and led her to a secluded part of the gardens of the palace in Enna Aignech. It was a section of the gardens that were a lot like the dark forest of Rechrainn. A small path led between the tress and Devorgill could see lanterns strung up each side of the path.

"What's all this?" Devorgill asked, her eyes wide with wonder.

Tethra smiled, gently squeezing her hand. "Just a little something I wanted to share with you."

They followed the torch-lit path until they reached the centre of the glen. There, amidst the trees, was a beautifully arranged sparring area. In the centre stood a small, ornate table adorned with flowers and candles. The flickering light reflected off an array of finely crafted weapons laid out on a velvet cloth.

Devorgill gasped in delight. "Tethra, it's incredible!"

Tethra led her to the table and picked up a beautifully crafted sword, its hilt inlaid with precious stones and intricate designs. "This is for you, Devorgill. I had it made by the finest blacksmith in Athlethan. It's a weapon worthy of your skill and bravery."

Devorgill took the sword, her eyes shining with admiration as she admired the craftsmanship. "Tethra, it's perfect."

Tethra smiled, pleased with her reaction. "There's more."

He gestured to a nearby group of their fellow warriors, who had been quietly waiting. The warriors began to perform a series of synchronized moves, a dance of blades that demonstrated both the skill and grace that existed in the art of Riangbra. As the performance ended, Tethra turned to Devorgill.

"Would you honour me with a sparring match, my love?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Devorgill grinned, her warrior spirit ignited. "It would be my pleasure."

They faced each other, their swords shining in the torchlight. Devorgill’s beautifully ornate weapon gleamed from every jewel that were inlaid in its hilt. The match began with a flurry of movements, each testing the other's skills. It was a dance of strength and agility, a testament to their bond as both lovers and warriors. The world around them faded away as they moved in perfect harmony, their hearts and minds connected.

After a fierce yet playful duel, Tethra disarmed Devorgill with a swift move and pulled her into his arms.

“You were playing with me,” Devorgill said with a disappointed tone.

“No, I was not,” Tethra said, feigning innocence. “I just got lucky. Luck seems to be my friend at the moment, look what else I won!” He grabbed her shoulder pushing her away from him and looking her up and down.

Devorgill’s eyes closed to slits as she looked at Tethra. “I am not your object to be owned,” she said curtly.

“Oh, I know,” he replied, “but you do own every part of me, and you can have it all.”

“And I want all of you,” she said jumping into his arms. “It’s all mine, and I am not ashamed to say I am very greedy!”

They both laughed at their foolishness and collapsed on the grass. It began to rain, suddenly and heavily and they both got up quickly and ran like naughty, giggling children, back to their quarters. There they passed the evening, speaking of their hopes and dreams, fears, and failures. Sharing their love, making the most of the little time they had left.

The wedding brought happiness and joy to the people of Rochad and Athlethan. Tethra was now a well-known General of the armies and many saw him as their saviour. He was known for speeches that downplayed their admiration of his prowess. He would often speak of the armies he commanded as the reason for all their successes, and how easy it was for him to be a General when he had the loyalty and bravery of the men and women behind him.