The morning of the wedding dawned bright and clear. Rhoden sat on the edge of his bed and contemplated the sunrise as it rose through the window. Again, he had slept poorly that night. His body ached with tiredness, but he could not sleep now that the sun had risen. So, he sat and watched in silence as the palace awoke slowly around him.
The morning and early afternoon passed in a haze of servants and tailors making the final adjustments to Rhoden’s clothing. When he could, Rhoden slipped away to Cael’s chambers, which were even more crowded.
“Damn coat,” Cael muttered to Rhoden as he stood upon a pedestal. “There’s always something to fix.” An apologetic tailor crouched at his knees, pins in his mouth.
“Though, I’ve heard my situation is not nearly as bad as Mira’s,” Cael whispered. “Something to do with the dress. Her mother has been furious.”
Imagining the plump Lady Escallon in a rage gave Rhoden only a brief moment of laughter before Carlton appeared and escorted him away.
Rhoden stood in his chambers and allowed his servants to dress him in the ceremonial robes of the occasion: a blue and silver suit and vest, with heeled boots and a short black cloak over one shoulder. They buckled a thin sword at his waist and a pendant around his neck, which depicted the Toradian raven with wings spread wide. Rhoden made certain that his knife was in the sleeve pocket. Though the tailors had raised their eyebrows at his request to include the pocket, still they had created it, and he was grateful. He wasn’t sure whether the sword at his side would be of any use in his hands if something were to go wrong.
He was about to depart when Carlton cleared his throat loudly.
“Aren’t you forgetting something, Your Highness?” he asked.
Rhoden turned to find a wooden box on a nearby table and his heart gave a little skip. Carlton opened it to reveal a silver circlet, the band no wider than Rhoden’s index finger, nestled in black velvet. There it lay, a symbol of his new life, encircling his hopes and his fears. He had never worn a crown before. There would be no going back after this.
The valet removed the silver circlet gingerly, and placed it with steady hands onto Rhoden’s head. Rhoden could barely feel the weight, but another was placed like granite bricks on his shoulders. He stared at the mirror, hardly comprehending that the young man who looked back out was himself. A prince, dressed in the best the royal tailors could make, looking far more confident than Rhoden felt. He straightened his shoulders. This was his life, now. He could not shirk away.
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When the wedding party arrived at the Citadel in its many open-topped carriages, they found that the square before the building was packed with people waving ribbons and cheering. Rhoden and his uncle dismounted from their carriage and made their way inside, following Cael and King Garazor, who waved at the crowd.
Several Ennist priests met them at the door and led them to a small room at the side of the hall. Rhoden did his best not to stare at the equally large crowd within the Citadel. Every chair was filled, and the air rumbled with excited babble.
Once inside the small room, which Rhoden assumed was one of the priest’s private offices, Cael began to pace.
“Peace, Cael,” said Garazor, readjusting the cuff of one of his sleeves. The king was dressed in magnificent robes of blue, silver, and black. Cael’s dark cloak brushed the floor and the embroidery shone on his lavish blue coat.
“I can’t help it,” Cael moaned. “I feel as though something terrible will happen.”
“Everything has been planned to the last detail,” said their father. “And the Citadel is well-guarded. Nothing will happen.”
“Are we really making the right decision?” Cael asked, striding backwards and forwards. “Making an alliance with the Mesians? They’ve proven their disloyalty in the past. How do we know we can trust them now? What if this is an elaborate scheme at our expense? What if—” Cael’s face slackened. “What if she does not come?”
“You both are bound by duty,” said Rhoden quietly. “And she loves you, Cael. She will come.”
Garazor smiled, and with a firm hand, stopped Cael from his pacing. “It is not a weakness to doubt the loyalty of allies,” he said. “There is wisdom is doubt, if only it does not lead to the mistrust of friends. Trust me, Cael. Mesia has every reason for wanting this alliance as much as we do. We have nothing to fear from them.”
There came a knock at the door. Horst, who was nearby, opened it. Aras Rapidian stood, his face grim behind his round spectacles. Without a word to anyone else, or a greeting to the king, he stepped forward and whispered in Horst’s ear. With each word, Horst grew more pale. When Rapidian had finished, Horst turned to face them. Rhoden was frightened to see the ill-disguised alarm there. He had never once seen his uncle afraid of anything.
“Forgive me,” Horst said. “I must go.”
“What is it, Uncle?” Rhoden asked, but Horst had already disappeared, closing the door behind him with a thump.
“Leave him, Rhoden,” said Garazor sharply, as he made to follow.
Rhoden stopped with his hand on the door handle. “Something is wrong,” he said.
“Whatever it is, they can handle it.”
Rhoden turned, matching Cael’s worried look with his own. “Aren’t you concerned as to what it might be?” he asked.
Garazor shook his head. “They will handle it,” he repeated.
“But—”
“Trust me,” said Garazor, his face as hard-set as stone. “There is no one more equipped to protect us from dangers than those two men.” Then, as Rhoden wondered about this, Garazor straightened and gave a smile. “But come! This is not a time of fear, but of joy!” He clapped his hands on Cael’s shoulders. “A joining of two lives, and two nations. This is a glorious day, indeed!”
Cael relaxed, his face splitting in a smile. He motioned for Rhoden to join them, and Rhoden left the door, feeling his father’s hand land on his shoulder.
“You, my boys, are the future of the kingdom,” Garazor said, smiling upon each of them. “I could not be more proud of the men you have become.”
After Rhoden and Cael gave a murmured thanks, another knock came at the door, this time a priest announcing that the ceremony was to begin. With a final smile and squeeze of the hand, the three of them left the small room.
From the opposite side of the Citadel, a similar door opened and the Mesian party emerged, King Sebastt leading Mira on his arm. Rhoden’s breath caught. Her dress was white. His eyes darted to the front of the Citadel, where two long lines of priests stood: the Thalist priests in brown robes, and the Ennist priests in white. White was a sacred color, reserved for the church. Traditional wedding clothes were to be in the colors of the house; in the case of the Rennerik royal family, to which Mira belonged, these were blue, green, and red. The rest of her family, who trailed behind, even King Sebastt, were dressed in the appropriate colors. What on earth had they been thinking, to dress Mira in white?
Her appearance caused a stir among the waiting crowd. Whispers followed her like the sound of rushing water. A few of the Ennist priests frowned at their Thalist counterparts, who ignored them with smug expressions on their faces.
Something did go wrong, Rhoden thought as he walked. But not in the way we expected. This is a subtle jab at the Ennist Church.
It was a move well-played. Clearly, the idea of the treaty did not sit well with some, or even all, of the Thalist priests. This was a way for them to express their frustration without saying it aloud: by offering Mira up as a proverbial hen to slaughter, to sacrifice her to embarrassment and the gossip of others.
Problems with the dress, indeed, he thought.
The two parties, led by the kings, made their ways around the sides of the Citadel until they came to the raised platform at the end of the room. As they had rehearsed the day before, everyone stood, arrayed out on either side of the High Priest. Mira and Cael stepped forward and clasped hands as the priest wound a long, thin cloth around them.
Mira’s face was scarlet. She seemed on the verge of tears, and bit her lip as Cael bent his head close to hers and whispered softly. Rhoden thought he knew what his brother was saying.
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Keep your chin up. Ignore them, and what they say. They don’t matter. You do. He had said similar words to Rhoden through the years, and they meant as much to him now as they had then. He knew how difficult it was to follow that advice. He felt his heart swell with love and pity as Mira finally nodded, gave Cael a watery smile, and the High Priest cleared his throat.
“Glory be to Ennis, on this wondrous day!” he called in a loud voice, which reverberated around the stone walls. “And to his son, Renthalas, for his everlasting power!”
The priest then began to quote scripture, telling his captive audience of the virtues of love and loyalty. He reminded them the reason they had gathered, and of the importance of the treaty.
“For,” said he, “it is not only to celebrate the joining of two lives and two families into one, but also two nations, which have long been at war. Ennis has declared that all strife should be done away, and that all hearts join together in peace and love. It is what we come to celebrate today!”
Rhoden listened with only half an ear to the High Priest as he droned on. He stood to the left of his father, and felt the space where his uncle would have stood on his other side as a lost limb. Where had he gone? Were they in danger?
His eyes roved the dim room. Large candelabras had been lit, and the last rays of the dying sun pierced through the stained glass windows high above, scattering colored light on the crowd. Nearly the entire body of the King’s Guard was present, lining the edges of the spacious room and the long aisle that had been left free down the middle. Rhoden looked over the mass of faces and a feeling of overwhelming anxiety settled over him like a shroud. How could he be a leader to these people? There were so many of them. So many things that could go wrong.
Outside, he could hear the crowd cheering. Inside, each face was fixed attentively on the bride and groom, each ear listened to the words of the Ennist High Priest. Rhoden noticed movement out of the corner of his eyes and knew some of those faces were staring at him. He dismissed the irritation and embarrassment. This was a part of his life he was going to need to become accustomed to.
The priest came to the end of his sermon, and another priest stepped forward, holding a wooden box in his hands. Rhoden immediately turned his attention to the front. From within the box, the High Priest drew a crystal the size of two fists. The Heartstone. It glittered dully in the light of the candles, veins of pink and orange tracing through it. Every eye was fixed on the stone as the priest held it aloft. The cheering outside grew louder.
“With the power vested in this stone, and the authority of Almighty God, I, High Priest Tallis of the Order of the Sun, do—”
He faltered, looking toward the doors at the opposite end. Heads turned. Cael and Mira followed the priest’s gaze, uncertain what had caused the disturbance.
Rhoden’s breath caught. That wasn’t cheering. Those were screams.
Seconds later, the doors at the front of the Citadel burst open with a force so powerful the wood splintered. Four figures charged in, battling fiercely. Within the space of a heartbeat, Rhoden recognized three of them: Aras Rapidian, his uncle, and Derrick Soraldson. They had their swords drawn, facing the fourth. Dread thrummed within Rhoden like the howling of wolves.
The fourth figure was impossibly, horrifically, terrifyingly wrong. Its humanoid shape was skeletal, its skin black as obsidian. Limbs twice the length they should have been gave it an advantage over its attackers as it dodged and slashed back, moving like a spider on four legs. It turned its face toward the end of the room, where Cael, Mira, and the High Priest stood, and stared at them with eyes as large as saucers and white as the moon. A mouth filled with teeth like needles snarled as the men around him stabbed and slashed. With a shriek that raised every hair on Rhoden’s body, it began to advance forward.
Screams erupted through the air. Guests scrambled backwards, throwing themselves off their chairs, crowding to the edges of the room. The King’s Guards tried to force themselves through the mob, but were carried away with it, out through the doors and into the square beyond. Rapidian, Horst, and Derrick threw empty chairs aside, trying to keep pace with the creature, but it leapt easily out of the way, heading for the raised platform.
The High Priest stared in horror at the beast, but did not move.
“With me!” Garazor shouted, releasing his cloak and drawing his sword. Rhoden found that he had drawn his as well. The blade shook in his hand. A handful of King’s Guards heard the cry and rallied. The Thalist and Ennist priests were retreating as quickly as they could, bringing King Sebastt and Lord and Lady Escallon with them.
The creature batted Horst and Rapidian aside, knocking them through a row of chairs. Derrick yelled and struck, but his sword seemed to glance off its skin, leaving it unharmed. It slashed its claws at him, then turned its hideous head to the High Priest, and the precious stone he held in his hands.
Cael dragged Mira to the side just as the creature leapt forward, shrieking. Before anyone could react, the High Priest dropped to the ground, the front of his white robes, and his chest beneath, torn into shreds. The creature plucked the Heartstone from the bloodied ground, the crystal tiny in its hand. It eyed Cael and Mira, who were struggling to extricate themselves from the cloth binding their hands together. Mira screamed in fright.
With a yell, Garazor charged forward. Half a dozen King’s Guards joined him, and Rhoden found himself running at their sides. The guards lowered their spears and jabbed at the creature’s back. It roared in anger, but the spearheads did not seem to make any mark on it. It turned and, holding one hand to its chest, slashed through the wooden shafts as though they were made of paper. The guards exclaimed and retreated, though not before the creature tore through a number of them.
Garazor yelled in rage. Raising his sword, he beat the creature back until it was cornered against a stained glass window. Rhoden hovered at his side, hacking anything that moved with no regard at all for his training. A moment later, Cael was at his side, sword flashing in the light. His face was flushed and grim.
“We have to distract it!” he said. “Draw it away from the people!”
Both Garazor and Rhoden nodded, but at that moment, the skeletal beast, which had curled in on itself, let out a sound unlike anything Rhoden had heard. It was a shriek, but louder and more piercing than before. Rhoden gasped and his hand released his sword as he fell to the ground, spasming in pain. The shriek rose higher and higher in pitch and intensity, filling his body with a pain so terrible he couldn’t breathe.
When it ended, Rhoden found himself in a ball on the ground, blinking away the blackness at the edge of his vision. Raising a trembling hand, he pushed himself up and looked around, his head spinning.
What he saw was more terrible than the pain he had just felt.
Everyone who was left in the Citadel had also collapsed to the ground at the cry of the beast. Small lumps of bodies were beginning to stir.
The creature stood, not far from where Rhoden had fallen. On two feet, and stretched to its full height, it was somehow even more horrifying and unnatural. One skeletal hand was clutched implacably around Cael’s neck.
Cael squirmed and thrashed, but he could not release the grip holding him. His feet were several inches off the ground. His face was purple and gasping. The creature looked at him with empty eyes and snarled.
“No!”
Garazor stumbled to his feet, drawing a fallen sword from the ground. His eyes were wild and bright and his jaw was set. His crown had fallen from his head, but in that moment, he looked more like a king than than he ever had.
“You will not take my son from me!” Garazor shouted, and ran forward.
The creature moved like lightning. With a casual flick of the arm, it flung Cael aside. Cael hurtled through the air and into one of the pillars with a crack that mingled with Mira’s scream. He crumpled to the bottom in a motionless heap.
Garazor struck the beast, but it batted his sword casually away. Its talons flashed in the air, and Garazor collapsed, holding his hands to his throat. Blood spurted between his fingers and from his chest. He fell backwards.
“No,” Rhoden whispered. Then, “No!”
He leapt to his feet, drawing the hidden knife from his jacket sleeve.
“Rhoden!” he heard someone call from somewhere behind him. “Use silver!”
Rhoden scanned the ground with feverish eyes. He found the silver circlet, which Carlton had placed on his head just hours before, lying by itself. He clutched it in his hand and advanced.
The creature bent over Garazor, but Rhoden screamed, charging forward recklessly.
“No!” he screamed. “Leave him alone!”
Amazingly, the beast stopped and raised its head, tilting it curiously. When it noticed the silver in his hand, it backed away, hissing. Rhoden waved the crown before him, forcing the creature to retreat, until he was standing between it and his father.
“Leave here,” Rhoden commanded, hardly knowing if he was saying the words aloud or in his head. “Never come back!”
The creature bowed its head, clutching the Heartstone to its chest, and backed away. With one final blow, it shattered a window, scattering colored glass across the ground, and climbed through into the night.
Rhoden stood, his breath and body shaking uncontrollably. There was a moment of utter silence, then he remembered. Dropping his knife and circlet with a clatter, he turned and knelt at his father’s side.
Garazor’s eyes were wide as his hands scrabbled at his throat. Already, there was a pool of blood gathering beneath him. His breaths were gurgling gasps.
“Help,” Rhoden half-whispered. “Help.”
He heard other shouts, but could not understand them. A flash of white in his peripheral told him that Mira had run past to tend to Cael. With hands that trembled so violently he could hardly undo the clasp, Rhoden removed his cloak and pressed it to his father’s chest. Four long gouges ran across him lengthwise, exposing bone, intestines.
“You’ll be all right,” he told his father, holding the cloak in place even as tears ran down his face. “We’ll call the physicians. We’ll get you to the palace. You’ll be all right.”
Even as he said the words, he knew it was a lie.
He felt a slight pressure on his arm and looked to see one of Garazor’s hands there. Between bloodstained fingers was a fine chain, on which hung a small key. His eyes begged him to take it. Rhoden unwound the necklace and placed it gently into a side pocket.
“What is it for?” he asked.
Garazor’s mouth moved soundlessly, and Rhoden bent forward to hear.
“Forgive me,” Garazor breathed. “Forgive me, Rhoden.”
“I—I do,” Rhoden stammered. “Of course I do.”
But as he drew his head back, he found Garazor’s eyes sightless and staring. The hand that gripped Rhoden’s arm dropped to the ground and Rhoden was left staring at the husk of a man he had only just started to know.
He sat, empty-eyed, as Mira’s cries echoed around the empty Citadel and the darkness fell around them like very shrouds of hell.