Hundreds of bodies shifted, standing to full height. Marai could scarcely see anything over their heads. A particularly statuesque group of Henigis in their turbans stood in front of Marai. Peering between two bodies, Marai finally caught a full glimpse of Ruenen. His outfit was almost entirely gold brocade, except for the trimmings and lacings in forest green.

Marai’s heart swelled with pride and eyes stung with tears as Ruenen knelt to one knee. The priestesses blessed Ruenen with holy words and marked his forehead with a smudge of brown dirt. Dirt of Nevandia, his home and duty.

Monk Baureo droned on in boring words about Ruenen’s courage. His leadership. Marai’s ears tuned him out as she focused on Ruenen’s expression.

He kept himself composed and regal, but she saw the twitch of his mouth. The tightness of his eyes. This was an emotional moment for him. She knew he was thinking about the monks who raised him. They’d be proud of the man he had become. And the Chongan family . . . while they hadn’t known Ruenen’s secret, they would be standing amongst the crowd now, too, if they’d lived.

Ruenen agreed to the duties set before him in a strong baritone voice. Head Monk Baureo lifted a golden crown, each pointed bedecked with emeralds, high into the air.

“With this crown, we name you King Ruenen, of the House Avsharian, Sovereign of the great country of Nevandia.”

Slowly, the crown was placed upon Ruenen’s wavy chestnut hair. He stood with grace, a commanding presence.

“All hail the King,” shouted the priestesses and Monk Baureo.

“Hail!” The word echoed through the hall, loud as thunder.

Ruenen faced the room, swimming in sunlight. The recessional began with the Witan, then King’s Guard. Every guest bowed deeply once again. Marai could only tell what was happening based on the shoes of the people passing.

Then black boots stopped right in front of her. A green suede-gloved hand reached out.

Marai lifted her gaze to Ruenen’s twinkling eyes.

“Lady Marai, you must never bow to me.”

Her heart completely stopped. Ruenen smiled with both dimples and waited until Marai finally placed her hand in his.

He shouldn’t be doing this . . .

As Ruenen led her down the aisle, Marai trembled. She was acutely aware of her sweaty palms, how every eye was on her; this faerie girl the King of Nevandia had plucked from the crowd and paraded before them all.

The matching regal clothes, the walk, the words . . .

It was a statement.

Ruenen was announcing his intentions loud and clear.

Judging by the disgruntled and shocked looks on the Witan’s faces, they had no idea their king would be making such a statement. Fenir appeared like he was choking on his own tongue. Holfast frowned deeply, but said not a word, though Marai knew there were many on his tongue.

They headed towards the banquet hall, but Ruenen quickly pulled Marai into a hallway nearby as the cavalcade of feet marched past.

“What are you doing?” she asked, breathless. Was it because the dress was tight against her ribs? Or was it from her proximity to Ruenen? To his obvious choice . . .

Holy gods, that cannot be right.

“I wanted a moment alone with you,” he uttered, taking her in. “I knew you’d be resplendent in gold.”

Marai’s face and chest heated. “People will see us. Isn’t this rather improper for a newly crowned king?”

“I don’t care,” Ruenen said, running fingers down her uncovered arms. “Sit beside me at dinner.” Marai could do nothing but nod stupidly as he pressed his forehead to hers. Their noses touched. “I know this is all overwhelming and uncomfortable for you. But please trust me.”

“I do,” she whispered.

“There’s something I want to discuss with you. And I have a gift. May I come to your rooms later tonight?”

Marai went hot and cold all over. Her body didn’t know if it should feel pleasure and excitement, or shock and fear. He couldn’t mean . . . was he going to . . . her?

She never thought she’d be one . . . a wife. It was a dream she never dared imagine, because it was too improbable. She was too wild and untamable. But Ruenen had seen through those defenses. He’d shattered her walls with kindness.

But could she be a wife? A queen? 

The country would never accept her. It was madness.

But she loved him. She loved him, and he loved her.

Ruenen stared down at her with starlight and gold in his eyes, then led her into the banquet hall where guests were already seated and eating. The room roared with life and laughter and music. Young couples danced, twirling around each other with abandon and joy. It was as if Nevandia had been reborn. Nothing remained of that gray, desolate country.

As Ruenen passed tables with Marai on his arm, men and women raised their glasses to him. They shouted his name, wished him a long and healthy reign.

Holfast and Nieve sat at the high table, two vacant seats between them. As Ruenen and Marai sat down, Nieve gave her a knowing smile.

“Why, Lady Marai, I hardly recognize you,” the Queen said. “Nevandian colors suit you.”

To Ruenen’s right, Holfast frowned.

“Your Grace is too kind,” Marai said. “It’s an honor to be seated at this table in such mighty company.”

“Don’t be silly. If anyone deserves to sit next to King Ruenen, it’s you. Many are aware that it’s due to your power that he lives at all.”

Marai coughed into her wine. Beneath the table, Ruenen squeezed her hand. Nieve’s smile widened, ice-blue eyes gleamed.

“You honor me, Your Grace,” said Marai.

Behind them, Raife and Aresti lingered, standing guard over Ruenen. It was a place of honor, to stand at the high table with the king. It was clear Ruenen had stationed them there as yet another statement to his guests: magical folk are respected here. He turned, smiling, and waved them off.

“Thank you both, but you should go and enjoy the celebration,” he said.

“Is that wise, Your Grace?” asked Fenir, who’d grown paler and sweatier since the ceremony. “You never know if a Tacornian assassin—”

Ruenen shot Marai a wink. “With Lady Marai at my side, I’m well protected.”

Raife bowed and dashed off to sit next to Thora, Keshel, Tarik, Brass, and Yovel. Aresti, however, inched closer towards Nieve. Marai swore she heard the queen mumble something to Aresti before she joined Raife at the table in the far corner of the room.

Ruenen offered Marai his hand. “May I interest you in a dance?”

Marai’s eyes widened. “I don’t know how.”

He laughed, clear as a bell, and lifted her to her feet. “Neither do I, but it looks like fun. We’ll make it up as we go along.”