coming out of Rodeth. They’d had trouble with a few members of the Rodethian Army and were more than willing to tell us what they knew.”
“And you trust what they have to say?”
Nykin felt as skeptical as Ryneq. They could easily be more of Seran’s spies.
Nysad scoffed. “No, not at all. But if there’s even a hint of truth in it, then we need to be prepared.”
“Agreed. We can’t afford to ignore it.” Ryneq turned to face Nykin and hesitated.
“If you need to call off—” Nykin started, but Ryneq was quick to interrupt him.
“No. The ceremony will go ahead as planned. But….”
He looked torn, and Nykin refused to be the cause of it.
Ignoring the fact that they weren’t alone—Nysad had seen worse things—Nykin stepped into Ryneq’s space and kissed him. He may have been a little rougher than he’d intended, but he was getting a little angry at the way this day was turning out. If only Seran had met the same fate as Hatak.
“How about this,” Nykin said softly, drawing back to meet Ryneq’s eyes. “We have the ceremony, start the feast, and then you can quietly slip away with whoever you need to discuss this new development with. I’ll stay and celebrate with the riders and the guards.”
Ryneq’s dark eyes searched his for a long time, but Nykin held his gaze. This was exactly the right thing to do, and they both knew it.
“Thank you.”
Ryneq looked like he wanted to say more, but Nysad was starting to shift uncomfortably, and Nykin decided to put him out of his misery.
“We should get going. They’ll be waiting for us.” Nykin felt a frisson of excitement run through him for probably the first time since he’d agreed to go through with this. The enormity of what they were doing finally hit him—he was going to be officially recognized as Ryneq’s chosen partner—this was essentially their wedding day.
Nysad bowed his head to Ryneq and left to take his place for the ceremony. As soon as the door clicked shut, Nykin found himself shoved up against it, with Ryneq’s mouth covering his. “This is becoming a bit of a habit,” Nykin gasped out when Ryneq finally eased up.
Ryneq shrugged unapologetically. “I don’t see you complaining.” He grinned as he moved back a little and tugged Nykin out of the way so they could open the door again. “If we’re late, I’m telling Cerylea it was your fault.”
Nykin laughed and pushed him out into the hallway. “Go.”
They walked along in silence. The palace was eerily quiet for this time of day—most of the people either in the kitchens or out in the palace courtyard waiting for them to arrive. At the entrance to the great hall, Ryneq stopped, a small smile on his face as he turned back to face Nykin. He reached for Nykin’s hand, linking their fingers, and Nykin’s heart stuttered.
“Last chance to change your mind.”
Ryneq was still smiling as he said it, but Nykin knew he was serious.
Nykin shook his head. Now that the moment had arrived, he realized he’d never been surer of anything. “I want this.”
He took a deep breath as Ryneq placed a hand on the heavy wooden doors and pushed. No going back now.
T HE CEREMONY itself seemed to take no time at all. Nykin was a little overwhelmed by the number of people crammed into the courtyard below—it seemed nearly all of Torsere had turned out to see them.
Cerylea looked radiant in a dress of dark emerald, her long blonde hair piled up in a complicated design that defied gravity, and she smiled encouragingly at Nykin as the priest beckoned him and Ryneq forward. A hush fell over the people watching, and Nykin swallowed nervously.
“King Ryneq, ruler of Torsere and protector of its people.” The priest kept Ryneq’s gaze as he spoke, barely glancing at the book he held in his hands. He then turned to face Nykin. “Nykin, bonded rider to the great dragon, Fimor.”
Nykin felt nervous laughter threatening to tumble out at the title, but managed to
“And you trust what they have to say?”
Nykin felt as skeptical as Ryneq. They could easily be more of Seran’s spies.
Nysad scoffed. “No, not at all. But if there’s even a hint of truth in it, then we need to be prepared.”
“Agreed. We can’t afford to ignore it.” Ryneq turned to face Nykin and hesitated.
“If you need to call off—” Nykin started, but Ryneq was quick to interrupt him.
“No. The ceremony will go ahead as planned. But….”
He looked torn, and Nykin refused to be the cause of it.
Ignoring the fact that they weren’t alone—Nysad had seen worse things—Nykin stepped into Ryneq’s space and kissed him. He may have been a little rougher than he’d intended, but he was getting a little angry at the way this day was turning out. If only Seran had met the same fate as Hatak.
“How about this,” Nykin said softly, drawing back to meet Ryneq’s eyes. “We have the ceremony, start the feast, and then you can quietly slip away with whoever you need to discuss this new development with. I’ll stay and celebrate with the riders and the guards.”
Ryneq’s dark eyes searched his for a long time, but Nykin held his gaze. This was exactly the right thing to do, and they both knew it.
“Thank you.”
Ryneq looked like he wanted to say more, but Nysad was starting to shift uncomfortably, and Nykin decided to put him out of his misery.
“We should get going. They’ll be waiting for us.” Nykin felt a frisson of excitement run through him for probably the first time since he’d agreed to go through with this. The enormity of what they were doing finally hit him—he was going to be officially recognized as Ryneq’s chosen partner—this was essentially their wedding day.
Nysad bowed his head to Ryneq and left to take his place for the ceremony. As soon as the door clicked shut, Nykin found himself shoved up against it, with Ryneq’s mouth covering his. “This is becoming a bit of a habit,” Nykin gasped out when Ryneq finally eased up.
Ryneq shrugged unapologetically. “I don’t see you complaining.” He grinned as he moved back a little and tugged Nykin out of the way so they could open the door again. “If we’re late, I’m telling Cerylea it was your fault.”
Nykin laughed and pushed him out into the hallway. “Go.”
They walked along in silence. The palace was eerily quiet for this time of day—most of the people either in the kitchens or out in the palace courtyard waiting for them to arrive. At the entrance to the great hall, Ryneq stopped, a small smile on his face as he turned back to face Nykin. He reached for Nykin’s hand, linking their fingers, and Nykin’s heart stuttered.
“Last chance to change your mind.”
Ryneq was still smiling as he said it, but Nykin knew he was serious.
Nykin shook his head. Now that the moment had arrived, he realized he’d never been surer of anything. “I want this.”
He took a deep breath as Ryneq placed a hand on the heavy wooden doors and pushed. No going back now.
T HE CEREMONY itself seemed to take no time at all. Nykin was a little overwhelmed by the number of people crammed into the courtyard below—it seemed nearly all of Torsere had turned out to see them.
Cerylea looked radiant in a dress of dark emerald, her long blonde hair piled up in a complicated design that defied gravity, and she smiled encouragingly at Nykin as the priest beckoned him and Ryneq forward. A hush fell over the people watching, and Nykin swallowed nervously.
“King Ryneq, ruler of Torsere and protector of its people.” The priest kept Ryneq’s gaze as he spoke, barely glancing at the book he held in his hands. He then turned to face Nykin. “Nykin, bonded rider to the great dragon, Fimor.”
Nykin felt nervous laughter threatening to tumble out at the title, but managed to
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