Chapter 3 The Bride Who Ends Worlds
The soldiers kept glancing back as they marched Darius toward the ancient Marriage Ground. Torches sputtered in the night wind.
"You really said that?" the same muttering guard asked, voice low. "To me? About surviving you?"
Darius walked between them, cloak flapping. "Words are cheap. Actions cost more. You lot brought me here to die. Figured I'd return the honesty."
The envoy rode ahead on a nervous horse. "Silence in the ranks. The rite begins soon. Let the weak prince enjoy his final breaths."
They crested the ridge. Stone pillars rose from the earth in a wide circle, carved with warnings no one had heeded in centuries. Braziers burned with green flame. Dozens of imperial officials and local witnesses stood at a safe distance, faces pale in the sickly light. No one stepped closer than twenty paces to the center.
There she waited.
Mara.
A woman of perfect, unnatural stillness. Skin like moonlight on old bone. Eyes the color of infected gold, fixed on nothing and everything at once. Black robes moved as if underwater even when the wind died. The air around her felt heavier, thicker, wrong.
The envoy dismounted and bowed low from afar. "Plague Incarnate. The empire delivers your husband. Darius Valeborn, as commanded."
Mara said nothing. She simply looked at the approaching group. Several officials took another step back.
Darius stopped at the edge of the circle. The soldiers prodded him forward but refused to cross the last line themselves.
"Well," Darius said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "This is dramatic. All these torches and pillars for one wedding. You do this for every groom, or am I special?"
A ripple of shocked murmurs spread through the witnesses. The envoy's face twisted in anger. "Fool! Kneel before the Calamity!"
Darius stayed on his feet. He looked straight at Mara. "They told me you'd kill me on touch. That no one lasts an hour. That true?"
Mara's head turned slightly. Her golden eyes settled on him for the first time. She still didn't speak.
He took one step into the circle. "Name's Darius. Third son. Exiled. Record keeper now, mostly. I make decent tea. Not much else to recommend me, according to everyone here."
The envoy sputtered. "This is blasphemy. The rite demands silence until the binding!"
"Rite seems flexible," Darius answered, still watching Mara. "You've stood here how many times? Waiting for men to drop dead at your feet? Must get boring after a few centuries."
A priest in dark robes hissed from the sidelines, "Do not address the goddess directly, wretch!"
Mara lifted one hand slowly. The movement was graceful, inevitable. The green flames in the braziers flickered lower.
Darius stepped closer. "They framed this as a joke. Political insult to my bloodline. Send the weakest prince to die. But I'm here asking anyway. Rough day for you too?"
One official whispered loudly, "He's mad. Completely mad."
Another answered, "He'll be dead in moments. Let him talk."
Mara's voice came then, quiet, like dust settling after a collapse. "They always talk. Then they die."
Her tone carried no triumph. Just fact.
Darius nodded. "Fair enough. Different approach this time. I brought tea." He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small sealed packet. "From the last good caravan. Figured if we're doing this marriage thing, might as well start with something normal. You drink?"
The silence that followed felt alive. The entire crowd held its breath.
Mara stared at the packet in his hand. Then at his face. "You offer me tea."
"Seems polite," Darius said. "Better than screaming or begging. I've read the old records. Not many people try conversation first."
A guard behind him whispered desperately, "Sir, he's actually walking toward her."
Darius stopped an arm's length away. Close enough to see the faint lines of exhaustion around those golden eyes. Close enough to feel the wrongness in the air, like every breath carried tiny warnings.
"They expect me to die tonight," he told her. "Probably before midnight. What do you expect?"
Mara regarded him for a long moment. "I expect nothing anymore."
"That's a start." Darius extended his hand, palm up. Not grabbing. Just offering. "We could try the tea first. Or we could do whatever this ritual demands. Your choice. I'm not going anywhere until you decide."
The envoy shouted from outside the circle, "Complete the binding! Touch her and end this farce!"
Mara looked past Darius at the crowd, then back to him. Something shifted in her stillness.
Darius reached out and took her hand.
The contact was immediate. Skin against skin. Her fingers were cool, almost cold.
The crowd gasped as one. Several people stumbled backward. A priest dropped his staff. The envoy's horse reared.
They waited.
For the black blood. For the rot. For the screams.
Nothing happened.
Darius stood there, holding the hand of the Plague Goddess, breathing steady. Mara stared at their joined hands like she'd never seen anything so strange in three thousand years.
He didn't fall.
He didn't die.