Chapter 50 Chapter 50
The greatroom at House Keltos glittered in anticipation. Rays of late morning filtered through the wide windows, casting jewel-tone patterns on dark wood and silvered trim. Every surface from the glass windows, to the polished floors, to the intricate tapestries, seemed burnished brighter in celebration of the day.
At the head of the long table stood Nyxios, his arm draped naturally around Patrina’s waist. They looked every bit the honored pair: Nyxios poised, his collar and the tattoo at his throat making a visible promise; Patrina beside him, eyes bright, in place of the collar was the purple magic marking.
Quasros raised his glass in silent toast. “To bonds truly chosen,” he said, voice low but clear enough that even the servants at the sideboard stilled to listen.
Thalana lounged at Patrina’s other side, her bobbed hair slicked back and her midnight gown hiding the last of her healing bruises. She grinned, nudging Patrina with a conspiratorial elbow. “Didn’t think you had it in you, you shy thing,” she teased, “But you were something else. Who ever heard of a human stopping a dark elf house war?”
Across from them, Skotos inclined his head politely. He wore the reserved air of a guest tonight, only a faint crinkle at the corner of his eyes betrayed the pleasure he felt as he watched the interplay between Nyxios and Patrina. His fingers brushed lightly against Wynth’s, which rested hidden beneath the tablecloth. The two of them whispered and laughed with each other.
Wynth’s glance caught Patrina’s gaze and tipped her own glass in greeting. “You’re braver than I would have believed,” she said with a gentle smile. “Dark elf tradition is not an easy world for humans to navigate.”
From the far end, Aldergon watched with a mixture of wariness and genuine curiosity. He kept his posture formal, his robes immaculate, but his eyes kept drifting to the purple tattoo now decorating Patrina’s neck. When conversation paused, he cleared his throat. “Miss Warden is, as always, a surprise to her colleagues,” he said, resignation slipping through, “The Archive mourns your absence, but perhaps you have found a new way to be remembered.”
Eliad stood at the door, refusing to sit. He watched the gathering with arms folded, every inch of him tense. He was not angry, only exhausted. When Nyxios inclined his head in silent challenge, Eliad shook his own. “I can’t question her anymore,” he admitted, voice steady. “Not when it’s plain she’s making this decision with clear mind. Even if I dislike your customs, I’ll respect her choice.” The words seemed to surprise even him.
Quasros refilled glasses, the moment brightening as if the room itself exhaled. “Then let us remember this day,” he said. “For House Keltos, for the new companion, and for every future that will come from breaking old expectations.”
Patrina found herself smiling, grateful for the calm, the warmth, and the odd sense of family that had risen from so many battles. Nyxios pressed his lips to her hair, a quick, private gesture that left her cheeks tinged pink.
Around them, laughter grew, spilling over into talk of histories and stories from other Houses. Old rivalries now softened by the promise of the future. Even Aldergon, after a while, let the edges of his disappointment drop and engaged Thalana and Patrina in a debate over dialects. Wynth and Skotos exchanged secret looks, and Eliad, for the first time, relaxed enough to uncross his arms.
“I love you Patrina.” Nyxios said.
“And I love you,” she responded.
For all the city’s watching eyes, only this mattered: that the new union was strong, and that together, they were an example of a respected, powerful love.