Chapter 31: the ceremony

THALIA

"Wear this."

Vera, the clothing maid, set a tray before me. Something heavy landed against the wooden table with a soft clink, followed by the rustle of fine fabric. I reached for the nearest piece, my fingers brushing against smooth silk and cool metal.

"What is this?"

Vera stared at me as though my question had tested the last of her patience. Then her eyes fell upon mine, and she seemed to remember. I could not see.

"You are to prepare yourself for the ceremony."

"What ceremony?" I turned toward her. "And why would a slave such as myself be invited to one?"

My heart began to beat faster. Was this another one of Janette's tricks? What had I done this time?

I coughed into my palm, forcing myself to sound weak. "I am ill. Please tell the mistress that I cannot attend. I would not wish to make the others sick."

"Thalia." There was a warning in Vera's voice now. "You have someone to help you dress, do you not?"

"Well, I actually do not—"

"Good. Be ready within the hour. The king ought not be kept waiting, even for a private ceremony."

"What are you—"

The girl turned before I could finish and shut the door in my face.

I stood there in silence, my fingers tightening around the edge of the tray. The king. She had said the king. Then this had something to do with Savior. But why would he summon me to a ceremony? The thought of standing before him again made my stomach twist.

The first time I had told him he was my mate, he had made certain I understood exactly how little that bond meant to him. The humiliation still clung to me. No matter how many days passed, I could not seem to forget it.

I was still standing by the door when Ellie returned. She had gone to bathe and nearly walked straight into me.

"Lia!" she exclaimed, catching herself. "Why are you standing there? I could have run into you." She brushed past me in her damp garment, then stopped. "What is that?"

"Even I would like to know." I sounded so miserable that she sighed.

After I told her what Vera had said, Ellie could only help me dress and wish me luck.

The gown was unlike anything I had ever worn. Its pale silk slipped coolly over my skin before settling into soft layers around my ankles. Fine embroidery traced the sleeves and neckline, delicate enough that I could feel each raised thread beneath my fingertips. A narrow jeweled chain rested against my collarbone, its weight strangely comforting.

When Ellie guided me before the mirror, I could make out only a blurred figure staring back at me. For a moment, I wished I could see clearly. Just once.

Ellie, however, seemed quite pleased with herself. "You look just like my mistress."

I gave a small laugh. "And that is supposed to comfort me?"

"If this is some sort of humiliation ritual," she said, adjusting my sleeve, "then you may as well look beautiful before they begin."

I laughed again despite myself. Her reasoning was ridiculous. Still, when my fingers brushed over the silk, I could not deny it. The dress made me feel pretty. Perhaps that was what frightened me most.

I took my cane and left the room. A guard waited outside. To my surprise, he did not seize my arm or bark an order. He simply offered his hand and guided me through the palace corridors.

My sight had improved slightly since yesterday. Not enough to see clearly, but enough to distinguish colors and shapes where before there had been little more than darkness. It happened in small pieces. A little more each day. I did not know whether to be grateful or afraid.

The guard eventually led me into the throne room. Music drifted through the chamber. The scent of roasted meat, fruit, and spiced wine lingered in the air. A long table had been prepared with an extravagant spread, and several elder Lycans sat in their places beneath the tall banners of the kingdom. Everything seemed almost festive. Almost.

There were no maids. No servants. Only the elders. And the strange arrangement of seats.

Janette sat in her usual place, her fan snapping open and shut in her hand. She was glaring at me. Yet something about her seemed different. Her eyes were swollen. She had been crying.

Savior had not arrived.

The guard guided me to the side of the throne room, where I remained standing. My fingers found the back of an empty chair. There was a seat at the foot of the throne. An empty seat. For whom?

For nearly twenty minutes, I stood there while whispers passed through the chamber. I could not see their faces clearly, but I knew they were speaking about me. Janette's fan snapped shut. Then opened again. Again. Again.

At last, the music stopped.

"The King!"

Every whisper died. I bowed my head. Footsteps sounded against the stone floor. I knew him before he even passed me.

Savior.

I kept my head lowered, afraid he might notice the way my eyes followed him through the haze of my vision. He paid me no heed. He crossed the chamber with the same cold authority he carried everywhere, his robes whispering against the floor. Then he ascended the steps and took his seat upon the throne. He rested his chin against one hand.

As always, he was the only person I could see clearly. His dark eyes. His stern expression. The sharp line of his jaw. The small V of skin beneath the collar of his royal robes.

I stared too long. His gaze shifted. Straight toward me. My heart stumbled. I looked away.

"We are gathered here today for the official declaration of Thalia…" Savior's voice carried through the chamber. He paused. Then his eyes settled on me once more. "Do you have a surname?"

My lips parted. He knew perfectly well that I did.

Before I could answer, he continued. "Thalia Veyra, daughter of no house, is hereby declared the royal breeding mate of the King."