Chapter 146 A Priceless Token
Damien
The village gathers around her the way warmth gathers around a flame. It happens without an order barked or a bell rung, just the natural pull of people who have watched her walk through their lives like a storm and now want to stand close to something gentle. Bella stands in the centre of it all with her cheeks pink from excitement and laughter, her hair already being fussed over by someone’s hands, her left hand lifted again and again as if the ring has become the village’s newest attraction. They circle her in loose layers, boots scuffing the packed snow, shoulders brushing, voices rising and falling like waves. Someone grabs her wrist softly and turns her hand toward the light. Someone else leans in to get a better look at the stone, making a quiet sound of approval.
“It suits you,” an older woman says, her hands clasped in front of her apron.
Bella laughs, bright and surprised, and it sets off another ripple of smiles. She turns, half trapped, half thriving, answering everyone at once with that particular Bella talent of making a crowd feel like a simple conversation.
“You’re all going to make me cry,” she says, and then she tilts her head toward the boy who tries to squeeze between two adults to get closer. “You included.”
The boy freezes, as if he’s been caught stealing. He stares up at her, eyes wide, blushes and then darts away again, face burning. Ashlyn stays glued to Bella’s side, one hand hovering near her elbow like she’s ready to physically fight anyone who attempts to steal the bride for even a moment. She points at people while she talks, loud and delighted, swearing like she’s blessing them.
Red stands a few paces back, already in her element. She has a notepad and a piece of charcoal. I think she is writing names like she’s drafting a battle plan, except the battle is flowers, seating arrangements, and whatever terrifying thing women do when they decide to have a wedding.
“Name,” Red says, as a man steps forward with a bundle of straight-cut timber balanced on his shoulder.
“Harris,” he answers.
“What can you do?”
“Build. Fix. Whatever you need.”
Red writes it down, neat and quick. “Good. You’re on tables and benches.”
The man looks startled, then pleased, like he just got promoted. Another woman steps in with a basket draped in cloth. The smell of honey and spice drifts out when she lifts the edge to show Bella.
“I can bake,” she says, and her eyes flick down to the ring, then back to Bella’s face. “I’ll do pastries, for the morning or for the feast. Whatever you want.”
Bella’s mouth parts. She looks like she’s about to refuse out of habit, then she catches herself, glancing around at all of them, and she lifts her chin.
“Okay,” she says, and there is something solid in it. “Yes, please. That sounds incredible.”
The woman beams, already turning away, likely to plan catering for a thousand people. A younger villager with paint under his nails offers to make banners—a man with a voice that carries offers to sing. Someone else offers candles, and another offers ribbons, and another to lend a cart and a pair of strong horses for hauling things down the slope. Bella keeps laughing, breath puffing in soft clouds, hands flying as she answers. Bella reaches out to touch shoulders, fingers curling around wrists in brief squeezes, face open in a way she rarely allows a crowd to see. She accepts offers as gifts, not burdens. She says thank you so often that it becomes a rhythm, and Red’s charcoal moves faster, writing everything down. Ashlyn keeps making noises as if she might combust with joy. While Gilfred watches from his fence post, head tilted, chirping every time someone says the word cake or treat. I stand where the edge of the crowd gives me space, and I let the scene settle into my sight, desperately trying to commit it to memory. The ring flashes every time Bella lifts her hand. The villagers follow it like moths. Bella’s smile never entirely leaves her mouth, even when she groans at something Ashlyn says and buries her face in her scarf for a heartbeat. Then a slight movement catches my attention near my boots. A child stands there. A little girl, maybe seven, bundled in a thick coat, curls escaping from a knitted hat. She stares up at me with the blunt seriousness children carry like a weapon. In her hands is a small object wrapped in cloth. She holds it up.
“For you,” she says.
I crouch at her height, and I open my hands slowly.
“What is it?” I ask.
She unwraps the cloth with careful fingers and reveals a carved wooden token. A dragon that's rough around the edges, but unmistakable. Its wings are spread, its mouth is open like its mid-roar.
“I made it,” she says, as if daring me to argue.
My fingers close around it. The wood is still warm from her hands.
“It’s perfect,” I tell her.
She watches my face like she is looking for a lie.
I hold the token to my chest and incline my head. “Thank you, I think this is one of the best gifts I have received.”
She gasps, holding her hands to her mouth before she whispers loudly. "You can't say that! The queen is supposed to be the best gift ever."
I laugh. "You're right, she is."
Her shoulders loosen as she lets out a dramatic exhale, and she nods once, satisfied, before she runs off before anyone can see her smile. The noise keeps rolling behind me, laughter and voices layered together, but for a moment I’m still crouched low with the rough little token warm against my palm. I stand slowly, tucking it into the inside of my coat and look across the crowd. Bella throws her head back and laughs at something Ashlyn says, and the ring flashes once more. Then I notice a boy hovering at the edge, holding something in both hands, waiting for his turn. He looks nervous and shy, constantly being pushed back further and further. My heart twists for him as I start walking over. He definitely deserves to see his queen.