Chapter 248 TEIGEN LXXVIII
Each stroke of the quill sent a faint throb through her palms, but she bore it without a flinch. The sting was almost penance — for pride, for anger, for whatever misstep had set fire to the fragile thread between herself and the man she was to marry.
Across from her, the royal scribe, Mistress Helena, sat upright and stern. Her iron-gray hair was coiled tightly beneath a modest cap, and the spectacles perched on her nose gleamed every time she glanced down at Audrey’s work.
“Again, my lady,” Helena instructed, tapping the parchment lightly with her quill. “Your vow must flow as both promise and prayer. Read the first line once more — with meaning.”
Audrey inhaled, her voice steady though soft.
“In aeternum te colam et serviam, sicut sol servit diei.”
Helena nodded approvingly. “Good. And the meaning, my lady?”
Audrey’s lips curved faintly. “Forever shall I cherish and serve thee, as the sun serves the day.”
She paused, eyes tracing the inked lines. The phrase had felt distant at first — one of many ceremonial utterances she was required to memorize for the wedding mass — but as the syllables rolled from her tongue, something in them tugged at her chest.
She could almost see Darius standing before her in the great hall, the crown of the Empire gleaming above him, his wolf-gold eyes softened with warmth.
He would take her hand and say the same words, his deep voice steady with conviction. And perhaps, just perhaps, the pain of that awful night by the fireplace would fade like smoke.
“Beautiful,” Helena murmured, breaking
Audrey’s reverie. “Now the second passage. This one should speak of union — of two souls bound beneath the blessing of the gods.”
Audrey dipped her quill into the inkwell and began to write again, whispering the words as she went: “Duo corda, una anima, sub caelo benedicta.”
Her gaze softened. “Two hearts, one soul, blessed beneath the heavens.”
Helena smiled, her thin lips curling into the faintest sign of approval. “You have a natural rhythm for the language, my lady. The king will be pleased.”
At that, Audrey’s hand faltered. The quill left a small blot of ink on the parchment.
The king, Darius. The name sent a flicker of something — heat, resentment, longing — through her. It had been days since she had last seen him.
She had kept to her chambers, claiming exhaustion, though in truth she had been avoiding him.
She still saw it clearly — the fireplace, the book, the moment his temper flared and the pages were lost to flame. The sting of heat as she reached for it, desperate to save the truth he refused to tell her.
Her palms ached now, as if the memory alone rekindled the burn.
“My lady?” Helena’s voice drew her back.
Audrey blinked, composing herself. “Forgive me, I was… distracted.”
Helena gave a soft hum of disapproval but said no more. She returned to her notes, muttering under her breath about focus and duty.
Audrey resumed writing, this time a third and final line, her script steady but her heart uneven. “Amor meus, lumen meum, in te invenio quietem.”
Helena lifted her brow. “And that means?”
Audrey’s voice dropped to a near whisper.
“My love, my light, in thee I find my rest.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. The air between them shimmered with unspoken sentiment.
Then, from somewhere behind them, came the low creak of the great library doors.
Helena frowned. Visitors were rare during morning study.
Audrey glanced over her shoulder, quill still in hand, as the heavy oak doors eased open to reveal a tall man framed by sunlight. He wore no crown, no mantle of state — only a simple cream tunic of fine weave, sleeves rolled to his forearms. The faint scent of sandalwood and smoke accompanied him as he stepped inside.
Her heart gave an involuntary flutter.
Darius. But Mistress Helena had never seen the king in so unassuming a state.
“Excuse me, sir!” Helena barked, her quill snapping upright like a spear. “This is a private royal session! No courtiers or attendants are permitted during the princess’s study hours. You will remove yourself at once!”
Audrey bit her lip to keep from laughing.
The scribe’s tone, sharp and authoritative, had silenced ministers and frightened servants. But now it was being hurled at the most powerful man in the Empire.
Darius, for his part, only raised an amused brow. “My sincerest apologies, madam,” he said with an incline of his head. “I was under the impression the lady was expecting me.”
“She is not!” Helena snapped, standing now, her parchment fluttering to the floor. “And furthermore—”
Audrey could not hold it in any longer. A small giggle escaped her lips, breaking the tension like glass.
Helena turned on her. “My lady, this is no laughing matter—”
Audrey lifted a trembling hand. “M–Mistress Helena… forgive me, but…” she glanced toward Darius, whose eyes glittered with suppressed laughter, “you are… scolding His Majesty.”
The silence that followed could have frozen the sun itself.
Helena blinked once. Then twice. Her quill clattered to the floor. “His—His Majesty?” she squeaked, colour draining from her face. “Oh saints above… forgive me, Your Majesty! I did not—oh heavens, I have reprimanded the King—”
Darius chuckled lowly, stepping closer. “There is nothing to forgive, Mistress Helena. In truth, I am in need of more such honesty in my council. Please, carry on. Perhaps you might also remind my generals to mind their manners.”
The poor scribe’s knees nearly gave way. “Your Grace, I—no, I cannot—”
Audrey, cheeks flushed from laughter, stood and set her quill down. “Your Majesty,” she said with mock formality, eyes twinkling.
Darius turned to her, smirk softening into something tender. “My lady.”
He reached for her hand, brushing his lips across her knuckles, mindful of the white bandages that still swathed her palms.
Helena made a sound halfway between a gasp and a squeak. "I… shall leave you to Your Majesty’s visit,” she stammered, gathering her scrolls in trembling hands. “The gods preserve us all.” And with that, she fled the library, robes flapping behind her.