Chapter 228 Horseflesh and Happiness
ETAN (One Month Later)
Etan stood, his entire body thrumming with impatience, as Quwan called to the gathered nobles and told them that the Queen was expected any moment, and to please be patient and ensure they left the aisle open for her to reach the King.
Etan sighed and opened and closed his fists, unable to stand still. Upstairs, he knew, Ayleth was almost ready. He could feel her through the bond—feel how close she was.
The strength of her love and the ache—for him!—always left him breathless. She loved him with all of her being. It was humbling and frightening, and the most precious gift he'd ever been given. And the one he almost lost.
He still gave in to a cold sweat whenever he let himself dwell on it. He'd barely given thought to the healing wound in his back—and his lungs—where the shard from that awful vial had pierced his back. But whenever he remembered Ayleth, on the ground, wide-eyed and dying, it slid under his skin just like that weapon that had tried to fell him.
Since that fateful day that her mother had appeared in the garden, Ayleth had walked from strength to strength—demonstrating poise under pressure with the Council, facing harsh criticism and questions from the citizens, face to face, and without guards. She'd followed Etan's example of trust, and the people had, eventually, loved her for it.
She'd announced her claim to the Zenithran throne, now that both her parents were taken prisoner—and she'd proclaimed mercy on them in the heart of the Peace Accord.
She had handled herself with aplomb, and despite all the stresses and pressures—and a body that needed time to heal—she'd been at his side every night, loving him.
He did not deserve her, but he loved her to his bones.
There, now, he'd been apart from her since morning—the longest they'd spent away from each other since they'd arrived in the Palace City.
He ached to be close to her again. She had to have bewitched him—an off color joke that he would not share.
He had not been poisoned. On the contrary he felt as if he might walk straight off the earth and into the clouds.
If only she would show up!
"Poor, sad, little future-King," a deep, yet somehow needling voice sighed.
Etan rolled his eyes and turned.
Borsche, stood behind him, grinning.
"Keep your jabs to yourself," he muttered, folding his hands at his waist so he'd stop giving away his impatience.
"Of course, Your Highness." Borsche gave a mocking, overly fussy bow. "No one is happier than me to see you two renew your vows in public. Frankly, I couldn't believe she was willing to do it the first time. Now I can stop defending you against all the accusations that you must have blackmailed her into taking you," he chuckled. "Or maybe she just wants your throne?"
"She's not marrying him—again—for his good looks," Falek muttered from behind him. They both turned to look at the man, whose face was serious, but his eyes twinkling. "She really just wants his horseflesh."
Etan had gotten in touch with Trystan and arranged a new mare for Ayleth after hers had been lamed by the travel.
Borsche opened his mouth with a quip that Etan knew with certainty would not be in good taste, so he raised his hand and glared. "Don't say it."
"What?" Borsche snorted, but Etan was already distracted.
The music was beginning yet the hall had gone quiet, which meant she must be on the landing over their heads. And now… now that blasted tugging had begun in his chest again.
It took everything within him not to run to the top of the stairs and walk her down himself. It didn't seem right that she would walk alone—what if she tripped?
Borsche caught his arm. "Just wait, Stallion King. She'll be fine."
"I don't fear for her safety, I yearn to be near her," Etan muttered.
"Ah, yes, the ever-urgent quest for love," Borsche said with a small smile. "You have won the best the Father has to offer, my friend."
"I know." Etan cut him a sidelong look. A shadow passed behind Borsche's eyes, and Etan was reminded of the strange tension in Falek.
Both men had vowed never to marry or have a family of his own so that his loyalty to the Heir would never be threatened.
After hearing Ayleth's tale of what had occurred in the Fortress City, Etan hadn't yet found the courage to ask his friend if he'd ever regretted the decision.
"I want you to know, Etan," Borsche said quietly, "that I know they would have loved her, if they'd had the chance."
Etan felt as if his friend had thrown a bucket of winter river water over his head. His throat pinched and he swallowed.
Borsche clapped him on the shoulder and they both turned as the people began to part to make way for the vision that was their new Queen—and the wicked, cheeky smile on her face when her eyes landed on Etan's.
"Only the Father could have arranged it," Borsche whispered as she approached. "You know it has to be a miracle."
"I know, He saved her," Etan said, his eyes drinking in the sight of his beautiful wife.
Borsche huffed a laugh. "That's not what I meant—remember your list? A diamond among women, you said. And one that can ride. I was far more realistic: I just asked that her face not resemble a horse's. Though, come to think of it, that might have been more appropriate for the Stallion King."
Borsche cut a look at Falek, who coughed to cover a laugh.
But Etan didn't care about their jibes, or the tears he saw Falek blinking away.
Diamond indeed. His whole being was taken with the sight of Ayleth approaching, and before the men could stop him, he'd bolted from the platform to stand at the bottom of the stairs and take her hand. He looked like a gentleman, he knew, but in truth, he just hadn't been able to wait a moment longer to touch her.
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