When they were finished, Siena picked up Anya's hands in her own and squeezed them affectionately.
"You have been my most trusted companion for almost all of my life, and it honors me to have you here by my side during this…this event that neither of us thought we would ever be a part of." Siena pulled Anya's hands close until she was pressing the palms of them just above her heart. "But by tradition I can no longer choose you to bear the marriage dagger. That honor must go to my sister, Syreena, despite her protests otherwise." Siena's golden gaze flicked up to quell the supporting protest on Syreena's lips. Syreena had felt that Anya deserved this right, no matter whose blood was whose. "It is her right," Siena continued, her eyes warming, softening as she looked from one to the other. "I have longed to honor her in a way that a sister honors a sister. For though she hardly knew me when this ruling journey began, she has earned every reward for her unquestioning loyalty."
"I know, My Queen," Anya said softly, her expression softly amused because they both knew she was not the one who needed the reassurance of such gestures. Despite her constant countenance of independence and confidence, Syreena's heart was a social one, in need of acceptance and supporting love.
Anya pulled her hands free slowly and then turned to face Syreena. The Princess's eyes were closed, and the half-breed gave her a moment. When her dual-colored eyes flicked open at last, the dampness on her lashes glittered like the diamonds of her dress.
The Princess then held out both hands, palms up, while Anya withdrew the ceremonial dagger from its scabbard, the sharp singing of metal ringing off the high ceilings of the bedroom. The sound was echoed by the abrupt stamp of the guards' feet as they suddenly came to perfect attention. All of the guards drew their swords with the echoing song of finely honed blades, slamming them down hard, point first, into the stone floor. Sparks flew as stone chipped away and metal was bent or pitted.
By tradition, all but two of these guards would now spend the night reforging their blades. Supposedly, the heat of the forge was a blessing on the marriage bed, that it be equally well fired and able to mold the future protection of the throne. But the symbolism went deeper than that. The guards would shape new blades to serve the new shape of the regime. A Consort lacked direct ruling power politically and legally, but he was given all the social respects and courtesies of a King.
An equal in all things…except her sovereignty.
Anya placed the dagger on Syreena's fingertips. Syreena bowed in gentle respect.
At about that moment, a chill rushed into the room. The bed curtains and the tapestries that hung around the room began to snap louder and louder as the subterranean breeze grew stronger and stronger. Unable to help herself, Siena breathed a little quicker. Her cheeks flushed, contrasting sharply with her unusually pale complexion. But it only served to flatter her beauty and set up a contrast to the white gown that she wore.
A remarkable sound, like the sound of rolling thunder, reverberated around them. All of the women in the room gasped. There was no such thing as foul weather in a subterranean castle. It seemed to pique everybody's excitement about their soon-to-be-arriving guest. Half of them did not know whether to be afraid, upset, or just plain curious.
The one thing that they did know for sure, however, was that life at court and life in general was never going to be the same again. What that meant exactly was unknown to any and all of them, including the Queen herself. But fate had spoken, and the Queen as well as The Pride had said they must comply. They must welcome yet another Demon into their court.
But such a Demon? The Butcher himself?
Those closest to the Queen would of course accept anything she asked them to, but they feared for her life and for her safety. Growing up on stories of Elijah's infamy had done its damage. Plus, to any Lycanthrope, a Demon was so alien. So different. The women who watched the Queen prepare for this unorthodox wedding were filled with questions that were even now echoing through the court.
Would she be murdered in her sleep? The Queen was a huntress through and through and the warrior Demon would not find her an easy mark, but the Queen was actually excited by this coming prospect, and that was the most confusing part of all. True, the male Demon in the court, the one called Gideon, was a remarkably handsome creature and fascinating for the mind, but he was an educated man of uncommon wit and skill.
One could hardly expect the same from a barbarian who swung a sword and slaughtered enemies for a living. Was he attractive enough to hold the interest of a mate who took the form of the lusty cat? Would he, in fact, be affected by the meshing of the mating and be forced to keep to the Queen's bed only, or would they experience the first royal affair in the history of their race at some point?
Would their chemistry even be compatible enough to provide heirs for the throne? Now this was the most important question. Even with the existence of half-breeds proving that breeding across species was apparently possible, there were no creatures alive in their culture who had been concocted from such a volatile DNA cocktail as Demon and Lycanthrope. What would a blend of the animals and the elements produce, if indeed it could produce anything at all?
That was actually the most fascinating question of all of them. Lycanthropes found mutation interesting and exciting. The more powerful, the better. It was why Syreena was so coveted. This could perhaps be the only aspect of the marriage that would win over the more distant members of their society, who would not be so easy to please or so quick to comply when it came to the topic.
But the Queen had been quite blunt when she had announced her intentions of taking this man to mate. This was a duty, yes, but she had not sobbed and sniffled about it, she had made sure everyone knew it was an arrangement she welcomed quite deeply. She had confessed the doubts she had mulled over these past few days. Then she had told them of her solution. He would only be her Consort and not her King, certainly not their King, and he would be neither if he would not accept that condition.
Many thought he would not accept these terms, by which reasoning they thought they were safe from ending up with a Demon anywhere near the throne. The Demon ego, they thought, especially the ego of such a man, would never be able to tolerate such a lesser position of power. Siena had reminded those who voiced further protests of old traditions, customs which included royal marriages as a way to resolve wars, to secure peaceful borders. And though they were no longer at war with the Demons, the Goddess, in her wisdom, had chosen a way to solidify that peace forever. And for those who most stubbornly persisted to protest with prejudice, Sienna reminded them that it had been her father's acts of terrorism that had forced the Demons to pick up the gauntlet and defend themselves in the first place. This was a convenient fact of history that had been rewritten in a lot of minds over time.
There had been only silence after that last slapdown.
So the wedding was coming to pass.
The guards quickly opened the doors to her chambers, leaving them welcoming and wide as she turned to face them, her aides by her sides. The ladies-in-wait were lined up beside the bed. Siena closed her eyes, her hands nervously sliding over her stomach as she held her breath and felt the wind around her continue to grow.
He was so powerful!
She knew he was at a distance still, but projected a great deal of power and energy before him, perhaps without even realizing it. His race to her side was raising the level of frenetic urgency that he was feeling. She could feel it in his mind, in her mind. The electricity of it was all around her, inside her, sparking through her hair with static charges that sent shivers of anticipation to her spine.
All but two of the guards proceeded out of the room and down the hall, heading for their night at the forge. The two remaining guards moved to stand on either side of the door out in the hallway. The only thing they were to protect, however, was the Queen's privacy on her wedding night. To say that they were perfectly calm would be misrepresenting them. Elijah's entrance was becoming increasingly unsettling.
Siena had been very careful, though. She had made certain that the two guards that remained had never stood in battle against Elijah. There was no chance of them acting on any impulses that could become hostile or unwelcoming. Siena wanted nothing to get in the way of that night.
Too much had come between them already.
She had never thought to be as excited about this as she was, but she realized she could not help herself. As much as she had dreaded taking a mate, she found that the benefits and anticipations that would come with this particular mate actually outweighed her doubts, dreads, and fears. At least they did now that Gideon had provided her with a solution that, while not perfect, had allowed her to come more than halfway.
Now all Elijah had to do was come the rest of the way. His words earlier, so powerful and so sincere, made her feel as though she was looking into his heart. But she could not be certain and she would not be certain until he stood before her and told her with his mouth, his eyes, and everything that he was that this commitment was what he wanted and accepted.
The wind that was her mate was whipping around her by then, causing the thin gowns on the triad of women to snap sharply behind them, blown back and clinging to every feminine curve on their bodies. The ladies-in-wait, made nervous by the display of power, reached to take one another's hands. Soon they were closing the distance between their bodies protectively so that they were all almost squashed up together like an accordion.
For some reason, this made Siena smile.
A moment later, she knew what that reason was.
Elijah coalesced into his imposing form with an impressive twist, standing so close to her that they were nearly toe to toe by the time he became solid. He was such a tall and remarkable figure of a man that all the ladies in the room, even those directly before the Demon, let out involuntary murmurs of surprise. These sounds were followed by soft whispers of speculation that had no place in this particular ritual. However, Siena was far too busy looking up into beautiful, startling green eyes. Eyes so full of emotion, the vastness of which she realized she would never be able to touch upon in the span of that mere second. She found herself swallowing hard, although her entire mouth and throat had gone completely dry.