She desperately wanted to believe it wouldn’t last long. She needed to know the foggy malaise would lift, and she would find her feet again. For that moment, however, the path she should take was completely obscured. Living in uncertainty never sat well with her.
“Lady Arden?” A man’s voice accompanied a knock at the door. “It’s time.”
She gripped Paitra’s hand, sudden terror coming over her. “I can’t do this.”
She extracted herself and leveled a stern gaze at her charge. “You are the Lady Arden Tanarien. There is nothing you can’t do.”
Without allowing any time to argue, she opened the door, revealing four guards in gleaming suits of golden armor. Behind Arden in an instant, Paitra picked up the end of the long silver cloak before prodding her in the back to urge her forward. On shaky legs, Arden took her last steps out of her room as the mere daughter of a duke, wondering how it would feel to enter those chambers as a princess.
The walk down to the throne room flew by in a hazy dream, over before she could fully commit it to memory, but the intricately carved and gilded double doors, higher than three men were tall, she was sure she would see in her nightmares for years to come. There, a king dead for three centuries rose up on horseback, towering over not only the twisted monsters crushed at his feet, but her as well. His unblinking eyes bore into her, finding her unworthy to stand before him.
Inside, a trumpet fanfare sounded, and the doors opened inward, revealing a crowd of strange faces waiting to pass their own judgments. No herald proclaimed her entrance, and Arden only moved when the two front guards began the march forward.
Where the walk to the throne room seemed faster than a heartbeat, the procession to the front dragged by in endless torture. A thousand eyes peered at her from either side of the Marillion blue carpet down the center, and more from the stone balconies above. Arden avoided everyone’s stare, instead focusing on her efforts not to trip or vomit from sheer nerves. The throne loomed in the distance, up the creamy stone steps to the platform at the end. Milky white and gold blurred together in her vision as she said a silent prayer that she not faint until she was safely away. Skipping lunch had been a poor decision, but had she eaten she would have thrown up for sure.
At the base of the stairs, the ceremonial guards parted to either side, and Paitra released her cloak, leaving the remainder of the journey to Arden alone. What came next? She couldn’t remember a thing she’d been told.
Duke Ingram stepped out from beside the throne, a page bearing a blue satin pillow coming from the opposite side to meet him. The duke stopped dead center on the dais, looking out over the crowd.
“Lords and ladies, commoners and honored guests alike, today, we see the elevation of one amongst you who will help guide us on the path of restoring our great nation. With intelligence, kindness, and grace in all things, let her be an example to all of us. Let her be the hope we need in these trying times, our light as we fight back the darkness and repair what’s been broken. Today, let us lift not one, but two paragons above all.”
His gaze fell down to her and he extended his hand, beckoning her up the steps. “Lady Arden of the House Tanarien, daughter to Duke Magnus and Duchess Cora Tanarien, come forth.”
Iron, steel, granite, gold. Iron, steel, granite, gold.
Arden repeated the phrase silently to herself as she set one foot in front of the other, steadily making her way up the steps. Two from the top, he flashed her a brief hand signal to halt.
“Kneel, Lady Arden.”
Beyond the ability to do anything but what she was told, she took a knee, bowing her head. The weight of a diadem settled on her hair, the metal cold against her scalp.
“And rise, Her Royal Highness Princess Arden Neveiya Tanarien, promised to the crown and Light of Valentia.”
Taking his offered hand, as she was surely going to fall down the ten unforgiving steps in standing on her own, Arden rose and finished the ascent, taking the place of the page who had presented the tiara she wore. She looked out on the crowd, posture straight, chin high— but not too high— and the best possible smile she could manage without retching her breakfast onto the stairs.
She was a princess.
In a week, she’d be married.
And then, she’d be queen of Valentia.
Someday, she hoped it would all make sense.
Darius
Darius scratched at his shoulder for the millionth time, but it provided no relief from the itchy gold fibers of his tunic. How anyone ever managed to wear such things all the time and maintain their sanity was incomprehensible. Unbidden, he heard Ingram’s voice in his head, telling him to leave it be as he reached up to scratch his neck where the tight collar wrapped around the bottom of his throat. Strange that he could hear him when he’d been almost completely absent aside from the council meetings and event briefings of the last week. Likely Darius missed the constant nagging.
Despite his reluctance, coronation day was upon him, and he waited for the doors to the throne room to open with heavy resignation. When the cheer went up inside, he knew it was nearly time. Arden would have her new title, and it was only a matter of moments before he joined her.
At the sound of trumpets, the doors parted and his march amidst a company of twelve soldiers began. Their ceremonial armor made a terrible racket as they went, and it created an odd cadence ringing from the stone walls as the guards kept perfect pace with one another. Honestly, he envied them their suits. While it might’ve been noisy and not battle-worthy, he’d have been far more comfortable in that than the expensive and stiff fabrics he was forced to wear.
The procession stopped with a clanking halt at the base of the steps leading to the throne. Precisely on cue, the guards turned on their heels, facing out towards the walls, and took two steps before their about face. At a call to attention from Duke Ingram, the men unsheathed their swords, saluting and forming an arch of metal.
“As Regent of Valentia,” he began, “it fell to me to seek out the heir to the throne. When King Ledas perished three years ago, it seemed the entire nation might fall into chaos with a civil war on one hand, and the rising tide of darkness on the other. I never imagined to find the only surviving Marillion amidst the skilled agents of a shadow company, unaware the nation he fought for was rightfully his to command. Orphaned during an attack of Torn Ones, a babe was rescued and placed with other refugee children. Given nothing in life he did not have to fight for, the child grew to be one of the mightiest warriors this world has seen in generations. With wits and a mastery of combat tactics, he took charge of an army when our leaders fell at Orinda Valley. He has proven himself capable of guiding and inspiring all around him, making us all stronger, better for his presence. Today, he becomes a paragon not only for the blood in his veins, but the courage and tenacity of his spirit. Let us raise him up, that he may reforge our broken nation to wholeness once more!”
Another figure emerged from the side of the dais, bearing the crown of Valentia between her small hands. Arden was the picture of royal bearing, so sure of herself and of what she was capable. Darius envied her solid foundation. How much easier her life must’ve been in knowing what she wanted.
“Prince Darius Marillion, nephew of King Ledas Marillion, come forth!”
His focus on Arden, he held on to what she represented. Even with a million eyes upon him, her blue orbs pulled at him. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful, it was a quality she exuded from every inch of herself, every word and movement. In her, he could see the things he might’ve been had his life been different. She saw the world in a way he never had: full of hope. As he halted near the top, he met her eyes, sending her an unspoken promise he wished she could hear.
For you, I will try.
“Kneel, Prince Darius.”
He took a knee and dropped his gaze to the floor. The crown met his head with the gentlest of touches
, her fingertips brushing his ear when she pulled away. A sensation he never thought to feel again stirred inside him for the briefest of moments, then vanished as petals on a breeze.
“And rise, King Darius Adriel Marillion, ruler of Valentia and protector of its people!”
The applause was thunderous and immediate. He rose from the step to stand beside Ingram, but he could feel Arden’s presence behind him. How was she feeling in the midst of it all? A crown thrust upon her along with a man who didn’t love her… It was all he could do not to turn and offer her comfort. But what good would that do? His words held little value to her, of that he was sure.
Ingram cleared his throat, a slight tilt to his head indicating Darius should say something. In his preoccupation with Arden, he all but forgot what he prepared.
“I’m not much for speeches,” he began, taking a deep breath. “I’m a man of action. To me, failure to move forward has always meant certain death. It is in that way I intend to lead you, not to disregard our history, but to continue down paths laid by our ancestors in hopes that future generations will find a better way for all. Our actions define us more than our words, and it is with my actions that I intend to see Valentia made whole again. Still, I am but one man, and no matter how much power or strength any one man has, he is nothing without others beside him. Even in small ways, every one of us can do our part. So, I ask you now, not as your king, but as one of you, will you help clear the way forward? Will you stand united against those who would see us ground into dust before them? Will you join me in searching for peace, for solutions, for healing for every last soul within the bounds of our wounded country?”
The shouts of solidarity rang from the ceiling, guests raising their fists in shows of dedication. Vennic had been confident those words would push them to cheer, but Darius hadn’t expected such an overwhelming response.
He held up his hands, quieting them slowly until they were still once more. “Then I am with you, all of you. And I swear before the old gods and new, I will do everything within my power to see Valentia rise from the ashes of war. We go together, and together, we cannot fail.”
Their voices lifted again, accompanied by waves of applause that nearly shook the ground below him. Stunned, he couldn’t believe how so many could have so much faith in him. He looked to Ingram, as surprised to see admiration in his eyes as he was to hear the support from the guests. Heart hammering, he turned to Arden, nervous about what expression she would wear.
She searched his face, her lips slightly parted in uncertainty. But it was not disappointment he felt at her reaction. To him, it was a challenge. Words and deeds often conflicted. He would prove to her that he meant everything he said.
With a deep bow, he sealed his promise and offered her his arm. Whether or not she knew of his vow, she answered it with a curtsy of her own before resting her hand atop his, her touch as light as air. Her smile returned, but it was the one she wore as a mask.
He had glimpsed beyond that façade. He’d heard the music of her laughter.
Perhaps someday, he would earn more than those small glances.
Chapter 13
Arden
“Stars, I think I’m going to be sick,” Arden said as she rushed to the bathing room, hand over her mouth.
Elena and Paitra were on her heels, one removing her tiara, the other sweeping up her hair as she leaned over the water basin and heaved. Gripping the edges of the small table, she kept her eyes pinched shut, fighting back another wave of nausea.
It was a battle she didn’t win.
Neither did she win the other two.
Paitra rubbed her back in slow, gentle circles as she talked her down. She was going to be all right. She could get through it. Soon, life would fall into a predictable rhythm and it wouldn’t overwhelm her anymore.
“There you go,” Elena offered a warm wet cloth, dabbing at Arden’s face when she didn’t take it. “It’s over now. You made it. See? Not a trip or a mistake anywhere in sight.”
She groaned and took the cloth, retreating back to her bedroom. “All I see is one big mistake, Elena. What are they thinking, making me queen? I’m falling apart over a tiara. How will I possibly handle a crown?”
Elena followed her out while Paitra saw to the mess, wonderful woman she was. “You’ll handle it fine. It’ll be scary at first, but you’re quick to adjust and adapt.”
She flopped back on the bed, staring up at the cream-colored canopy. “Sugar shortages and picking up a few medical skills are one thing. Helping oversee a country? That’s worlds away. Gods know what’ll happen if I fail. People could live or die by my word. That isn’t a responsibility I want.”
“Like it or not, it’s your reality now,” Paitra said, striding across the room. She stopped in front of the bed. “Sit up.”
“I can’t. I’m ill.”
“Stop being so obstinate. Sit.”
Groaning, Arden pushed herself up to have a cup thrust in her face.
“Drink that.”
She wrinkled her nose at the thick, pungent smell of the liquid. “Ew. No.”
“It’ll calm your nerves and settle your stomach. Don’t be a child.”
Making a face of disgust, she took the cup. She turned from it to take a deep breath before guzzling it as fast as she could, gagging on the bitter, roasted taste of the brew. “Gods. What was in that awful stuff?”
Her lips turned up in a wry grin. “You don’t want to know.”
“We do have to fix you up again, you realize,” Elena said, already heading for the dressing room. “You’ll be expected at the reception in less than an hour.”
Arden smacked her lips, hoping to get the taste out of her mouth. “Do you think every day will be like this, with the constant changing of clothes and hair and all this nonsense? It exhausts me. I don’t know how either of you stand it.”
“It’s better work than some other alternatives,” Paitra said, prodding her to the other room to get ready.
An hour later, she stood before the full-length mirror, amazed she wasn’t back at the basin throwing up Paitra’s tonic. She wasn’t the same girl she’d been a year ago, that much was clear. The royal blue of House Marillion draped her curves, a silver bustier pushing things into shapes she was sure wasn’t natural.
“Is it…” she frowned at the low, square neckline of her dress. “Are you sure it’s proper to show this much… well, this much me? I’m afraid I’m going to fall out of this thing. Not very princess-like, that.”
Paitra laughed. “None of you is going anywhere as secure as that boning is. And it’s fine. It’s the newest fashion, modeled after the court of Danumbar.”
“I don’t live in Danumbar. I’m the Light of Valentia, remember? This hardly seems appropriate.”
“Well, it’s too late now,” Elena said. “Don’t forget this.”
She lifted up on her toes, positioning the tiara in Arden’s woven tresses. She’d not gotten a chance to study it before, but when she looked at the mirror again, she gasped. A hundred or more glittering amolita crystals gleamed at her from the diadem, the largest teardrop stone in the center holding the perfect star-shaped refraction of light no matter the angle. Eight marquise cut sapphires of the deepest blue sat four to either side along the top row, their color perfectly matching the hue and sheen of her dress. Even her eyes looked a richer shade, as though she were some strange, enchanted creature.
“My lady… Your Highness, I mean, may I tell you something?”
She nodded, mutely staring at her reflection.
Elena squeezed her shoulders. “When I say you’ll do well as queen, it’s not flattery. This tiara, it’s not ordinary. It’s elven-made, enchanted to show a person’s inner strength and beauty, revealing them as they are. I was surprised Duke Ingram used this one, as not all could wear it without consequence, but I think that speaks to the faith he ha
s in you. By all the evidence, that faith is well-placed.”
Arden bit her lip, willing her eyes not to tear up and spoil the cosmetics on her face. Such kind, honest words. Such trust. Did she truly deserve it?
“Enough of that.” Paitra smiled and pulled her away from the mirror. “You mustn’t cry and mess up all our hard work.”
They bustled her out into the hall in time to see her mother emerging from her rooms with someone following behind. Arden froze when she realized who it was, and, completely throwing all propriety to the wind, rushed over to throw herself into her father’s arms.
“Papa! You’re here!”
At first stunned by the display, he relaxed immediately and laughed, hugging her tight. “I tried to get here sooner, love. I’m so sorry I missed the ceremony. Bad weather delayed us two full days.”
“It’s all right. You’re here now.” Seeing her father again, feeling his strong, steady arms around her, she didn’t know how badly she missed him until that moment.
He stepped back to look at her from an arms’ length away. “Arden… you’re a vision. Have I been away so long that you’re an entirely new person?”
Blushing, she shook her head. “Don’t be silly. I’m still the same me I’ve always been.”
His gaze drifted up, eyes that matched her own settling on her tiara. “I can’t imagine a soul better suited to that.”
She waved her hands about, wanting to avoid the topic if at all possible. “Never mind that. How are things in Maer? Were you able to make any progress?”
Her mother sighed and shooed her off down the hall. “Now’s hardly the time to discuss that mess, Arden. People are waiting to see you.”
Relenting, she waited for them to lead the way, but they simply stared expectantly.
“What? Are we waiting for an escort?”
“It’s your lead now, Arden,” her mother said. “Procession by rank.”
With a start, it dawned on her that she was the one to go first, as determined by her new title. “Oh. Of course. Shall we, then?”
Tempered Hearts (Hearts of Valentia Book 1) Page 12