Page 22 of The Moon Blessed King
‘None of this matters,’ Fen chokes out.
‘What you did today – mattered,’ Adalei says. ‘It mattered a great deal, to a great many people. And it mattered to me. I will never forget it. But I will ask, what will you do next?’
Adalei releases her hand. She is going to leave. Fen says: ‘I said something horrible to Lio. I accused him of being the reason Elician got hurt. I didn’t mean it. I was angry and I just said it. I didn’t think.’
‘Then apologize,’ Adalei tells her, with no condemnation at all. ‘And do better.’ She walks away, leaving Fen standing there with a new thought replacing all the horrible ones that came before.What is one thing I can do that matters, and how can I make things right?
She makes her way back to her room. Guards and variousresidents of the palace bow their heads when they see her, but no one speaks. Everyone has a job to do here. Everyone has a mission. And Adalei is right. Fen is without a purpose. Tolerated but not wanted, and always out of place amongst the quagmire of politics.
Returning to her room, Fen sits at her desk. She glares at the letter King Aliamon left her. She shoves it to the side and draws a fresh sheet of parchment in front of her instead.What can I do?
She’s not much good at anything, save being opinionated. She has a great deal of opinions. And right now, whether anyone listens to her or not: opinionsarethings that matter. Elician needs the court on his side, and Cat…Alestneeds the people of Alelune to want him on the throne in lieu of his brother.
But no one in Alelune even knows he exists. Not really.
Fen may not be the most effusive writer – she does not have Elician’s poet’s touch – but this does not need poetry. It needs honesty. Earnestness. Someone who actually knows the person she is writing about, and believes in them. Even if none of them believe in her. She lowers pen to page and she starts to write.
On this, the thirteenth day of Harvestfall, it is to be known all across the land that Queen Alenée’s firstborn son, Alest, is the rightful King of Alelune…
She writes until dawn. Draft upon draft. She scratches out excess words, inserts proper adjectives and draws up a narrative that King Aliamon would have been proud of. She lists all of Alest’s qualities, his kindness and mature judgement, his dedication to his oaths. Then she goes to the printing press and places an order. Hundreds of thousands of copies are to be printed and disseminated as far as the courier can carry them and beyond, both at home and abroad.
Elician wants Alest on that throne. Alest wants it too. And if this can help…she’s willing to try. She just hopes that in the end, it actually doesmatter.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cat
Elician is crowned on a bright, sunny day with a cool breeze sliding in from the west. They are married before that sun even reaches its zenith.
He is beautiful, radiant in the way a Sun King should be. Gold glitters from every part of his ensemble. White trousers, high stockings and carefully shined golden shoes make him a spectacle. His brown skin takes on an almost luminescent quality, amplifying all the subtle yellow and orange accents of his regalia. And when he walks, even his heels click charmingly against the smooth tile floors of the palace. His ivory satin jacket hangs to his knees and it shimmers as he moves. It is open and revealing, baring his chest and the sunburned patterns he has spent every spare moment he could trying to form. A sun has been burned there, with all its rays reaching out in every direction, blessing him as chosen. Blessing him as king.
Cat cannot take his eyes off him. There is so very, very much to see. The whole of the ceremony left his mouth watering, his eyes twitching this way and that. To the patterns curling along Elician’s skin. The way his crown –theircrown – rests on his head. It is the crown they designed together, a crown steeped in opposites and inversions. Darkened steel makes up the band. A golden sun rests atthe very centre of Elician’s crown, with the finest crescent of a white-gold moon peeking out along one edge. Rays emerge from this sun, one gold then one white gold, then back again. And Cat’s sigil is the exact opposite. A white-gold moon, a golden sun only just breaking free of the moon’s eclipse. The rays, interchangeable – one after another, gold then white gold. Balance and unity and difference combined. Perfection, in the form of jewellery. Cat actually thinks he’ll want to wear it, instead of grudgingly putting it on to please Adalei and her judging eye.
A strange desire pools in Cat’s stomach when he looks to his husband. Then builds. Climbs. Chokes. It fills his throat until he isn’t sure he can breathe around its presence. He barely pays attention to Zinnitzia, serving once more as cleric of her order, master of Life’s domain, as she has Elician swear oaths to his country, then oaths to his spouse. Cat speaks his own oaths when prompted, Soleben falling almost far too naturally from his tongue. He cannot be choking if he can speak, and yet still that desire lies wrapped around each vowel and consonant that leaves his tempted lips.
Zinnitzia proclaims Elician king, announces Elician of Soleb and Alest of Alelune married. Elician’s hand slips around Cat’s white-gloved palm as their people cheer. He leans in but stops himself from kissing Cat as tradition would normally dictate, instead raising Cat’s hand to his lips to kiss his knuckles as musicians play something loud and celebratory. He smiles at Cat, smooth and charming, before leading him back down the aisle to an open feast and all the celebrations to come.
They have only one moment to themselves, one moment where they duck into a guarded room to change out of their coronation attire into something more comfortable. Elician’s chest is still bare for all the world to see, but his jacket gains sleeves. His footwear turns soft and supple. Better for dancing.
Cat’s fingers fumble around his own clothing, far more restrictive (and far closer to his own preferences). His skin cannot be so openlydisplayed. The danger of his potential contact with others is too high. But Adalei commissioned him a jacket that shimmers like melted metal, eerily luminescent and bold. Elician steps close, helping Cat’s trembling fingers work out the many buttons and ties.
His fingers are deft and capable, his familiarity with the style far more evident. ‘You did well,’ he praises, and Cat manages to thank him even as his eyes drift to Elician’s lips. His head dizzy with the realization that at every breath, Cat can feel sweet air dance across his cheeks.
Public displays of affection are frowned upon in Alelune. Intimacy is for the privacy of one’s home and amongst one’s dearest companions only. But there is one exception: weddings. It is a sign for all the world that the coupleisa couple, and that there will be no changing that fact. A wedding is only made valid with the sealing of a kiss, and Cat wants so very desperately now to lean forward and take his due.
‘Are you all right?’ Elician asks.
‘Yes,’ Cat replies. ‘And you?’
‘Just glad it’s over.’
Solebens used to have a similar tradition. Cat still recalls readingthattitbit in his history books as a child. The scandalous is hard to forget, and the thought of copulating in public is so utterly repugnant that it turns Cat’s stomach into knots. But the tradition is much subdued these days. A kiss is all that’s publicly seen, but Elician cannot kiss Cat in public. Cat is supposed to be able to kill him with such a thing. Elician could only press his lips to Cat’s gloves and consider the ritual binding.
‘Marina was telling me about marital obligations,’ Cat says as he pulls off his jacket and replaces it with something else.
‘What obligations?’ Elician asks.
‘Physical ones.’
