Fist of the Furor by Frankie Rose, R. K. Ryals, Melissa Ringsted Read Free Book Online Page B

often best kept between few,” the prince answered.
    A loud cry went up in front of the hall. Goblets rose into the air,   a room full of eyes sliding to the back of the ballroom. The prince moved around me, his frame shielding me from view. Inclining his head, he marched toward the front of the atrium, his steps steady and sure. There was never any doubt in Cadeyrn’s movements. Only confidence. He was a man of few words, but when he did speak, it carried weight.
    At the front of the hall, the king stood, his goblet held high. “Tonight, we celebrate not one but two unions, the joining of my son to two stunning women, the princess of Greemallia and the princess of Henderonia. With respect to his late wife, His Royal Majesty, Prince Cadeyrn Forsen Bernhart has asked to accept the gods of the realm of Henderonia, and in so doing, their customs.”
    There were more words, but I didn’t hear them over the roaring in my head, over the sound of mumbled Sadeemian dissent. It was dangerous, someone hissed, for the prince to turn his back on the God of Unrest and the Goddess of Serenity. It was folly, another woman agreed. Nonetheless, they smiled and held up their chalices, their cheers rising with the crowd.
    A Henderonian official stepped forward. The man was dressed in a formal silk shirt that wrapped his body, the scarlet material fastened by silver buttons with engraved circular designs. He approached Cadeyrn, his fingers going to a clay bowl he held firmly in his hand, his lips pressed together. There was defiance in his gaze as he lifted fingers soaked in purplish juice. I knew from my studies it was crushed grapes, meant to represent fertility.
    The man coated Cadeyrn’s forehead in dripping circular designs. It was the symbol of acceptance. Kneeling, the prince lifted his hands and allowed his wrists to be bound by twine. It was a vulnerable position for him, but not deadly. I, more than anyone, knew Cadeyrn’s strength. It would take nothing for him to break the twine, but he remained kneeling, his head down in supplication. The Henderonian man spoke words I couldn’t hear from the back of the room, but I knew when Cadeyrn stood, his hands free once more, that he’d been accepted by the Henderonian gods, the practice making him acceptable to Catriona’s people. On each side of the ballroom stood the princesses.
    Catriona was the first to approach. Avoiding Cadeyrn’s gaze, she used a red cloth with a strange circular design in its center to wipe the purple juice from Cadeyrn’s forehead. Pressing it quickly against her own forehead, she closed her eyes, spoke two quiet words, and then offered the cloth to Gabriella of Greemallia.
    Stormy eyes met Catriona’s as Gabriella approached, stunning in a sparkling silver gown that offset her ebony black hair and pale skin. She accepted the cloth, her knuckles white as she kissed its circular center before offering it to Cadeyrn. His acceptance ended the ceremony.
    “May their unions be fruitful and prosper!” King Freemont shouted. He took a deep swallow of his drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The guests followed suit.
    “And so it is done,” a voice murmured beside me.
    It was a familiar voice. From the long, grey beard, I knew the words came from Mothelamew, the royal mage who had trained Cadeyrn. The mage was a shadow in the palace, often seen but only heard when he deemed it necessary. He spoke mostly to Cadeyrn. I spared him no glance.
    “You do not sound overjoyed,” I responded.
    The mage’s blue cloak swirled around him as he stepped closer. “It has begun. The beginning to a spectacular story that will one day rest amongst the stars with the stories of the gods.”
    My gaze found his hood. “A magnificent story? You put a lot of stock in marriage.”
    Mothelamew’s head lifted, his grey-blue eyes finding mine. “Sometimes what seems like a brilliant idea is often one of folly.”
    There was accusation in his gaze, but there was also a grudging