Footsteps echoed in the darkened temple as golden sunlight broke through slits in the vast curtains covering the wide windows. Crown Princess Rhiannon knelt in the quiet with her fiery copper braid sweeping the ground. She looked up towards the limestone altar where the statue of the Spring Goddess Evanthia waited. Gold-brushed bronze glinted in the limited sunlight, and the emeralds that made up her irises sparkled. Draped over the body, pink and white robes formed a flowing dress. Rhiannon’s knees pressed against the hard stone floor, and she winced as the coldness reached deep into her bones. Her thin nightdress offered little comfort.

“Evanthia, bless my kingdom in the coming year…” She whispered. Her thoughts drifted to the day ahead. Can I do this after all? It’s what my people need to see. Their queen putting duty before herself.

Rhiannon realized her prayer had trailed off. “Oh, my dearest Goddess, my kingdom…” But her mind swam. Is it horrible that my heart still wishes for love? I’ve always hoped to find someone who not only offers protection and duty, but companionship and laughter. The kind of love that makes you want to argue, but fight for each other. Passion, frustrating yet exciting. I know so little of him! Is he ugly? Or worse, cruel? After several deep breaths, she felt centered again.

I’m being silly. My training began when I was a little girl. Duty first, feelings later. I can’t let my people lose crops, lives, or our kingdom because I can’t rule with both head and heart. A sigh escaped her lips. Little needles pricked through her legs as she shifted slightly to continue blood flow to her knees for a moment.  For centuries, the Elven kings ruled fairly and honestly. My husband will be no different. 

“Majestic one, please give my kingdom your grace and favor…” Rhiannon tried to start the prayer again, as she kept forgetting to continue. For centuries, the Elven kings ruled fairly and honestly.

Lost in the sea of thought, her ship of hope caught a current. At least I don’t have to leave my beloved kingdom. It’s my duty to continue the thousand-year-old tradition of these marriages. It worked out for my parents. They ended up in a love match. Fear and worry made her heart speed up as bile doubled up in her throat.

She had heard that Sidereal palaces twinkled in silver and platinum while the lands were various shades of lush green. Allyria is gorgeous in its own way, with rolling fields, farmlands, and our coast. But does Celyn even like water? I know so little about him, but I feel the Goddess leading me. Will we grow to love each other?

As if answering her thoughts, the statue seemed to glow reassuringly as the gold glinted off the sun.

“And bless my marriage. May it bring you glory and honor.” Rhiannon finished. The sweet scent of honey blossoms and lilies floated through the open windows and into her lungs. This season felt different, despite the scared little girl deep within her. She was ready to step into her role. I just hope I’m worthy of him.    

She focused on the flames of the small candle so intently that she did not hear her mother’s approach until her pale hand settled on her shoulder and caused her to jump.

“My dearest. The hour is late. We must prepare you for your coronation.” Her light, melodic voice entered the sacred peace like an ancient hymn. Mairwen, the Queen Mother, towered over her, calm as a tree in the nearby forest. The rising sun gleamed in her blue eyes, revealing a hint of silver as the gems sewn into her midnight blue and inky black mourning robes sparkled. Despite the death of King Rhys months earlier in the cold season, her mother threw her a small smile. Her parents’ love gave Rhiannon hope for her own arranged marriage.

“You are nervous.” The words weren’t a question, but a statement. “I assure you, my daughter, you are exactly where you need to be.”

Then her mother gave her a mischievous look. “Celyn would have to be stupider than a rock to resist falling in love with you.” Her mother hugged her close and led her out of the temple. In the palace, servants already waited to plait her hair and help her into the layers of corsets, crinolines, and garments that made up her coronation regalia.

Before she closed the heavy wooden door of the, Rhiannon turned towards the goddess and whispered, “Evanthia, my fate and hope are in your hands.”

*****

Hours later, Rhiannon sat with a stiff spine under the light pink canopy erected in the gardens, her mother on a smaller throne to her right, and her ladies-in-waiting fanned out behind her. At the chime of twelve bells, Rhiannon had been crowned Queen. Her platinum diadem had pink sapphires shaped by magic into roses that symbolized love and compassion. She had thought the weight would have made her head and neck ache, but magic made it feather-light. The palace treasury now held her father’s crown for safekeeping.

The sun warmed away the goosebumps caused by her anxiety and anticipation for what was next; it spread through her body like a blanket of hope. Rhiannon smiled outwardly as she sat on her throne, but her thoughts wandered elsewhere. Her heart beat fast in anticipation of seeing her groom for the first time. Butterflies claimed her stomach. The corset of her ornate wedding dress made her breathless.

Court magicians displayed complicated designs that burst into rainbow fireworks. Others conjured rain showers made of pastel flower petals. They tickled noses and blanketed the grass as their sweet smell saturated the celebrations. Little children danced to joyful music through the petals, and their laughter rang with the trills of innocence.

Then the church bells chimed three times. The musicians changed their rhythm the magicians stopped their magic displays. A herald sounded his horn in a low tone.

“Presenting His Royal Sereness, Celyn Eirwyn Gareth Morgan Steffan Everstar, Prince of the Blood, Prince of Sidereal,” the herald announced.

Rhiannon almost swooned at the sight before her. By Evanthia’s grace! Am I to be wed to a man or a god? His beauty can only be divine. She felt her gaze trail from his boots up to his hair, and her mouth became dry. His hair is like the strong brown of tree trunks. His braids must have taken hours. Her soul stirred at the approach of the Elven man.

Upon his head, he wore a gleaming crown twisted into patterns of ivy and stars, set with glistening emeralds. His robes and clothing were in deep woodland green with silver and gold threads woven in patterns to match his crown. The symbolism was not lost on Rhiannon. The ivy promised protection, and the stars represented the Elven kingdom. The rose and ivy twisted together on the royal crest across his taut chest. 

He stopped halfway up the path and bowed deeply. His men bowed as well, but Rhiannon couldn’t care less at this moment. She just wanted to kiss him. She could only imagine his plush pinkish lips against her own, still soft with the flavor of their vows. And later, his long, supple fingers caressing her between the silk bed linens.

“Your Majesty, it pleases me greatly to meet you on this joyous occasion of our wedding feast.” Celyn’s voice carried the wind’s whispered love songs.

Rhiannon felt words stick in her throat. Her heart sighed for him already. “It pleases me as well, Your Highness.” Braids and curls cascaded down her back as she rose from her throne. Never had her rehearsed formality felt so true.

The pink and white sheer fabric of her overlay and train moved behind her like floating wings, and the gold rose embroidery shimmered in the light as she moved. The weight didn’t matter as she walked to meet him.

She met Celyn on the path, took his hand, and felt the spark as her palm met his. Clearly a man strong enough to wield a sword or a bow in combat, but still not calloused. Together, they walked to the altar. His grip changed from tight and sure to gentle, as if he feared hurting her.

The high priest, Brother Talfryn, met them dressed in a gold robe. “We gather to witness the marriage of the blessed children of Evanthia on this glorious Vernalia day.” Brother Talfryn wrapped pearl-white ribbons embroidered with the rose and the ivy over Rhiannon’s and Celyn’s hands. He shifted slightly, invisible to the untrained eye, but she picked it up. They shared a small smile between them as if instinctively reassuring each other.

“You may say your pledges.” Talfryn smiled.

“I am the Ivy, and I promise to protect you and grow by your side. I will love, honor, and cherish you for all of my days. My heart, I bind to yours, that they may beat as one. My soul, I commit to the garden of trust we nurture together. From this day forward, I will breathe my life into yours.” Celyn placed a ring on Rhiannon’s finger with a subtle shake. He let go of his mask of etiquette and released a soft breath as the ring settled into place. A soft pink blush tinted his neck.

Rhiannon almost forgot her own vows. Evanthia, shield my eyes from his glory long enough to make my promise. It took her a minute before she spoke. “I am the Rose, and I promise to protect you and grow by your side. I will love, honor, and cherish you for all of my days.” I’m falling for you. “My heart, I bind to yours, that they may beat as one. My soul, I commit to the garden of trust we nurture together.” Rhiannon felt one last flash of nerves before she placed a ring on Celyn’s finger. “From this day forward, I will breathe my life into yours.”

“As they partake in the holy mead, they bind their souls together at the blessing of Evanthia!” The high priest offered them a goblet of steaming mead. They grasped the stem together and drank at the same time. As Brother Talfryn took back the goblet, Celyn’s amethyst eyes met Rhiannon’s green ones, dripping with lust. Heat pooled deep in her belly, and she parted her lips in response. A hungry smile graced Celyn’s lips as he recognized the shared arousal of their flushed bodies.

Celyn immediately pressed his lips to hers. Rhiannon’s head spun with passion as his tongue sought entry and the kiss deepened. Their hearts beat as one, and a whispered moan escaped. From which of them, neither could tell. Goddess, I can’t wait to find out how he is tonight. He’ll have me floating among the seeing stars.

“It is done,” Brother Talfryn declared. “Long live Queen Rhiannon and her King Celyn! Long live their reign.” The kingdom erupted into cheers. Musicians played the traditional hymns of the festival that started the feast.

They pulled away to smile as they both realized where they were. Later, she wouldn’t recall the taste of the food, only the way his soft hands traced patterns on her thigh, and how they burned against her skin later that night.

Editor: Shannon Hensley