Many thanks to my advance readers and to user LaRascasse for their assistance with editing!
Content warning
: violence, gore, bodily mutilation, references to sexual assault
***
Amali was in the sea, swimming and laughing with the seals. She dove underwater, down, down into the depths, but she wasn't afraid. She reached the ocean floor and walked upon it, feeling the sand give way beneath her feet. All around her it was dark as the night sky, with stars twinkling here and there. She was no longer in the sea, but walking along the shore, under the bright crescent moon. In the surf she saw a woman with long dark hair flowing behind her in a ghostly wind. "Mother," she said, and the woman turned and smiled. "I have waited so long, my daughter," her mother said. "Now I can leave in peace."
Amali blinked in the dim light. Then she remembered her dream and smiled. She turned in her husband's arms and he smiled back at her.
"Did you sleep well,
garadsash
?"
"I saw my mother," she told him. "She was waiting for me to dream of her, before leaving."
He cupped her face in his hand. "So many dreams,
garadsata
. First of your father, now your mother. When will you dream of me?"
"You are too greedy, husband. I see you every day."
He twisted his mouth into a wry smile. "Perhaps you only dream of those not in this world."
"Perhaps." Or maybe it was just her longing, her fear. She had dreamed of Horan's men, too, those first few nights after she lost her father.
Horan
. She bared her teeth. The day had finally come.
She turned her gaze toward her husband, and he pulled away from her.
"You have decided what to do," he said knowingly.
She nodded grimly. "Where are Horan's men?"
"Camped outside the city gates, enjoying my hospitality," he said, grinning. "Shall I send word to round them up?"
"Not yet. I don't want Horan spooked. What time is the coronation?"
"I shall inquire with the lord chamberlain."
Amali kissed him on the cheek and threw off the covers. She found a shirt for him and tossed it onto the bed. "Get dressed before I call for Gilda."
He shook his head but donned the shirt, and soon a trail of serving-women entered to ready her for the day. Gilda gasped at the sight of her, and Amali frowned, confused. Wordlessly her serving-woman steered her to the mirror, and she, too, gasped.
Her neck and shoulders and chest were covered in small bruises. Amali touched them gingerly, but they barely hurt compared to the place between her legs, which felt sore. In the mirror she could see Gilda shoot a glare at the prince, and Amali blushed. This was what he had meant, then, about marking her.
"It's nothing, Gilda," she said, trying to reassure her serving-woman.
"We will need to find a different dress for you," the woman said, calling for another servant and instructing her to return with all of Amali's high-necked gowns.
She allowed Gilda to huff and grumble as she and the other women attended her. After she donned her shift, Gilda held up each potential gown until she chose a deep gray that covered nearly all of Amali's bruising. Once she was dressed, the prince arose and called in the manservants, disappearing behind a folding screen.
Meanwhile Gilda fussed over her hair, which she had not brushed the night before. It was combed and re-braided and done up in a golden net, and her face was painted once more. She called for the golden bangles she had worn for her wedding, and a matching necklace was presented to her. Her earrings were changed for yet another long trail of gold-and-garnet beads, and then at last breakfast was brought in.
The prince joined her wearing a Taurian-style tunic and looking somewhat uncomfortable. He kept shifting his seat, eating distractedly. Amali raised her brows at him, and he glowered at her.
"How do your men wear these blasted underclothes?" he grumbled.
"I wouldn't know," she replied. Taurian women wore neither braies nor loincloths.
Only a few minutes passed before he threw down his fork and stalked back to the chest where his wedding clothes lay. He snatched them up and disappeared behind the folding screen, emerging wearing his golden trousers.
"You will have to accustom yourself to wearing them eventually, husband."
"Eventually, but not today," he growled in response.
She stifled a giggle and finished her egg tart. As he continued eating, she caught him staring at her hands. Amali glanced down and saw her nails still stained deep purple.
"How do you color them so?" he asked, between bites of bread.
"The balta plant," she replied. "The flowers are nearly black, and they only bloom around midsummer. You make a paste of them and paint that onto the nails, then wash it off after a time."
He frowned, staring at the rich, translucent color. "Why the nails only? Does it not also stain the skin?"
"It washes off more easily there," she explained. "But some do dye their entire fingers, if they can afford it."
He nodded thoughtfully, chewing on the last of his meal. Then he said, "I wish to make Morden the head of your guard."
She tapped the table. "He will need a title, and lands."
"All of your guards?"
"No, only the captain. We must consult Lord Askar, but perhaps" -- she lowered her voice -- "Lirean?"
"Perhaps," he agreed, though he looked unconvinced. "My captain as well, then?"
"To be recognized as the king's guard, yes."
"Then Janets can have Lirean. I'd rather something closer to Juna for Morden."
She opened her mouth to ask why, but a manservant announced the arrival of one of the lord chamberlain's men. The lord bowed and introduced himself as Yasril Banet, the deputy of protocol. He frowned at the prince's trousers but chose not to comment, instead launching into a detailed account of the coronation ceremony that would be held at high noon.
Upon hearing this last detail, the prince excused himself and went to speak with the imperial guards at the door, returning shortly. Lord Yasril frowned at the sight of his riding boots and asked the prince if the royal footwear was not to his liking. The prince grinned toothily at the man and replied that he preferred his boots, and the deputy of protocol dropped the matter, returning to the coronation.
The man did, however, insist upon rehearsing the event. Amali could only hope that the real ceremony would be over much more quickly, but she held her composure and smiled equably throughout. Only after he'd bowed and taken his leave did she sigh and sink into a stool by the fire.
"What did you discuss with your men?" she asked the prince.
He glanced about the room before answering, seeing only Gilda in the far corner, rearranging the wardrobe. "They will begin escorting Horan's men to the castle at noon. He does have two men who follow him everywhere, though that shouldn't be a problem."
"Yes," she said, remembering the minor lords that shadowed Horan like loyal hounds. "Kester and Parsin, I think. They were the ones who dragged me from my bed."
The prince narrowed his eyes. "What have you planned for them, princess?"
"You will see, husband." She rose and kissed his cheek, then went to speak with Gilda.
Soon enough the deputy of protocol returned to escort them to the throne room. Outside the doors, servants were waiting, bearing the heavy golden robe her father had worn, and a smaller one for her. These were fastened about them, and she took his hand to squeeze it once before lifting her skirts and directing the herald to announce her.
"Her highness, Princess Amali Lethar!" the man cried as the great doors opened.
Amali strode sedately down the blood-red path, chin held high. She reached the edge of the dais and knelt on the golden pillow placed there. She waited as her father's cousin presented himself to the court, then bowed to her.
"I, Durim Hafgait, cousin of King Orist Lethar, pronounce his daughter Amali as the rightful successor to the golden throne!"
A page came forward bearing her mother's emerald-encrusted crown, and Lord Durim placed it atop her head. She stood and turned, facing the court.
"I, Amali Lethar, queen of Berenul, present to you my husband, Imperial Prince Kirilos Underen."
The doors opened again and her husband entered, followed by two manservants carrying the long train of his robe. He reached the pillow and knelt on it before her. Amali stretched out her hands to him, and he kissed them.
"Kirilos Underen, my royal husband. Through me, you shall become king of Berenul. Do you accept this charge?"
The prince's voice rang out. "I do, my queen."
The page came forward again, bearing her father's golden crown capped by burning sapphires. Amali took it and placed it on her husband's head.
"Arise, Kirilos Underen Lethar, rightful owner of the golden throne!"
The king rose and turned to face the court, taking her hand.
Lord Durim called loudly, "All hail the king and queen of Berenul!" and the court responded.
"Long live the king! Long live the queen!"
Amali and Kirilos parted to ascend the dais and sit on their respective thrones. Once seated, the courtiers bowed and curtsied.
Amali searched the hall for Horan as he rose from his bow. There he was, near the front of the hall, grinning broadly. She kept her face neutral and turned toward her husband.
"Your majesty, before all else, there is something I should like to present to the court."
"Very well, my queen," he said easily. "Bring it in."
Amali gestured to Gilda, who stood waiting by the open doors. A double line of serving-women entered the hall bearing a wide bolt of linen, unfolding it and laying it on the floor for all to see.
The king's brows furrowed in confusion. "What is this, my queen?"
"Our wedding sheet, your majesty," she replied, and the assembled courtiers murmured.
Amali knew the center of the sheet sported a small bloodstain; she had seen it that morning when she spoke with Gilda.
