Page 115 of Threaded
Eventually, Mariah’s stories grew further apart, until they stopped altogether. She’d fallen into a deep sleep, curled against Andrian’s chest as if his presence were the only thing in the world that could bring her peace.
It was at that moment Andrian knew he loved her, heart and soul.
It was also the moment he knew he couldneveraccept the bond from her. Could never be what she needed him to be.
Her life was far too precious.
As he slowly joined her in unconsciousness, content in both his new internal acceptance and the feel of the soft, warm shape pressed against him, he felt a presence both old and young, light and dark, flit along the edges of his mind just long enough to whisper words he would later convince himself were nothing more than a hallucination.
Love is a weakness, Andrian Laurent.
CHAPTER50
The weakening early winter sun was hazy overhead, the chill in the air indicative of the colder weather rapidly approaching. Winters in the coastal capital of Verith were mild, but this was still Onita, and the cold was always a looming threat. Mariah, for the first time in weeks, sat astride Kodie, the warmth and smell and sound of his hooves on the paved street the only familiar thing around her.
Just like that day, which now felt like another lifetime, when she’d made her way to the palace for the Choosing, the procession she was now a part of felt eerily like a funeral march.
Funny enough, the entire purpose of it was to build excitement and anticipation for her impending coronation. To showcase the queen apparent to the people of the city, put her on display for all their judgment and curiosity.
Not that her coronation was set to happen anytime soon. She couldn’t ascend the throne until she’d bonded with her entire Armature, until those bridges had drained the last of the magic from Ryenne and Mariah bore the full power of the queen. As it were now, she’d yet to complete her bond to Feran, and of course there was the matter of a certain dark-haired pain in her ass to contend with.
Although, he wasfarfrom a pain in her ass the other night, when he’d held her close and listened to her tell stories of her mother and her family until her voice was hoarse and she’d fallen asleep with the soft light of dawn filtering in through her window.
“Mariah.” Ryenne’s lilting voice pulled her from her thoughts. The queen rode beside Mariah on a white mare, resplendent in golden tack decorated with the sigil of Ryenne’s reign: two black crescent moons, overlapping at their base, across a field of gold. Ryenne rode sidesaddle, her shimmering midnight-blue gown accenting the brightness of her eyes and the silver now streaking her blonde waves.
It wasn’t lost on Mariah that each time she bonded with another of her Armature, the queen aged a decade.
Ryenne continued, “This parade is for you. Please, do remember to smile and at leastlooklike you are having a good time.”
Mariah grimaced, but the sharp glare from the queen had her turning her lips up into a forced smile as she gazed out at the gathered crowds.
Ryenne was right, after all. This paradewasfor her, even if she didn’t want it. She’d been formally presented to the Royals, to the lords of Onita and the other nations of the continent, to emissaries and ambassadors and merchants. But the people she was to rule one day had yet to truly see her, to have their opportunity to mete judgment on their future monarch. So, Ryenne and Ksee had insisted on the arrangement of this parade, this presentation to the people of Verith so Mariah could be peeled back, layer by layer, and scrutinized by yet another group of people who would never truly know her.
The one thing she’d refused to concede on, however, was her clothes.
Ksee had made her best, sour attempt at forcing Mariah to dress similarly to Ryenne, in a dress which, according to Ksee, was befitting of Mariah’s power and station in the kingdom. If the priestess had her way, Mariah would be dolled up in that gown, riding sidesaddle on a docile beast of their choosing as they dragged her down the winding, hilly streets of Verith.
Naturally, Mariah had agreed to no such thing, and with Ryenne staying out of the debate, Ksee had eventually conceded, a look of pure venom in her eyes as flames danced on her fingertips.
Which was why Mariah was now seated on Kodie in her worn, comfortable black leather saddle. She wore black riding leathers, tucked into ankle boots of thick and shining onyx leather, her grandfather’s dagger strapped to her thigh with a new garter of dyed burgundy and detailed with gold threading. As a top, she wore a white tunic, more gold threaded through the fabric, its long, billowing sleeves comfortable and tapered to her wrists. A beautiful cloak of brilliant golden fabric was fastened across her back, draped over her saddle and Kodie’s haunches, secured to her throat with a fastener designed to look like the wings of a dragon.
Wings just like those on her grandfather’s dagger. Just like those of the beasts in that painting she’d found in the abandoned gallery. Just like the tattoo that Marked the chests of her Armature, directly over their hearts.
Ksee, of course, had hated every single detail of Mariah’s appearance, calling it too masculine for an Onitan Queen and not far from an abomination of Xara’s crown.
Ryenne, however, had only smiled softly.
Then there was Andrian, who’d grinned like a demon from Enfara at the sight of her.
Cheers from the crowd pulled Mariah back to the present.
“Long live the queen!”
“We love you, Queen Ryenne!”
“Please, don’t abandon us, Your Majesty!”
All the loving cries echoing from the gathered Verithians were for Ryenne. No one seemed to recognize Mariah, or even know her name.