Sins of Calate: BOOK II OF THE FOUR REALMS SERIES

Part XI | Dura

There had been no fanfare or rejoicing. No great ceremony or bells tolling throughout the towns and villages of the realm. No one dancing in the street or chanting her name.

She had dreamed of her wedding to Galyn of Azura since she was ten namedays, had hoped it would be a festival of love and hope and joy. But then news of Galyn's death had reached her and she knew the dreams and hopes she had harboured were dead too.

For a part of her, even after word of his marriage to Fara of Calate, had thought that somehow when this was all over, everything would be as it was supposed to be. She would still be his wife.

A foolish notion, of course. Naive.

For things could never again be as they were. The Four Realms had changed forever. And though she would carry with her the hatred for the monster who took Galyn from this world, hatred too for the woman who had stolen him from her — she too was forever changed.

There would be time for rejoicing after. When Leoth had been destroyed and Calate and Zybar stood as victors across its shattered and broken realm, its spoils ripe for picking —then there would be much and more to celebrate. Then she could be a benevolent and generous queen by Valdr's side, then she could ensure her people never saw the touch of war again. It would be for Valdr and her to rebuild a broken land into one of peace and prosperity. Together.

Now she would give all of herself to the man who would be her husband and king. She would be devoted to him alone. She would forget all other loyalties and give herself over to him completely.

She would bleed for him if he commanded it.

But still, none was mistaken about what this marriage really was.

Or rather, what it was not.

It was a war pact. A unification of armies and power against a great and common enemy.

Her father had shown steely resolve in refusing Calate's first offer; that she marry Prince Panos instead, Valdr's younger brother.

Afterall, Calate could not defeat Leoth without Zybar, and it was a great risk for Zybar to switch their allegiance. Leoth's repercussions for such treachery would be severe. The reward for such a risk, therefore, would have to be greater. Far greater than a prince.

It would have to be a king.

And her father's gambit had worked.

So where the southern mouth of the Ash Sea met Calate's shores, in the quaint chapel of a castle belonging to one Lord Connen of Alathy, she was brought under the Gods' gaze to be wed to Valdr of Calate, son of Stefforn, King of Bris and Rhetia.

The birds had been as silent as her vows, spoken only to the Gods before a shorn Calatian Monk. The sun had not shone and the wind had not blown and she may have seen that as foreboding had it not been for the vision of regal beauty that was to be her husband.

From the moment she entered the chapel and saw him standing before the shrine of Calate she had seen nothing but his glory. Her heart and breath had become one, beating quick and furious in her chest. He stood tall and proud as he gazed at the green gold shrine of his God's effigy.

He did not turn as she neared him, did not look at her as she came to stand by his side before the monk, did not look at her even when he reached out to take hold of her hand to stretch it out in offering.

She'd been desperate to turn her head and look at him, desperate to look again into the fire of his eyes. At the regal elegance of his face, the perfect curve of his soft mouth. At first she'd managed to resist, looking instead at his hand.