Chapter 23: The Mating Ceremony

We held the ceremony on the night of the full moon, a month after I had asked him to wait.

The whole north came.

They stood in the courtyard of the hold in rows, with torches in iron brackets and their breath smoking in the cold.

I walked down the stone steps in a green dress my mother had sewn.

The silver wolf lay at my throat. My hair was down.

My father waited at the foot of the steps.

When I reached him, he took my hand in his and held it.

"You may stop at any step," he said, very low. "You may stop at the end."

"I know."

"Say it to me anyway."

"I won't stop," I said. "I chose him."

He kissed my forehead.

Evander stood at the center of the courtyard in a plain black coat, with no crown and no medals.

He looked at me, and his face did what it had done in the Council hall the first time.

It opened.

The old priestess of the hold lifted her hands.

"Who comes to claim?"

"I do," Evander said. His voice carried to the walls. "Evander Stroud, of my own will."

"Who comes to be claimed?"

"I do." Mine was steadier than I expected. "Rowena Ashdown, of my own will, and of no one's making."

A sound rolled through the courtyard, low and warm.

The priestess bound our wrists with a green and gold cord.

"Then let the north witness it."

At the very back, past the last row, the east gate stood open for the night watch.

A sentry was posted there in a plain grey coat with no insignia.

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