Chapter 8: The Departure
"May your travels be swift, and may your bond bring strength to the North. Cherion, you will always be a child of this palace, even after you leave these walls."
It was a good line, probably rehearsed. Perhaps it meant something to the "real" Cherion in a different time. However, the Cherion who was standing there could only sense its hollowness. A child of the palace? Please, Sir. You mean more like a decorative vase being handed off to a new household. Handle with care, don’t chip the paint, ok?
Nevertheless, he bowed his head and muttered thanks. He was rolling his eyes so hard inside that it nearly hurt.
The ceremony took place in the palace courtyard. With their heads bowed and their silence akin to music, servants formed two orderly rows along the path. Cherion stood in the middle of it all, waiting for the King to bid Alpha Zarius farewell.
Cherion made an effort not to move too much, but the scene’s weight felt like a costume he hadn’t consented to wear. He had already bowed and addressed the King and his ministers with the appropriate words, but now he was just standing there.
Ugh, speed it up, people.
The parting took forever. Cherion struggled to choose whether to appear serious, optimistic, or both. Before he could settle on an expression, the worst possible interruption arrived.
Yerel and Philia walked in together, side by side.
Geez, what a bad omen.
They came strolling across the courtyard as though the morning sun only existed to illuminate them. Philia’s veil fluttered dramatically in the wind, and Yerel’s smile gleamed like a new mirror. Together, they resembled one of those oil paintings intended to be displayed in a gallery, telling a story about the beautiful couple who were so devoted to each other.
Except in Cherion’s eyes, they looked yikes...
He knew they were the main characters, but seeing how they acted like one in person certainly... somehow disgusted him.
Cherion gagged loudly. He even pressed a hand to his mouth, pretending to choke. He even pretended to choke by putting a hand to his mouth. "Oh, I apologize. I must have inhaled too much fresh air."
A few servants choked back giggles. One guard coughed into his fist. Yerel’s smile wavered a little.
Philia, ever the actor, ignored the jab. He stepped forward, arms outstretched, and wrapped Cherion in a hug. With his arms extended, he moved forward and embraced Cherion. "Congratulations, Cherion," he said in a gentle whisper, though his nails pressed just a little too hard into his back. "Do try not to embarrass the crown once you’re gone."
You little bitc...
Ok, take it easy, Cher.
Cherion smiled sweetly as he leaned back enough to look Philia in the eye. "Oh, don’t worry, Lord Philia. You already do enough of that for the both of us. I don’t even have to lift a finger!"
The words slipped out soft as silk, and the effect was immediate. Philia tensed up, and before he let him go, his smile briefly cracked. Cherion couldn’t tell if the faint pink flush on his cheeks was caused by embarrassment or rage. All he knew was that it tasted good.
Yerel, sensing the shift, tried to recover. "I hope your marriage goes well. It’s good that you’ve found a partner with such strength." He glanced at Zarius, who was standing a short distance away, silent as a mountain.
That could have been the end of it, courteous poison exchanged beneath all of the venom. But Zarius, perhaps unwilling to be ignored, finally spoke.
"Those who can recognize strength are the ones who appreciate strong partners the most," he said calmly, his golden eyes resting quietly on Yerel. "Not everyone can."
Yerel’s smile grew thin, as glass on the verge of breaking. "Lord Zarius, you talk about strength, but I’ve heard rumors that you’ve been... ill. Philosophy must also require endurance, don’t you think?
Cherion’s stomach turned over. Oh, we’re already heading there? Well done, Yerel. Someone get the popcorn.
Zarius didn’t blink. "Ill?" He spoke in an almost humorous tone. "Thank you for your concern. A prince seldom lowers himself to the level of listening to gossip."
Guess he won’t admit to it easily.
A whisper spread among the courtiers in the vicinity. Cherion suspected a noblewoman was hiding a laugh when she coughed behind her fan.
Yerel clenched his jaw. "A ruler has an obligation to listen to what others have to say. If not, one runs the risk of making a blind decision."
"Blindness can be cured," Zarius said, his golden eyes shining, "but being deaf to one’s own incapacity? That’s permanent."
The courtyard went still. Yerel’s smile tightened, but she didn’t have a clever reply. Philia pulled at his sleeve with her fingers, urging him back. In the duel of words, Zarius had landed the cut and left it to sting.
Way to go, Z! I start to admire you by 2%!
Cherion almost wanted to applaud.
Rather, he made his escape. The carriage was waiting, the light shining on its lacquered doors. He climbed inside, sinking into the cushioned seat. The air smelled faintly of cedar and lavender sachets, carefully placed by the servants.
He glanced out the window, half-expecting Zarius to follow him inside. Surely they’d ride together, husband and husband-to-be, side by side for the long road ahead.
But no.
He watched Zarius climb the steps of a completely different carriage, accompanied by his own entourage as the horses moved and the wheels started to roll.
Cherion blinked. Separate carriages? Already?
He chuckled to himself at the absurdity of it. This is nice because it means I’m not the only one who hates it, but at the same time...
Then the laughter subsided, leaving a restless feeling in its place.
The countryside began to roll by, with lush hills and farms growing smaller as the palace walls disappeared behind them. Cherion leaned his head against the window and watched the scenery blur. He thought about Yerel’s haughty smile, the King’s solemn farewell, Philia’s irritating remark, and Zarius’s stern reply. Ugh, stop thinking too much, you brain!
What did the North hold for him? Yes, he had read the book. He knew what was written on the page. But standing here, breathing this air, hearing these voices, it was different.
Restless, his fingers tapped against his knee. With a faint reflection in the glass, he whispered to himself, "Alright. It’s just marriage to a cursed Alpha. What could possibly go more wrong than this?"
Only the steady rhythm of wheels on stone could be heard in the silence.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he whispered once more, more firmly
"Whatever it is, I’ll be ready."
Really?