Their knees are touching again.
Except, this time, there are wedding vows wedged between them.
The gold band on Kitt’s finger catches the light with every jostle of the coach. Just like our last parade onto Loot, we ride over the uneven cobblestones with the sun weighing heavy on our shoulders. No roof resides above our heads, allowing us full view of the awaiting crowd gathered on the long market street.
Collectively, all of four words have passed between us, consisting of “are we there yet.” An impatient Jax sits beside me, clearly tired of our bumpy crawl through the slums and likely regretting not riding with Andy. Pathetically, I am thankful he is here, if only to ensure my anger cools before my mouth opens.
I can do little else but seethe in the absurdity of this all. Within the last conversation shared between us, I discovered that Paedyn is the daughter of the late Queen Iris and my father’s Mind Reader—whose blood is currently being scrubbed from the castle’s front steps. She is an Ordinary born from the rawest of power. And Kitt is her half brother.
For the first time since I was a boy, I fight to keep my mask of indifference from slipping off. As nauseating as this news is, it may just be Paedyn’s way out. My hope is selfish, tainted by the desire to be hers alone. But Kitt is not the only one committed to protecting this kingdom. Ilya is our home, and if the only way to save it means Paedyn plays wife in name alone, then…
Then let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.
The coach rumbles to a stop in the center of this crowded street. Emerald banners hang between crumbling buildings, secured there by Crawlers offered a shilling for their labor. They display both Ilya’s swirling crest and the Azers’ shield high above hundreds of starving Mundanes beneath.
We step into a makeshift circle, decorated by multiple pedestals connected with thick ribbon—a pretty barrier the people know better than to cross. My Imperials, now far more attentive with their resumed training, place themselves around the perimeter as an extra precaution. It all seems rather pointless when looking at it from this angle. All I see before me are hungry, hopeless Elites who behave themselves for the promise of stale bread, coin, or shelter.
How did such a mighty kingdom fall?
It was not like this at the beginning of Father’s reign. I have read what histories date before the Purging, even those immediately after. No, this deterioration of Ilya began when King Edric’s hatred for Ordinaries became an obsession. Right before his eyes, the kingdom began to crumble, and still, he cared only for the ratification of weakness. That desire is what brought Ilya to its knees.
Kitt reaches for Paedyn’s hand. She hesitates. I turn away.
I melt into the circle of Imperials and begin a slow pace behind them. By the time I look back at the royal couple, they stand on a large platform before the people, arms interlocked at the elbows. The wooden riser beneath their feet is draped in emerald carpet and adorned with a Scholar. This makeshift ceremony so starkly contrasts the one held before the court. Dripping with roses and gilded finery, the castle perfectly put into perspective the slums’ poverty. And also, its priorities.
“People of Ilya, we gather here today to join Kitt Azer, king and savior of Ilya, and the lady Paedyn Gray in holy matrimony. Bear witness to their union and abide by the power granted unto them.”
The rickety man drones on, reminding me of a simpler time when I despised my studies with the Scholars. But this is no long-winded lecture—these are the words that bind their souls together. Paedyn’s hands now rest within my brother’s, lifted between them to display the shining rings they share. Both the king and queen look distantly detached from the ceremony they are standing within.
I pull my arms behind a stiff back, widening my stance and planting my feet so they don’t carry me away from this unbearable display. No, I am the Enforcer. I am now an Enforcer to the both of them. It is duty that roots me to the spot, forcing my gaze to grow vacant as vows are exchanged and fates are bound.
Kitt stands at Paedyn’s side, holding the hand of his bride. I roll my neck. It is harder to hate this situation when my brother is half of it. I loved him more than anyone, and until a clumsy thief ran into me all those months ago, I never believed I could love anyone as much. There is little more I want than to see Kitt happy, and that little more happens to now be his wife.
“People of Ilya, I present unto you, Paedyn Azer, your undoubted queen consort.”
The crown Paedyn retrieved from the Sanctuary of Souls is placed onto her gleaming hair. She is the very portrait of a queen, somehow more formidable now than the day we met. The Silver Savior has morphed into a fearsome creature, dressed in finery and armed with a future of her making.
A sudden shift in the crowd has me stepping forward, poised to strike if a threat presents itself. I squint, watching this ripple of movement flow through the hundreds of cramped bodies. My gaze flicks between each side of the packed street as I assess every wrinkle in the sea of people. Even the Scholar has stopped his babbling, leaving Paedyn and Kitt to swivel their heads in confusion.
“Silver Savior!”
The shout has my Imperials beginning to close in around the platform, but I raise a staying hand.
That title was said with reverence.
And when the tremble of bodies grows close enough, I watch knees bend before their queen. Hundreds of Ilyans kneel atop the cobblestone they once shared with Paedyn Gray. I stare as the people of these slums show their devotion for the girl who escaped—and has now returned to save them.
I glance up at Paedyn and the shock she fights to suppress. Her chest heaves as she takes in the respect they so readily give her. It is as though the people can smell that royal blood within her veins, are unable to help but bow before those destined to rule. But they know not of her heritage, only that she was—and forever will be—one of them. This is Paedyn’s home, and they welcome her back a queen.
Kitt stands stoically beside Paedyn as she lifts her chin, crown piercing the air. Echoed murmurs of the Silver Savior lap around the edge of the ceremony’s circle. A queen now stands where a thief once had—brave, benevolent, and brutal. She stands victorious.
The Scholar’s final decree is a startled afterthought. “And your king, Kitt Azer, savior of Ilya. May their union bring prosperity to our kingdom and greatness to our histories.”
Paedyn Gray—
No.
Azer.
And just like that, I am jolted from this remarkable moment and tossed right back into my bleak reality.
The king and queen step from the platform.
Their Enforcer follows.
