Zane~
That night—after the whirlwind of our wedding day—we barely had time to catch our breath before the next tradition called. Word came that the final rite, the mating ceremony, would begin at 7 p.m. This was the moment that would seal us, not just in the eyes of our people, but in the ancient law itself.
I was escorted to a side chamber, trading my wedding attire for ceremonial garb meant for the rite. The fabric felt heavier, woven with patterns that spoke of vows older than any spoken language. Natalie was led away in the opposite direction, her own preparations kept hidden until the moment we would meet again.
By the time the sun was gone and the first stars bled into the sky, the kingdom had gathered.
The mating grounds were alive with firelight—gold and ember dancing across faces, armor, and silks. The air was filled with the scent of wood smoke, crushed herbs, and grilled meat.
