Evening was drawing close, and Blanc found himself confined in his room for the last few hours since the meeting was over.
He was surrounded by maids from all sides, as they made sure the suit he wore last night was now full of small jewels and gold chains all around it.
"Is this really necessary?" asked Blanc to Mera, who was sitting on the corner of his bed, laughing.
"You should've seen your father, he had more gold on him than cloth."
"Knowing that doesn't help, and to be fair, I'm beyond starving," he sighed.
"There will be food after. And you also have your ceremony before Sera's, so you will be able to grab some food while you wait for hers to be over," said Mera.
"How is Sera? Nervous by any chance?" Blanc asked.
"Nonsense, she waited for this almost her whole life, she is closer to jumping out of joy than sadness," giggled Mera, as she kept watching his clothes.
"I will be honest with you, mother, I do not like the brat. How young is he anyway? Fifteen?"
Mera sighed as she played with her fingers, "You are not the one getting engaged to him, Blanc. It does not matter if you like the boy or not. And yes, he is fifteen, and they will get married when he comes of age. So no babymaking until then for them."
Now Blanc was the one giggling, "Do not tell Sera that or she might start crying."
"Oh, I don't plan to do that. Lady Fiamma will handle such things with her once they get to their domain. Leave him," she said before ordering the maids to stop Blanc from, what was considered already to be excessive harassment, with the amount of golden chains and crystals decorating his tunic.
"Mother?" Blanc asked, suddenly happy to breathe again.
"I'll take my leave now. I wanted to check and see if Lord Lucien and Lady Fiamma have everything ready on their side." Mera said, as she got up to leave but stopped to look once more at Blanc, "My son, you look splendid!"
"I am my mother's son after all," he smiled.
"Indeed, you are," she smiled back before closing the door behind her.
Despite the extra weight he found himself with, it still felt easy to move around, as, in his boredom, Blanc found himself pacing around and practicing some light exercises, as he wanted to keep himself in the best shape possible.
However, a knock came at the door, Drew followed soon after, "Young Lord, it is time."
"Then let us be on our way," said Blanc, straightening his back, but Drew did not move.
He only kept staring, which made Blanc uncomfortable and confused, "Drew?"
"I'm sorry for my daughters," Drew sighed, taking his eyes off Blanc's costume, "And Young Lord, when straightening your back, keep your chin up as well."
"Ah, thank you, Drew. It seems I'm quite nervous." Blanc exhaled, trying to calm himself down as they left the room.
Drew chuckled, his laughter warm and aged, "Who isn't Young Lord? When I married my sweet Beyanna, I fell down the stairs because my knees gave out because I was so nervous."
"By the Vita, and what did you do?" asked Blanc, as they were now walking down the stairs.
"What else is there other than to get up and be on your way? So that's what I did. And that's what you will do as well." Drew offered a smile as he opened the door that led to the back gardens.
A path with flowers was laid on the ground, wide enough for two people at a time to walk between.
By the door, to the right, waited Celine Maroux, who was now in her same dress of violet and silver, but there was something else Blanc could not put his finger on as he stared at her.
Her skin was fairer, her hair looked almost wet, her dress glittered in the dusk of the sun, and her face looked even more beautiful.
"Have you fallen in love with me, my Golden Blanc?" giggled Celine as she watched him staring for a few seconds too long.
"Perhaps even more than I would believe to be true, my, oh so Beautiful Celine."
Celine did not reply to the compliment, not because she did not enjoy it, she at least seemed to in Blanc's eyes, yet she only kept staring into his gray eyes.
But Blanc did not take the silence to heart as he spoke again, "What do you think of my upgraded attire?"
"Well," she thought for a few seconds, "I haven't heard of dragons wearing as many jewels as you," she teased, "but for some unknown reason, I fear it might suit you."
"You fear?" he asked, sarcastically shocked by the sudden mention of a pending phobia.
"I fear the tastes that I had until now for the Noble Men's attire might get ruined on this day."
Blanc exhaled in relief, hearing her, "And here I thought you were going to say something bad."
"Young Lord, Young Lady, everything is ready," spoke Drew, who came back to let them know they could proceed.
"Well then, shall we?" asked Blanc, offering his hand.
And with a slight nod, they joined their hands together, walking hand in hand on the path.
As they walked, they soon reached an open silk tent draped over a large stone podium that rose a foot from the ground, surrounded by the members of Blood Denegis, all except Sera, who remained in the house, along with Lucien Maroux, a few of his personnel, presumably his high-ranking officials, and Lady Fiamma and her entourage.
She stood out unmistakably among them, as she was the only one with horns protruding from her forehead.
The podium was ringed by a circle of flowers, all gathered from Auren's gardens. From the odd, playful shape of the circle, Blanc guessed it must have been the work of Kael and Lune, and the thought made him smile as they stepped inside.
In front of them stood a wooden table, bare for now. But it quickly filled with silks and food as members of both Bloods stepped forward.
Elion for Blanc's side and Lucien for Celine's as they carefully placed their offerings atop the table. Mera followed soon after, bringing the wine, which she set down on embroidered silks bearing the sigils of both Bloods.
When the offerings were laid, Elion and Lucien switched places.
With Elion now standing behind Celine, and Lucien behind Blanc.
Each received something from their stewards before stepping forward once again, placing a steady hand on the young ones' shoulders and setting a small wooden box before each of them.
Still, Blanc and Celine did not touch the boxes. The ritual was not yet ready to begin. Approaching from behind, with slow and measured steps, the Daughter came forth, holding near her chest a golden goblet, its rim encircled with glittering rubies.
She circled the tent twice, her humming both comforting and haunting at once, before stopping in front of them and joining in on the podium as she placed the goblet in the middle of the table, which was kept empty of food and silk alike.
The Daughter, with her eyes as red as her hair, stared at the two for a few moments before placing one small knife in front of each.
Seeing this, Blanc unwrapped his left hand before they each took the knife and turned to face each other.
With her knife ready, and with a nod from Blanc for reassurance, she sliced open his wound he made himself a few days ago, reopening it.
After that, Blanc did the same to her right, before clasping each other's bloodied hands above the goblet and watching as their combined blood dripped inside of it, slowly filling it up.
With this, the ritual began, and the Daughter's mouth opened.
"By the gift of blood, by the bond of soul,
By the beauty of the body, and the bond of a kiss.
By the strength of a family, and bound by generations.
By the Grace of the Vita and the Shattered Heavens,
You stand hand in hand before all.
Blood calls for blood. How will you answer?"
"I will," they both said in unison. The cup, now full with their blood.
As the blood seemed to spill over the goblet, the rubies surrounding the trim started shining a wonderful crimson before their eyes, making them pull their hands from above it.
Next, the Daughter raised the goblet carefully for them to dip their fingers into.
"Then let your blood bind you.
Let your breath bless you.
Let your kiss crown you.
And let the Vita remember you, now and forever."
And with their fingers dipped in blood, they painted their lips crimson before, with a smile, they joined their lips into a kiss. With the roars and yells, beginning and going for the long seconds, they found themselves locking lips before taking the boxes in their unwounded hand and getting off the platform, their earlier smiles melting into soft, nervous laughter.