Fight it, he willed her, sending the words down the bond—the mating
bond, which perhaps had settled into place that first moment they’d become
carranam, hidden beneath flame and ice and hope for a
“Right, then.” Griflet hands us each a hot, steaming mug of tea. “A
royal wedding. Customarily, the gods demand a sacrifice of a dozen wild
boars and the release of five hundred white pigeons. I
Mordred seems satisfied with my stoicism, like this is another test that I
just passed. He holds out his bleeding hand, and I grip it with mine. Our
blood mingles, dripping on the cold earth.
“Repeat