BLOOD OATH OF ELARIS

CHAPTER 3

The Betrothal Feast

The wedding of Mariel Darrin to Marrek Fenn spilled joy into the night like an unending tide of music, laughter, and flowing wine. From every corner of the square came fiddles and flutes, their notes weaving with the rhythmic beat of drums, coaxing feet into motion. Lanterns hung from ropes strung between the buildings, swaying gently in the summer breeze, their golden light pooling across the cobblestones and catching in the hair and eyes of the dancers as they spun. The air was rich with the scent of roasted venison, smoky and savory, mingling with the sweetness of honeyed breads and the ripe fragrance of berries that glistened in cream upon platters so full they seemed ready to spill.

Liora lingered at the fringes of the celebration, half in shadow, her gaze wandering over the dancing couples. She loved nights like this, nights when Elaris loosened its rigid spine, casting off rules and old fears in favor of shared food, clinking cups, and laughter that bridged the gap between strangers as though they had always been kin. The music rose and fell, the lanterns swayed, and for a moment the world felt light. Yet beneath the warmth of the evening, an unwelcome thought tugged at her. The memory of the Morning Rite lingered still, bitter and unshaken, clinging to her mind like a burr caught in cloth, small, persistent, and impossible to ignore.

She had just risen to fetch a drink when Kaelen appeared at her side, his hand brushing her lightly, and I began to think you’d spend the evening hiding in that corner, he teased.

Not hiding, she said, smiling just watching.

He arched his brow. And what did you see?”

She meant to answer with something light, but the truth slipped out before she could stop it. You weren’t relieved when the Rite declared her worthy.

Kaelen’s smile faltered. For a moment, his eyes searched hers as if deciding whether to answer honestly. Then he said, “Let’s not talk about it here.”

He led her away from the square, past the fringes of the music and laughter, into the narrow lanes where shadows stretched long under the lamplight. The air was cooler here, carrying the scent of night-blooming jasmine from a nearby garden.

I know what people think of the Rite, he began, leaning against a wall of weathered stone. They think it’s a blessing, a test of purity or faith. But it’s neither.

Liora’s pulse quickened. “Then what is it?”

It’s a mark, Kaelen said. It’s not looking for goodness. It’s looking for… something else. Something old. His gaze drifted toward the forest beyond the rooftops. If it finds it in you, you don’t leave that temple.”

Liora’s stomach tightened. “Has that ever happened?”

Kaelen hesitated. Not in your lifetime. He glanced away, his jaw tightening. “But it happened to my family. Long ago.

Her heartbeat skipped as she stepped closer. Your family?

Before he could answer, a voice cut through the night.

“Kaelen.”

The single word carried weight, heavy enough to still the air between them.

They turned. An older man stood framed in the lamplight at the entrance of the lane broad-shouldered, his stance as unyielding as the carved stone walls around them. His hair, streaked with iron grey, caught the flicker of the lanterns, and his eyes, sharp and assessing as a hawk’s, locked on Kaelen with a command that needed no flourish.

“Father, Kaelen said, his voice clipped, the word stiff with formality.

You’re needed at the head table, his father replied. The statement was simple, but the tone was anything but. Beneath its surface ran a steel-threaded warning, quiet but unmistakable. His gaze never flicked to Liora, yet the message wrapped around her like a cold wind.

“Now.”

For a moment, Kaelen hesitated. His eyes lingered on Liora, searching her face as though he wished to speak one more word, give one more reassurance. Torn between defiance and duty, he finally inclined his head toward her. “We’ll talk another time.” The promise was soft, but its edges frayed under the pull of his father’s authority.

He stepped away, following the older man into the warm glow of the feast, his dark silhouette swallowed by the shifting lanternlight and the hum of distant laughter.

Liora remained in the narrow lane, the shadows pressing close around her. Her pulse drummed in her ears. That voice, his father’s voice, hadn’t merely summoned him. It had drawn a line.

Guarding him.

Guarding him, from her?.

That night, the music swelled like a living thing, spilling through the square in waves of drumbeats and bright, tumbling notes. The feast roared on laughter mingling with the clatter of goblets, the calls of merchants still hawking their last wares at the fringes. Lanterns swayed above them, casting molten light over the whirling dancers.

Liora found herself in Kaelen’s arms only once, drawn into the circle before she could think to refuse. His hand was warm in hers, steady but restrained, as though each touch had been measured and weighed. His smile reached his lips but never quite his eyes, and there was a caution in the way he held her as if she were something fragile, or perhaps something dangerous.

They moved together with the rhythm of the town, feet echoing the beat of the drum, skirts brushing in time with the fiddles. Around them, the world spun in color and light, but in Liora’s mind, a darker question wound itself tighter with every step.

What was in his family’s blood, some old secret, some hidden truth that the Rite was truly searching for? She wanted to know, would it be a threat to their love?

The thought clung to her, unshaken by the warmth of his hand or the music in her ears. And though the dance ended with a polite bow and a fleeting, almost reluctant smile, the question remained, whispering at the edge of her thoughts like a shadow that refused to leave.