Warcry

glowing. Amyu was slighter than either of the other two, but her curves were more pronounced.
    Heath sucked in a breath as Atira walked forward. The dress seemed to flow around her as she moved smoothly toward him.
    The room remained quiet as the three women advanced, every eye glued to them.
    Heath’s body reacted, his blood rushing to his groin. He growled under his breath, cursing the woman as he shifted his body, certain she’d planned this from the start.
    Atira’s mouth quirked in the corner.
    She drew closer, and Heath realized that this was the first time he’d seen her without a weapon. It shocked him somehow, the contrast between Atira as warrior and Atira as a woman of Xy. It seemed wrong . . . and he frowned slightly at the thought.
    But when she stepped up onto the dais, he caught a glimpse of a sheath, and he understood. They had slit the skirts, she and the other women, and hidden weapons beneath them. At least they’d had that much sense. The dress wasn’t going to protect Atira from much of anything, should the worst happen.
    And when the ceremony was over, if all went well, he’d be the one to untie those lacings.

    OTHUR MADE DAMN SURE HIS GAZE WAS ANYWHERE else other than on the Plains women. Anna would kill him, otherwise.
    The women floated down the aisle, Atira in the lead, and they moved to stand in a row on the left side of the throne. Atira turned her back on Heath pointedly. Othur caught a glimpse of his son’s face. Heath’s skin looked hot enough to burn.
    Although perhaps it wasn’t anger that fueled that flame.
    Othur smiled and adjusted the sash of the Sword of Xy. His son was a smart man. He’d figure things out.
    “Lords and ladies of Xy, and warriors of the Plains, Xylara, Daughter of Xy, Queen, and Warprize.”
    Lara stood in the doorway.
    She wore a flowing dress of white, and on her shoulders was the mantle of Xy, the ermine framing her body. Her hair was up in tousled curls with both white and gold ribbons wound through. Her blue eyes were bright with joy as she paused, then started toward the throne.
    The crowd knelt as she approached, rising only after she passed. Lara didn’t acknowledge them, as was proper. She kept her pace steady, her face to the front. The long train of the mantle rustled as it passed over the marble floor, stretching out behind her.
    Othur’s eyes grew misty. She’d been such a tiny child, running through the gardens with his son, her brown curls flying. Grown right before his eyes, in the blink of an eye. So stubborn and insistent that she learn the skills of healing, even if she was a Daughter of the Blood. Until that terrible day that Xymund demanded that she sacrifice herself for Xy. That terrible, wonderful day.
    Anna had tears running down her cheeks and chins, and Othur lifted her hand and kissed it.
    Lara continued forward and moved to stand before her escort. The three women knelt to help her with the train, then rose to stand behind her. Othur averted his gaze.
    Once again, the Herald pounded with his staff. Othur had to suppress a grin—old Kendrick was enjoying his duties more than seemed right for a man of his age. His voice was almost youthful as it rang out, “Lord and ladies of Xy, warriors of the Plains, I give you Keir of the Cat, Overlord of Xy.”
    Keir didn’t bother to stand in the doorway. He just came stalking up toward the throne, making it more than halfway before anyone even knew he was there. He was wearing those black leathers and chain armor, and the combination was dark and fierce. Othur noted the two swords strapped to his back and the dagger at his side. The message the Overlord was sending to the Xyian nobles was obvious.
    Keir approached the dais and stood there, facing the Archbishop. But he only had eyes for Lara.
    “Keir of the Cat, Overlord of Xy, you stand before me, the earthly representative of the Sun God, he who blesses and preserves the Kingdom of Xy. What would you have of me?” the Archbishop asked.
    “Devoted One.” Keir’s voice was deep and clear. “I would take Xylara, Daughter of Xy to be my wife, to pledge my marriage vows to her before the Sun God and these witnesses. By my own free will and hand.”
    “How say you, Xylara, Daughter of Xy?” the Archbishop asked.
    “That I would take Keir of the Cat to be my husband, to pledge my marriage vows to him before the Sun God and these witnesses. By my own free will and hand.”
    “Who represents the House of Xy in this matter?”