Chapter 239: Your word (1)
In the heart of Lyvaria, where an icy lake contained a sleeping water dragon, where none ventured to, two lovers held hands before a priestess, the lake at the woman’s back while Selvin and Loraven kneeled in the snow, staring at one another warmly. Loraven did not agree to be Selvin’s wife immediately. In fact, Selvin spent two weeks secretly meeting her until he’d battered through the steely wall surrounding her heart she’d spent years building up again.
Loraven would have said yes, but they’d spent so long apart, and the she-elf was wary that the time they’d spent together years before might have been romanticised a little in her head. Those thoughts fled her mind within an hour of spending time with him.
Another week had passed, and Loraven knew Queen Iolena was getting impatient. She’d constantly sent Edric to check on her daughter and make sure she remained hidden from the guests. Loraven played her part well, kicking up a fuss but not enough to cause her mother to see her. At that time, Loraven and Selvin formed a plan.
The king and queen would disapprove of their union, but they could not do anything if the pair eloped and returned to the kingdom of Dunhurst before they heard of the news or were too far away for the guards to hunt them down. That was why one of the people they chose to witness the sacred marriage vows between them was none other than Edric, the queen’s right-hand man. It was forced, of course.
Edric was tied up and sitting uncomfortably in the snow, mouth gagged with a red ribbon. At first, he’d squirmed and tried speaking, but now he remained quiet, watching it all. Sir Hugh, a trusted close friend and guard of Selvin’s, stood behind him, his features stoic as he leaned against his long sword stabbed into the snow behind Edric.
Loraven was in an icy blue dress that faded into a white that met the blanket of snow; her shoulders were bare, her hair left untamed and wildly falling down her back, with her face without any makeup. She wore a necklace, one of the brightest emerald, an heirloom that her mother’s mother passed down to her on her eighteenth. Only those in their bloodline could wear it, and although it did not go with her dress, she wore it for their elopement.
With their hands joined together, the priestess wrapped a material made of ice droplets that sparkled under the early morning sun that rose and made the icy lake sparkle in hues of yellows, oranges and reds. The icy material melded together once the ends were left loose, and Selvin and Loraven’s hands were tightly intertwined. The priestess, whose features were hidden behind silvery blue lace face covering, raised her white-gloved hand for them to proceed with the ancient elven words of their matrimony.
Loraven taught Selvin the words two nights in a row until he was fluent. They planned to marry and create a bond in Lyvaria before marrying the human style in front of the royal family and nobles in Dunhurst.
Speaking the words, synchronising their sentences together, and telling the gods their love and union were just, they would take care of one another and never intentionally cause harm to each other. Selvin and Loraven’s lips brushed against the icy fabric around their hands, eyes connected as they did so. The priestess had her hands on their heads, citing more words about their union.
A light blue glow formed between them and to the left side of Loraven and the right side of Selvin. Loraven felt hot and cold flushes growing in intensity until the left side of her ribs caused a slight stinging pain. She winced, as did Selvin, but then the pain simmered, and the light dissipated.
"*It is done.*"
Loraven looked down to see the icy material had melted and disappeared. The pair smiled, eyes alight before Selvin gently sealed his lips against hers. Loraven smiled and leaned her forehead against his as the sun shone between them, warming their faces.