Peacefall: Book Two of The Fourpointe Chronicles

Chapter 5

Never before had Symon felt less sure of what to do.

Hesitation wasn't unfamiliar to him. In battle, he paused, whether he forced himself to stop and formulate an immediate plan or because the situation called for him to lie in wait. In court, even when matters of law or diplomacy catapulted over his head to escape him, he managed to sit and look regal. Then there the moments of sure death. Not his demise. His subjects. For as king he now presided over executions of the high-ranking, duties he could not pass on nor ignore. Even in such scenarios, both straightforward and trying, he always knew to do something.

Now, though, he did nothing. Save for standing before the closed door like an idiot, as the most stunning woman in the world waited behind him.

"Your . . . Majesty?"

Symon sighed, opening his eyes. He turned away from the door to face Taresa.

"You can stop calling me that. We are married."

"Ever since your coronation, I've grown so used to your title I never thought to address you otherwise. Yes, I suppose we should try to be more . . . familiar. How do your acquaintances address you?"

"Your Majesty."

"Your family?"

"Your Majesty."

"Even your grandfather?"

"Son. He calls me Son."

"Well, that'll never do. For me, at least."

Symon smirked. "My Right Captain, Everitt. Sometimes he calls me James."

"I like that. James."

Symon gazed at Taresa. Hearing his name – well, what she thought was his name – ignited a passion within him, one he had never experienced. In all his years, with all the women he had known, none had stirred him as she did right then, in the fire of the moment.

Still, he stayed by the closed door.

What is wrong with me?

"Everitt, stop staring."

His Right Captain hardly ever broke from his knightly demeanor. It felt odd having to correct him, especially in such a public ceremony.

"My apologies, James. By Mar, a thousand apologies."

"Don't appear out of sorts, is all."

"I'm not. It's not as though anyone is looking at me. Even the High Bishop is agape."

He wasn't wrong. Though sworn to celibacy, His Grace Lunes Sanzo had a façade that betrayed his vows. Then again, his stare was not unlike those of everyone else in the cathedral. Whether sparked by attraction, stirred by curiosity, or enamored by the sight of pristine beauty, all the guests in attendance studied the Jewel of Ibia as if for the first and last time.

Only Symon glanced away. Not that he wanted to avert his focus. He longed to gaze upon Taresa, who had been kept from his sight since he landed. No sooner had he set foot on the royal dock in Arinn when he found himself ushered away to attend pressing matters of state. First, he met with the High Bishop of Arinn, who blessed him and offered prayers to Mar in thanks for Jameson's safe journey. Then Symon paid a visit to the Concidaad, the Ibian royal order of barons consecrated by both the King and High Bishop to protect the Throne. Little more than the extended family of Kin Garsea, Symon nonetheless had to convene with each baron, a real exercise of patience measured by tiresome, uninspiring conversations. Lastly, Symon gathered with King Felix himself for a modest dinner, which marked the start of his selabatto, an Ibian tradition in which the groom spent the three days before the wedding avoiding his bride.