Chapter 13 – The Kneeling Vow
We reached Caer Veyral at twilight on the seventeenth day.
The fortress had changed.
Where nine days ago there had been only snow and silence, now banners snapped from every tower (black stags on crimson, silver wolves of House Vey, the white bear of Ironhold). Torches blazed along the battlements. The great gates stood open, and the courtyard was a sea of men and women in northern mail.
They parted as Evelyn rode through.
No one spoke.
Every knee hit the snow as she passed.
She dismounted in the centre of the courtyard, boots crunching on frozen gravel. I slid down after her (awkward, one-armed, pain lancing up my shoulder with every movement) and stood at her left side where I belonged.
Rowena stepped forward and dropped to one knee.
"Your Grace," she said, voice carrying to the highest wall. "The north is yours."
Evelyn looked out over the kneeling army (five thousand at least, maybe more) and I saw the moment the weight settled on her shoulders.
Not fear.
Responsibility.
She lifted her chin.
"Rise," she commanded.
They rose as one.
Then she did something no one expected.
She walked straight to the ancient kneeling stone in the centre of the courtyard (the same black granite block where every Clermont heir had once sworn fealty to the north) and dropped to both knees.
The entire fortress went still.
I felt my heart stop.
Evelyn drew her father's dagger (the one she had carried since the night he died) and laid it across her upturned palms.
"I am not your duchess by birthright alone," she called, voice ringing clear in the freezing air. "I am your duchess because I choose this land, these people, and this fight. I swear by blood and snow and the old gods beneath this mountain that I will lead you honourably, or die trying."
She sliced her left palm (deep, deliberate) and let the blood drip onto the stone.
The north roared.
Then she turned to me.
I was already moving.
Pain be damned.
I dropped to my knees in front of her (hard enough that the impact jarred my wounded arm and sent sparks across my vision).
She reached for my good hand.
I gave it without hesitation.
"Rin," she said, loud enough for every soul in the courtyard to hear, "you have bled for me, killed for me, carried me when I could not stand. I will not ask you to kneel as servant again."
She took the bloodied dagger and cut her right palm (mirror to her left).
Then she pressed our wounded hands together (blood to blood, heartbeat to heartbeat).
"I ask you to stand at my side as my shield, my conscience, and my heart. Will you have me (not as your lady, but as yours)?"
The roar that answered nearly shook snow from the battlements.
My throat closed.
I could barely speak.
"Yes," I rasped. "A thousand times yes."
She smiled (radiant, fierce, tear-streaked) and pulled me to my feet.
The army parted again as she led me by our joined, bleeding hands up the steps to the great hall.
Inside, the hearth fire was already lit. On the high table waited a silver basin of melted snow and clean linen.
Evelyn sat me down, unwrapped the filthy sling herself, and began cleaning the axe wound with steady hands.
The skin had closed, but the arm beneath was still wrong (swollen, bruised purple and black, fingers curled like a dead spider).
She saw me wince and paused.
"The circle arrives tomorrow," she said quietly. "Three master healers from the deep north. They will finish what Tomas began. You will wield a sword again, Rin. I swear it."
I caught her wrist with my good hand.
"I don't need two arms to protect you," I said. "I just need you to keep looking at me like you did out there."
She leaned in and kissed me (slow, reverent, tasting of blood and snow and promises).
When she pulled back, her forehead rested against mine.
"Always," she whispered.
Outside, the northern army began to sing (the old war hymn of House Clermont, the one that had not been heard in six years).
Inside the great hall, the duke's daughter and her chosen shield held each other while the fortress itself seemed to breathe again.
Seventeen days left.
And for the first time since I woke in this world, I was exactly where I was meant to be.
Kneeling (not in servitude).
But in love.