Page 26 of Golden Bond


Font Size:

It was warm. His skin. The staff. The silver. Everything felt charged.

“Speak,” the priest said, not unkindly.

I drew breath. The offering had made it seem like I had a choice.

“I accept,” I said. My voice was quiet, but it didn’t shake. “I accept this bond. I come in truth, though I do not know what waits. I offer what I am, and will not turn away.”

The priest stepped back.

He raised his arms—not dramatically, but with solemnity.

“Then the bond begins tonight. It will hold fromsundown to sunrise, one full cycle of the moon. You will return here at its end, and together you shall face its conclusion—whether in parting or in passage.”

Smoke rose steadily from the brazier.

The pine needles caught. The wine was poured into twin goblets and set aside.

The room quieted again.

And across from me, Auren still hadn’t looked away.

He had chosen me. And now, I had accepted.

Even if my heart beat like a trapped bird, I could not escape the silence that followed.

The bond had begun. The priests had made their offerings. The next difficult step was on us.

The priest said no more. He stepped back, nodding once. And then, as if a current had shifted, the chamber began to change.

One by one, the young priests bowed their heads and withdrew. Silent as smoke, they moved in slow procession toward the edge of the room and slipped through hidden doors behind the curtains. The attendants followed, pale silks brushing the floor. Not a word was spoken. No final prayer. No closing rite.

They simply left.

The last to remain was the high priest, his silver-edged robes trailing behind him. He looked once at Auren, then at me, and something passed between us—not approval, not pity, just a recognition. A knowing. Then he stepped through the great carved doors and closed them with deliberate care.

Auren and I were alone.

The chamber, which had seemed sacred and vast just moments ago, now felt intimate. The walls curved inward. The lamplight softened. I could hear every breath I took—every rustle of fabric, every slow beat of my heart. I was aware of the silks against my skin, the oil still warm where it clung to my collarbones. A droplet slid from my hair down the back of my neck.

I didn’t move.

Neither did Auren.

He stood across from me, one hand still resting lightly on the Bondstaff, his body half-shrouded in ritual. But something in his posture had changed. The stiffness was gone. The solemn weight had loosened.

He looked at me—and not the way he had in the stream, with challenge and mischief—but openly. Quietly.

Then, in a voice low and steady, he said, “We can go slowly. The gods aren’t the only ones who should witness you.”

My breath caught.

Something softened behind my ribs. It was not fear, not quite. But I felt like a thread had been pulled loose inside me.

Auren stepped forward, closing the distance by a single pace. The motion was simple, unadorned. It didn’t carry the flare of performance I had come to expect from him. There was no teasing. No power in the gesture, save the choice itself.

He was just a youth now.

A youth standing in a sacred room, offering not his strength, but his presence.