Niesha’s insides scrambled over that last word. She’d known none of it in her years. The occasional kindnesses that came her way had been from strangers. In her quiet moments, she’d dreamed of such a feeling, but never in her wildest imagination had she dreamed of it being uttered in such circumstances.
A glance at Zufar showed his face was a stoic mask, the words not having any effect on him save for the façade he’d put up for the public. When it was his turn to repeat his vows he did so in deep assured tones, not hurried, not in any way nervous.
The cleric turned to Niesha. Her heart lurched frantically.
Her fingers began to tremble, then her whole body was seized by vicious little earthquakes that just wouldn’t stop.
‘Repeat your vows,’ Zufar instructed with a grave whisper. ‘Repeat them now.’
Niesha swallowed painfully, forcing her dry throat to work. She opened her mouth, and with a sense of wild surrealism said, ‘I, Niesha Zalwani, take you, Zufar al Khalia, to be my husband.’
Shock waves rippled through the crowd, echoed outside the palace as the true identity of the bride was revealed. Through it all, Zufar kept his gaze fixed, haughty, regal and straight-ahead.
‘Proceed,’ he commanded the cloaked cleric.
To his credit, the old man did not hesitate. He recited reams of archaic, binding words.
And a mere half an hour later, Niesha was officially wed to the King of Khalia.
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