Bao’s dark eyes were bright with tears, and one spilled onto his cheek. I tried to remember if I’d ever seen him cry before.

I didn’t think so.

The priest gestured at him. “Now you.”

Bao laughed self-consciously. “Moirin.” His hands clenched in his lap. “I am not good at this. Only know…” His fisted hands unknitted, lying upward and folded, and his eyes were bright, so bright, looking earnestly at me. “You have a very, very large heart. And I will do my best to take good care of it.”

Shouts of laughter and approval surrounded us.

“Wait, wait!” The priest raised his hands in a good-humored protest. “We are not finished here, eh?”

So we finished.

First I cupped my hands in Bao’s and the priest poured rice into our joined hands. Together we poured it into the sacred fire, a rich toasty smell arising.

Then the priest tied our wrists together with a long cord and bade us circle the brazier seven times. This we did, while he intoned a seven-fold blessing upon us, begging the gods to bless us with happiness, prosperity, and children, and a good many other things.

And then it was done.

Bao glanced sidelong at the priest. “May I kiss her now?”

The priest nodded.

Bao kissed me, smelling of sandalwood and incense, of unfamiliar oils. But beneath it, he smelled of himself, the hot-forge scent that made me feel safe and loved and protected, and I twined my arms around his neck, returning his kiss, glad he did not share the Ch’in reluctance to show affection in public.

It felt good.

It felt so very good, and right.

Our shared diadh-anam sang between us, and I leaned my brow against his. “Do you love me?” I asked.

He laughed. “You have to ask? Today of all days? Yes, occasionally stupid girl. I love you very much.”

“Good.” I smiled at him, hoping he would remember it later. “I am glad.”

There was a feast that went on for many hours, servants carrying dozens of laden trays filled with spicy and savory dishes into the garden, where long tables had been erected and draped in more bright fabric. There was music and dancing, and there were games I didn’t fully understand, including one in which Bao and I were made to sit back to back and answer a series of questions about each other; and yet another in which the cord that had tied us together was knotted around our wrists in a complex pattern which we had to unravel one-handed.

We did well at those.

We knew each other very well, my magpie and I. We worked well together, even at a simple task such as untying knots.

And it didn’t matter that we didn’t really grasp the details of the traditions, that the traditions didn’t really apply to us. It didn’t matter that neither of us were familiar with Bhodistani dances, gladly making fools of ourselves in the effort.

All that mattered was that we were together, and surrounded by love. Celebrating beneath the open sky, garlanded with flowers, reveling in all the joy and abundance the world had to offer.

I waited until the sun was sinking low, casting long shadows over the garden, to tell Bao about my dream-or at least the important part of it. As much as I hated to do it, I couldn’t go to our bedchamber with it unspoken between us.

He listened without comment.

“Do you think it is real?” he asked gravely when I finished. “Or is it only your fear speaking to you?”

I swallowed. “I think it’s real, Bao. It felt very real.”

“Oh?” Bao raised his brows at me. “How real, Moirin?”

I flushed; I couldn’t help it. I felt the warm blood climb into my throat and scald my cheeks, revealing my guilty secret. It wasn’t always to my advantage that he knew me so well, and at such a time, Naamah’s gifts felt like a curse in truth. “I’m sorry! But it was Jehanne,” I said as though that excused me for betraying him in a dream, knowing it didn’t, knowing I would do it again anyway if she came to me. “And she was lonely, so very lonely. It broke my heart! I couldn’t help it. It would have broken yours, too.”

He looked away from me.

I clutched his arm. “Bao? I am sorry. I didn’t mean to do it, only…”

His shoulders shook, and I realized belatedly that he was trying not to laugh. “So!” He turned his gaze on me, his dark eyes now bright with tears of barely suppressed laughter. “Within hours of our wedding, Moirin, you are telling me that it appears I am sharing you with the ghost of the White Queen; and that together somehow you must face that idiot demon-summoning Lord Lion Mane Raphael both of you loved for no good reason. Is that right?”

I nodded, chagrined. “Aye, more or less.”

Bao exhaled. “I knew I should have thumped that Raphael over the head,” he remarked. “Next time, I won’t hesitate.”

“Have I ruined our wedding?” I asked in a miserable tone.

“No.” Bao cupped my face in his hands “No,” he said a second time, his breath warm on my skin. “I told you before. I love you as you are, Moirin. I would not change anything about you, even the fact that you have the will and morals of an alley-cat, because that is as your gods made you, and it is part of the reason for your very large heart.” He smiled wryly. “Although I might have wished for a few days of wedded bliss before life with you got stranger.”

I laughed, relieved and glad once more.

Bao kissed me-once gently, a second time with the rising heat of desire. I felt our diadh-anam blaze brighter than ever with the approval of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself; and then a second burst of brightness, warm and golden, a soft thunderclap all around us like a thousand doves taking flight at once, turning the blood molten in our veins and filling our mouths with a sweetness like honey.

Naamah’s blessing settled over us, over the entire charmed garden and everyone in it, driving away now and forever any doubt that her gifts carried any taint of a curse. I heard soft cries of wonder as folk turned to one another and embraced spontaneously.

My magpie prince lifted his head, eyes wide with awe. “That was…”

He had removed his turban hours ago, and now I ran one hand through his thick, unruly hair, tugging his head down to kiss me again. “That,” I whispered against his lips, “was Naamah’s blessing. And I do believe she approves of this marriage.”

Bao smiled and pulled me closer to him, one strong, lean arm snaking around my waist. “I do believe I’m ready for this party to end, Moirin.”

I nodded, the golden warmth of Naamah’s blessing still coursing through my veins, fanning the flames of desire. “Oh, yes!”

And so we said our thanks to our guests and our ever-gracious hostess Amrita, who regarded us with laughter in her eyes; and I couldn’t help but smile fondly at her, still a little in love with her, in love with the whole world tonight. And with the heady mantle of Naamah’s grace hovering over us all, it felt as though the whole love-struck, desire-smitten, intoxicated world returned the favor.

“Go, go!” Amrita said in her musical voice, making a shooing gesture at us, a rare gleam of devilry in her lustrous gaze. “I know your impatience very well, dear one.”

Bao stifled a cough.

“What do you mean, Mama-ji?” Ravindra inquired in a puzzled tone.

“It is more grown-up teasing, young highness,” Bao informed him. “Trust me when I tell you that you would rather not understand the jest.”

“Oh.” Ravindra gave him a dubious look. “All right.”

Laughing, we took our leave of the party.

Our bedchamber had been filled with flowers and candles, and Bao and I made love for long hours that night, surrounded by fragrance and flickering candlelight, and it was by turns tender and sweet, and fierce and urgent, and all of it was good, so good, sanctified by Naamah’s lingering blessing.

Somewhere in the small hours of the night, Bao surrendered to sleep as we lay together in a quiet moment.