She wore a silk gown in a subtle mix of forest shades that exposed her caramel shoulders. It hugged her bodice and waist, then opened into panels like leaves, which flared around her hips whenever she moved. Her cap of hair was twined with flowers, and emeralds and gold glittered at her wrists and ankles.

She padded toward Han, barefoot, like a faerie startled out of a forest bower, a bewitching mix of clan and flatland beauty. Han’s pulse accelerated as desire washed over him. All he could think was that he wanted to kiss those lips again. That he wanted to press his own lips to the rose tattoo just under her collarbone.

She took her hand in his, smiling up at him rather wickedly, as if she realized the effect she was having. Mellony and Dancer lined up behind them.

“Lord Hanson Alister and Her Majesty Raisa ana’Marianna have come to temple,” Magret said, her voice reverberating off glass and stone.

Han scanned the room, which was lit with candles and witch-lights. The guests were arrayed to either side of a central aisle that ran straight to the altar. Cat was seated with her basilka to the right front, her splinted left leg poking out from under layers of skirts.

Speaker Jemson stood at the front, next to the altar, in his finest temple robes.

“Come forward, Raisa ana’Marianna and Han Alister,” he intoned.

Raisa tugged at Han’s hand, pitching him out of his reverie, and they walked forward, down the aisle, Dancer and Mellony following a discreet distance behind. Han caught glimpses of the spectators out of the corners of his eyes—the bluejackets, all seated together in their dress uniforms, Talia and Pearlie holding hands and looking dreamy-eyed.

Amon and Annamaya were seated in the front row, also holding hands.

What is he thinking? Han wondered, studying Amon’s grim, serious expression. He and Raisa had been sweethearts, once. Did he still have feelings for her?

On the other side of the aisle, Raisa’s father and grandmother sat stiffly in their finest clan robes, their trader faces on.

At the end of the front row next to the wall, Micah Bayar was sprawled back in his chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, the sharp planes of his face highlighted by the glow of his amulet. No doubt he intended to look relaxed, even bored by the proceedings, but he had a white-knuckled grip on the arms of the chair.

Why did he have to come? Han wondered. He could have said no.

Han turned resolutely and faced Speaker Jemson.

“Hanson Alister,” Speaker Jemson said, smiling down at the two of them. “What brings you to temple this evening?”

“I come to be joined to Raisa ana’Marianna as husband and consort,” Han said. “To be joined before the Maker and our friends in the spirit and the flesh.”