Gavin pulled at his cloak for the nth time, fidgeting as he adjusted the bow around his neck for the lack of nothing else to do to ease his nerves. He can’t stand still; his legs haven’t stopped shaking from where he’s standing and his hands need something to hold—preferably Ainar’s hand but the alpha is not with him at the moment—just to distract himself. He’s so nervous he might actually throw up.
They are now standing behind the drawn curtain, at the side of the makeshift platform in front of the snow-covered ground of the palace, waiting for the ceremony to start. It’s still a few hours before the sun’s descent, but the square is already brimming with people attending the ceremony. Gavin could hear their murmurs as they also wait for the ceremony to start. They are probably excited, completely opposite of what Gavin is feeling now. He heard it’s the first time in the past two decades that they’ll be seeing their leaders, and even their past coronations were always mostly done priv
