4

Toward evening, Arleta came to the princess. The girl's hair was carefully braided and gathered into a tight bun. In the hands - a voluminous basket, covered with a white cloth. Deja sat up in bed, trying to control her emotions. Her heart pounding like crazy, she swallowed, sat up straighter in the bed. She asked almost in a whisper:

-The time has come?

Arleta nodded. She went up to the princess, put down the basket and pulled out a long light shirt from it. Deamara slowly lowered her bare feet to the stone floor. They were immediately scorched by the cold. Deja suddenly realized that she was so worried that she was not sure if she was able to stand up on her own. Arleta looked at her carefully, seeming to understand everything:

-Do not be afraid. You have about two more hours to prepare. Now we'll just go down to the baths.

- In the baths? –princess felt as a bit lets go tension. She stood up, feeling her stomach clench in fear. She took the shirt, Arleta helped put it on. The thin fabric gently touched the skin, and the hem completely covered the legs.

The maid was almost a head shorter than Dea. She bent down to pick up the basket and headed for the exit.

-Follow me.

The girls cautiously left the room that had been the princess's "prison" for the last week. Deja immediately looked around, but there was no one else here, only an empty corridor that went in both directions. Lamps - rounded transparent stones of uneven shape, recessed into metal stands, give a soft, even and warm light. Remotely resemble matte shining amber.

-Are they magical? The princess carefully touched the warm and slightly rough, almost velvet, surface of the stones. The light dimmed gently and flared up again as she withdrew her hand.

"Yes," her companion turned around. - You don't have any?

"No," Dea shook her head. Her mood soured sharply when she remembered her home. - Magic is forbidden in Anmar. For any use, the punishment is death. My great-grandfather introduced this law after the war that broke out between the royal power and the order of magicians. And he banished everyone who owned even a grain of power to the Cursed Lands.

-How are you doing? - sincerely surprised girl.

Deja only shrugged her shoulders in response, and they continued down the corridor. Fortunately, there is a thick burgundy carpet on the floor here and it is almost not cold to walk. Before descending the stairs, the princess stopped again, saw a huge tapestry on the wall: it is a dark night, the forest is illuminated only by moonlight, there is a dark cliff in the middle, and what is down there, you can’t understand. But above it... A few blurry shadows that froze at the moment of flight, when they jumped over the abyss. Long bodies and tails, powerful paws, predatory heads. Markats. Perfect hunters and killers in their animal form of huge tigers. Why is she so mesmerized by their appearance alone? Arleta told them to hurry up, and the girls started down the spiral staircase, then went down a few more corridors and went down the stairs again, this time the usual one.

The air gradually became warm and humid, Deya distinctly felt the characteristic smell of mineral springs, rich, slightly tart. Finally, the girls came to a more spacious room with pools of various sizes. During the entire journey, Deamara did not see a single living soul in the castle, although there were clearly people here. Maybe they were forbidden to go out.

Arleta led the princess to a small stone bowl in the floor, in which water was light, whitish, as if milk had been added to it. Thick white steam rises upwards, settling with condensate on the sand-colored walls. Next to the bowl there is a stone bench, Arleta put a basket there and began to extract something from it. Deamara saw a roll of a fluffy white towel, several small clay pots, bunches of some herbs, a hairbrush. The maid then helped the princess pull off her chemise and held her arm as she entered the water. Inside the bowl, which turned out to be unexpectedly deep, small, rough steps were carved. Hot water pleasantly enveloped the girl's body. Deya sighed blissfully, sank into the water up to her neck. She stumbled with her hands on some surface - inside the bowl, in addition to the steps, there was something like a wide side, on which the princess sat down, still up to his neck in water. Nicely. The water is unusually soft and gentle, and nothing at all is visible in it, only white swirls. Behind her back, Arleta was crumbling some fragrant herbs into a bowl, which made her head a little intoxicated. The princess relaxed completely and allowed Arleta to wash her hair. She gently touched, rubbing some kind of light blue ointment that smelled of freshness. Then she placed a small cup in front of the princess, filled to the brim with blue berries - imnesia. Deja remembered that it promotes healing and anesthetizes. rubbing some kind of light blue ointment that smelled of freshness. Then she placed a small cup in front of the princess, filled to the brim with blue berries - imnesia. Deja remembered that it promotes healing and anesthetizes. rubbing some kind of light blue ointment that smelled of freshness. Then she placed a small cup in front of the princess, filled to the brim with blue berries - imnesia. Deja remembered that it promotes healing and anesthetizes.

While the princess was feasting on the berries, Arleta finished with her hair and asked her to get out of the water. She led the princess a little further, to a larger pool. Here the water was absolutely clear and colder. Deamara plunged into it with her head, washing off the whitish water, went out and touched her skin in surprise - incredibly soft, light, as if radiant. Arleta ran her hands through her hair from top to bottom, and it dried instantly, crumbling into light silver silk. Magic. Deja ran the strands through her fingers - her hair was surprisingly smooth and soft. 

After the princess was taken to a small room, which was very close, it had only a full-length mirror, in a heavy, obviously carved bone frame. Arleta took a traditional wedding dress from the basket, and Deja involuntarily put her arms around her chilled shoulders. She suddenly remembered sharply why all this and where she had to go now. She didn't even know how much time she had left.

She was no longer comforted. The maid silently helped to put on the dress: the thinnest translucent white fabric to the floor, and on top - a lot of silver chains that pressed her to the body, outlining the figure. Thin silver bracelets on both hands, long earrings that barely touched the shoulders. There is nothing on her neck - during the ceremony she will accept two wedding pendants at once. Arleta pulled the princess's hair into a complicated and voluminous braid, adorned it with the same chains as on the dress, and allowed her to look in the mirror.

Deamara noticed that she had changed a little. The wound was not in vain: the eyes seem to be larger, the cheekbones are outlined more sharply, the pale face and hands, the white dress, which is close to the figure from above, diverges in soft folds below, hiding the legs. Her hair, now light silvery, almost white, gleams softly in the light of the magical lamps. Deamara is no longer the same girl who left the palace on an autumn day to meet her future fiancé. That girl had hopes, desires, and a future. And this one doesn't have it.

Now Arleta led the princess in a completely different way. It seemed to her that there was not enough air. The pounding of his heart echoed in his ears. Arleta said something quietly, but the princess couldn't make out what it was. Yes, and what's the difference? Everything floated before my eyes. Not much more and she'll fall right here. She no longer cared about wonderful magic stones and beautiful tapestries.

Arleta stopped in front of a high door, which promptly slid open inwards. The maid gently pushed the princess in the back, and slammed the doors behind her, cutting off her escape. It was as if a rock had fallen on Deya - her knees trembled, her breath caught.

She was in a small room. Twilight reigned here, the windows were covered with thick curtains, but Deya knew that it was already deep night and the moon was rising. Directly in front of her is the altar of the Goddess. A white statue of a translucent solid stone depicting a girl wrapped in a long robe with wide sleeves. Hands are folded on the chest, and the face is hidden by a hood. No one has ever seen the face of the Goddess.

An open hearth is built under the statue, the flame burns evenly - this is the only source of light, and because of this, strange twisting shadows crawl along the walls. Or is it dark in the eyes?

She was not allowed to fall, strong hands supported her shoulders. The princess was confidently and persistently led straight to the altar. There she saw the Priestess of the Moon, a woman of indeterminate age dressed in a light gray robe. The features of her face constantly eluded, blurred. Long, dazzlingly white, like all priestesses, her hair was braided into many small braids and descended behind her back, in her ears were earrings depicting the two halves of the moon. In her hands, the woman held a translucent curved dagger, as thin as ice - a flame can be seen through it. Beria stood next to the priestess, dressed only in white trousers. Barefoot. Hair is untangled and loose. In the muffled light of the flames, they looked like a living fiery river that flows over the shoulders and chest of a man. On the neck is a pendant - a small fang made of blood-red stone. Well, of course ... What other symbol could the werewolves choose.

Deamara tried not to look into his eyes, although Markat, on the contrary, burned her with his eyes. Deya realized that her older brother, Aznar, supported her. Just had time to think about it, they let her go, and the second werewolf stood next to her on the right hand. He is dressed just like his brother. The same fang shimmers on the chest.

-Are you ready to start? the priestess asked in a slightly hoarse voice.

The brothers nodded confidently, and the princess silently looked at the fire, trying to stay on her feet and accepting the inevitable. Aznar and Beria held out their hands to the priestess at the same time, palms up. Bery on the right, Aznar on the left. The priestess ran her dagger slowly across them, the blade stained with blood. Deya felt sick, a hum rose in her ears.

“Deamara, I ask for your hands,” the priestess said, not waiting for her reaction. Slowly, very slowly, the princess raised her hands, palms up. Two sharp movements and a sharp pain - blood dripped from both palms. Usually you need to do this only on one hand, but since Princess Lanaren is for two at once ... Beria covered his left hand with his hand, squeezed it and made the girl wince, and Asnar carefully took the right hand, almost without causing pain.

The priestess, meanwhile, ran her finger first over the blade, collecting the mixed blood, then over the lips of Beria, over the lips of Deya and Aznar. The girl felt the characteristic salty metallic taste. Then the priestess turned to the Goddess and began to utter ritual phrases in the language of werewolves. Deamara hardly understood anything. She heard only "lanaren", "markat" and the name of the Goddess. The princess was visibly shaken. The priestess turned around, speaking the traditional ritual phrase:

- Do you agree to give your lives and souls to each other?

-I agree, - Aznar bowed his head.

- I agree, - Beria snorted and grinned wryly.

- Deamara? - the priestess of the moon looked at the girl expectantly. Deja almost physically felt her sharp gaze. A lump formed in her throat, making it impossible to say anything. After her consent, there will be no turning back. A blood oath will bind you for life. She will belong entirely to the Markats... Helpless tears rolled down the princess's cheeks. Now she couldn't see anything at all. She bit her lip until it hurt, holding back a sob.

"Deamara," Beria hissed from the left, painfully squeezing his hand.

- I agree, - quietly, on the verge of audibility, the girl said with naughty lips. But that was enough.

Her hands seemed to stick to the hands of men, now the girl, with all her desire, could not take them away. The priestess removed the fangs from the markats and put them on Deamare's neck one by one. Both fangs fell into the hollow of the chest, hiding from view under the dress. A soft silvery glow enveloped the statue - the Most Bright One took an oath.

Deja saw and felt complex patterns running across her skin from her hands, glowing white in the dark. They moved to the whole body, legs, neck, face. Each of them burned, and an involuntary groan broke from the girl's lips, she felt how her ... husbands tensed up? Yes. Now yes.

“The ceremony is over,” the priestess said solemnly, putting away her dagger.

The glow has faded. But Deja knew that the patterns from the ancient runes were now permanently etched into her skin and could be seen from time to time.

The girl was released, and she, having lost her support, immediately fell to her knees, because she no longer had the strength to stand. Beria hissed indignantly. Aznar gently hugged her and picked her up in his arms, hot lips touched her temple. Low whisper:

- Dea, it's over...

The girl blinked. It hurt so much to hear that name. So it was called only in distant childhood. Father. And only when he was in an extremely good mood, which happened not so often. And then her mother passed away and the girl never heard such an appeal again. She became Deamara, daughter of Ulgar, sole heir to the Anmar throne. Now... she's nobody.

Such marriages were not at all strange. Deya still remembered that her great-grandfather was married to two women at the same time. One for duty, the other for love. After that, her grandfather forbade it, but among the Markats such marriages were much more common. A similar thing happened when the werewolf, not finding Lanaren, got married and after that he suddenly met his true love. It happened that he already had children from his first wife. So the second wives and children from them appeared. And it happened, and vice versa. A woman who got married suddenly became Lanaren for another werewolf. For human werewolves, such marriages were not something strange or unexpected.

The girl was carried somewhere along the dark corridors. Bery followed his brother like a shadow, and Deya sank into Aznar's arms, slowly realizing what awaited her now. End of marriage. Markats are now in their right.

Deamara looked down at her hand and shuddered as the cut slowly healed. So that's why they gave her Imnesia... and not just for that.