Chapter 20: Soon to be husband

Taeryn raised his mug in cheers, ale sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “To Baren the Betrothed! May your forge burn hot and your marriage bed burn hotter!”

The crude toast drew laughter from the surrounding tables, where other villagers had been following the conversation with the kind of intense interest that characterized small communities.

Jaenor and Taeryn’s laughter grew louder while Baren was blushing like a little boy.

The known faces also have joined in and gave a pat on Baren’s shoulder.

Marriage proposals were significant events in places like Taren’s Rest, where bloodlines and alliances could determine the survival of entire families through the harsh mountain winters.

Ryanna herself was considered a prize worth winning—a comely girl of perhaps twenty-two years with the kind of practical intelligence that made for good wives and strong mothers.

Her father’s merchant connections would bring prosperity to the match, while Baren’s skills as a smith would ensure the family never lacked for essential tools and implements. It was the sort of sensible arrangement that formed the backbone of mountain society.

“She’s a good lass,” observed Willem from behind the bar, his wooden leg tapping approvingly against the floor. “Got her mother’s looks and her father’s head for numbers. You could do far worse, Baren.”

“Aye,” agreed one of the older patrons, a grizzled herder named Marcus whose sheep roamed the high pastures. “And with the strange times we’re seeing, it’s good to know some things remain constant. Young folk still fall in love, families still join together, and life still goes on despite whatever darkness may be stirring in the world.”

The mention of current events cast a momentary shadow over the celebration, as conversations turned briefly to speculation about their mysterious visitors.

Morgana had retired to her chamber hours ago, but her presence could still be felt like a weight pressing down on the entire village.

The black knight Darian remained at a table in the far corner, his armoured form silent and motionless as a statue, though the eye slits of his helm seemed to track every movement in the room.

But the mood was too buoyant to be dampened for long by such concerns. Fresh rounds of ale appeared as if by magic, and soon the entire common room had joined in toasting Baren’s good fortune.

Stories were shared of other memorable weddings, bawdy jokes were told about the duties of married life, and the kind of earthy wisdom that characterized mountain folk was dispensed with liberal generosity.

Through it all, Jaenor found himself acutely aware of Rena’s presence beside him.

She participated in the general merriment, laughing at appropriate moments and offering congratulations to Baren with apparent sincerity. But her green eyes kept finding his face, lingering there with an intensity that spoke of unfinished business between them.

The situation was complicated by the notable absence of Daken, the young man who had been paying court to Rena with increasing boldness in recent weeks.

Word had it that he’d departed the village on some errand for his father, leaving behind a field clear of competitors for those bold enough to seize the opportunity.

As the evening wore on and the ale continued to flow, the crowd began to thin.

Older villagers made their way home to waiting families, while the younger folk either settled in for serious drinking or paired off for more intimate pursuits.

Eventually, their table had dwindled to just the core group—Baren still basking in congratulations, Taeryn growing increasingly philosophical about the nature of love and commitment, and Rena sitting quietly beside Jaenor with the patient stillness of a hunter waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“I should be getting home,” Baren announced eventually, pushing back from the table with the careful precision of a man who knew his limits.

“Ryanna’s father wants to discuss the formal arrangements tomorrow, and I’d rather not greet him with a pounding head and ale on my breath.”

Taeryn nodded sagely, though his own consumption had clearly exceeded his friend’s. “Wise man. Nothing ruins marriage negotiations like the smell of yesterday’s celebration.”

The blacksmith made his farewells, accepting final congratulations from the remaining patrons as he worked his way toward the door. His departure seemed to signal a general withdrawal, as other groups began to settle their tabs and gather their belongings for the journey home.

Baren and Taeryn were left one after the other.

Soon, only Jaenor and Rena remained at their table, the weight of unspoken words settling between them like morning mist. Rena was glancing at Jaenor, and he didn’t leave yet. Seemed like he was waiting for her to talk.

The common room had grown quiet except for the crackle of the fire and the soft murmur of Willem cleaning glasses behind the bar. Even Darian seemed to have vanished, though Jaenor couldn’t remember seeing the knight leave.

“Walk me home?” Rena asked softly, her voice carrying undertones that had nothing to do with simple courtesy.

Jaenor looked at her, silent for a moment, and just watched her. Then he got up and nodded.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep