Valgar
They crashed together, his arm going around her waist and lifting her off her feet as he twirled her. She laughed, her own grip around his neck tight and reassuring after so long.
“Val!” she exclaimed, loud and delighted beneath something that they could pretend was reproval.
“My queen,” he told her, settling her down and nosing at her cheekbone, inhaling her scent deep into him where it had been missing for so long now.
It was just a nickname, of course, but it spoke a truth so deep just getting to speak it was like being allowed to breathe after too long underwater.
Mar’s fingers dug hard into his skin, her love travelling through the bond and warming him to the core. “Val,” she repeated, softer this time, full of longing still despite their closeness.
He shuddered, because she was the one person alive for whom he was simply ‘Val’.
And just like that they were kissing, soft and reassuring, familiar and safe, but with something frantic underneath.
Mar broke the kiss, and it was Mar as well who said, “I am being silly, I had no reason to fear for your safety...”
Oh, he realised, of course that was it. Valgar had missed her every hour of the day, but Mar had somehow grown worried about him.
Perhaps because the only times they had been apart had been when Valgar had gone to the front—never close enough to risk himself, naturally, but he could not blame her for her concern.
“Not silly,” he told her, raising her chin. “But feel free to check me for injuries.”
It worked; she laughed again and slapped his side. And then she led him to their bed and opened up her arms to him, holding nothing back.
He did not think at all of his second omega, not until it was over and Mar was asleep in his arms. Then, happier than he could remember being in a long time, the contrast of Lord Quincy’s emotions was too great to miss.