Chapter 10 #2
Heat prickles under my collarbone. I rub my chin and admit, “I know it’s no great hall, laden with a feast for a queen.
That’s what you deserve, but this is the best we can do now.
When we left Astagnon, public sentiment had turned against you.
They called you a traitor. Daughter of the enemy.
Painted slurs over your murals. If you’d stayed, there’s a chance you’d have been imprisoned.
Or worse, attacked. I can’t take the risk of bringing you back into the kingdom without protection.
If you’re married to the rightful heir to the throne, no one will dare to lay so much as an unkind eye on you. ”
She blinks a few times, starts and stops a thought, and then runs her hands over her face to start afresh.
“No—no, that isn’t what I meant. This place.
This clearing. I mean that this is more perfect than you could ever know.
I don’t want a wedding of thousands. Or parades.
Or banquets. This is exactly what I want.
” She toys with the twine ring on her finger.
“You just caught me by surprise, is all.”
She comes forward, cheeks flushed the most delicious pink, and holds out her hands for mine. I stumble forward like a schoolboy to clasp hers.
“How did you do all this?” she breathes in an awe-filled whisper.
I grin, scoffing. “With help, that’s for sure. Captain Tatarin found a godkissed mage who could tell the forest mouse what I wanted, and that little fleabag took it from there. She even combed my damn hair into place.”
“The mouse?” Sabine’s eyebrows raise in delighted surprise. Still clasping my hands, she looks around in the grass. “Where is she?”
She falls silent for a moment, the type of pause I know means she’s using her godkiss. A second later, she laughs.
“She says she’s getting herself ready by the stream—bathing before the ceremony because it took so long to get you in shape.”
I roll my eyes, but there’s a chuckle on my lips, too. I squeeze Sabine’s hands, drawing in a breath to fill every bit of my lungs.
“Are you sure this is what you still want?” I ask, running my thumb over her twine ring. “Marriage, I mean? A lot has changed.”
She lets go of my hands and toys thoughtfully with the twine ring. “When you gave me this makeshift ring, it was in a forest like this. You asked me to be yours forever, and I said yes, as long as you agreed to be my forever, too.”
I smile, but the word she used catches on a fear tucked away so low I’d hoped it would never emerge. “Forever,” I repeat, staring down at my boots. “Yeah. About that. This mortal body of mine won’t live thousands of years, not like yours—”
“Stop that.” She grabs my hands again, harder this time, lacing her fingers with mine like a vice.
“The future—however long or in whatever form that might take for both of us—is far away. Right now, it’s just you and me.
For as many years as we have together. I’m ready to commit all those years to you. ”
I shift my stance. “Yeah?”
She grins and echoes my gruff, “Yeah.”
So, I take her hand and lead her to the circle of wildflower blossoms the birds have dropped in the center of the clearing.
Fuck, but I feel like I’m fifteen years old again.
Nervous as the first time I kissed a girl—only worse, because this isn’t some awkward brush of lips in an alley. This is real. This is her.
My palms are sweating. I keep my grip light, terrified she’ll feel the tremor in my fingers. Gods, she’s so radiant.
And she’s about to be mine.
I duck my head, swallowing hard. I’m half convinced someone is going to burst through the trees and shout that it’s all been a mistake—that she was never meant for me. That a man like me doesn’t get a happy ending.
But she’s still holding my hand—with love in her eyes.
“I still don’t understand how you made all this happen,” she confesses, her hand trembling sweetly from her own nerves. “Even with the mouse’s help.”
“I can’t take credit. It’s these damn animals.
They want you to be a perfect bride.” And she is, even dressed in her dusty riding clothes with her hair windblown and tangled.
Then, I toe one of the blossoms. “Is it enough? You could use your power, you know. Grow a ring of rosebushes around us. Summon the stones to rise as an altar.”
“No.” Her head sweeps back and forth. Quick, certain. “No, I want it just like this. For us to marry simply, no temples, no altars, no gods. As plain and wild as when we first fell in love. Because no matter what comes next for us, our start was always simple.”
I can only marvel at her. Gods, this woman. This perfect, beautiful woman.
Sabine suddenly perks up, cocking her head as though listening. “Oh—the mouse is back. She says we should stand next to that stump over there.”
Sabine looks amused to be taking orders from a mouse, but we humor the pipsqueak and go to stand by a waist-high chestnut stump, the broken top worn smooth by time, blanketed with moss so vibrant green it nearly glows.
Myst whinnies from the other side of the clearing, stamping a foot. Sabine turns to her for a moment, exchanging silent words. Then, she laughs again. “One minute.”
She slips her hand from mine and goes to untie the horse. Myst falls into step beside her, trailing close. When they return to the stump, the mare plants herself squarely behind Sabine, ears forward, head held high.
“She insisted,” Sabine explains, nodding back at Myst. “Not that she has any concept of what a bridesmaid is, but she knows something special is happening and wants a proper look at the action. Claims her old eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
Myst steps forward just enough to press her nose into my shoulder. As if to say—you’d better take care of her.
“Yeah, yeah, crazy mare.” I scratch her forehead fondly. “I’ve got your girl.”
The forest mouse—looking exceptionally well-groomed for a pantry pest, I’ll give her that—scampers up onto the stump.
A ruffle in the branches catches my ear. My attention is on Sabine, our hands clasped, but my godkissed senses are picking up a litany of tiny footsteps, ruffling wings, even soft hooves approaching from all corners of the forest.
From the corner of my eye, I see owls settling into the high branches. Scent the musky fur of a beaver. Glimpse the warm brown nose of a fawn.
Sabine bends toward the mouse, nodding as she listens, then straightens.
“She says that she once lived in the foundation of a village chapel and saw humans coming together like this. Says it always started with nervous humans holding hands and someone standing before them, telling them what to do. She wants to be that person.” She gives me a puzzled look. “Did you—did you ask her to officiate?”
I lift a shoulder. “Someone had to.”
Sabine’s face twists in wry disbelief. “You’re okay with a mouse officiating our wedding? Never mind that there was a time you wanted nothing more than to stomp her.” She leans in and whispers, “You know this won’t be binding in the slightest, right?”
“You know I don’t give a damn about the Red Church, right?
” I echo, teasing. “This is for us, little violet. I’ll arrange official marriage documents when we get to Old Coros.
Folke knows an excellent forger. We’ll claim a village priest married us, if they ask his name, we’ll pay off some recordkeeper to say it checks out. ”
She grins—because here’s the sneaky bastard she knows.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” I gently cup her cheek.
“I’ve thought this through. Hell, I’ve been plotting something like this since the day I set foot in Drahallen Hall and laid eyes on you for the first—new first—time.
” I shift, plunging one hand in my pocket.
“Captain Tatarin also got me this, though I owe her a king’s ransom in gold once I have access to the royal coffers and can repay her. ”
I wrap my fingers around the small scrap of metal, then pull it out and open my palm.
The ring is small in size, but its decoration makes up for it. A gold circle made of woven metal strands made to look like vines, inlaid with pale emeralds as tiny leaves, all surrounding an amethyst-violet diamond cut like a blossom.
Look, I don’t know jewelry. But this? I know this is exceptional.
Her fingers hover a few inches over the ring, as though she’s afraid to touch it, like if she does, it might give a soap bubble’s pop. She whispers, “Where in the world…?”
“A spoil of war. Captain Tatarin’s great-great-grandfather took it off a fallen general during an ancient battle, and it’s been passed down since. She was all too happy to sell it. Says that side of her family disowned her years ago when she left their farm to join the army. Her loss is our gain.”
“Oh, Basten. It’s beautiful.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch a flicker of movement. The mouse is on her hind legs, paws waving like she’s calling court to order.
I arch a brow at the whiskered drama. “I think she wants our attention.”
Sabine tilts her head to listen, then bites back a laugh.
“She’s not actually sure what to say. She couldn’t understand what the reverend used to tell the newlyweds back in the village chapel.
You should hear what she thinks wedding vows are supposed to sound like.
There’s a lot about promising not to steal each other’s seed stores. ”
“And here I thought the furry wonder could do all.”
Sabine humors the mouse with a serious nod, then whispers to me, “I’ll fill in her gaps.” She straightens, clearing her voice. “Do you, Basten Valvere, heir to the Astagnonian throne, take me as your wife?”
“With every fucking piece of me.”
Sabine gently nudges my arm, but there’s a smile on her lips for my grumpiness. “And do I, Sabine Rachillon, princess of Volkany, take you as my husband?” She pauses for dramatic effect, seeming to revel in the torturous pause, before leaning in and purring, “With every fucking piece of me, too.”
I moan to hear the delicious filth on her lips. “Good gods, little violet.”
But Sabine listens to the mouse again, her face brightening. “Oh, here’s one part the mouse got right. She says now is the time when should kis—”
She hasn’t even gotten the word out before I sweep her up in my arms, crushing her to me, my lips on hers. I wrap my palm around her back, anchoring her to me. We’re bonded, now. Tied together forever. And, gods, I could stay like this until the end of time. With her sweet lips moving under mine.
All around us, birds flap their wings, squirrels chitter, and deer bow their antlers.
It really is a gods-damn fairy tale, I think to myself without a trace of sarcasm. Every day with Sabine is.
I finally set her down, still kissing the hell out of her, wanting every last taste of my wife’s sweetness. Fuck, my wife. I could say that a million times over and it will never not make me marvel.
I let her go only enough to slide the ring on her finger.
She gazes down at it, such a perfect fit, like it was made for her. When she looks back up at me, there are tears in her eyes.
“I’m…a little scared, Basten. That this is a dream. That the moment we leave this clearing, it will be with a storm at our backs, walking into fire.”
“Then let’s stay here a little longer,” I murmur, sweeping an arm around her shoulders, holding her head tightly to my chest. I lean down to kiss her hair, fighting the urge to hold her so hard she can’t breathe, wanting to never let her go.
She exhales like she’s been holding that breath for years, melting into me with all the weight of someone who’s finally safe. My other hand finds hers, fingers weaving together so that I can’t tell where mine end and hers begin.
She tils her face up to mine, and when I kiss her this time—slow, aching, reverent—it feels like a vow.
Let the world burn.
Right now, I have everything I need in my arms.