Chapter Four #2
The organ set in as William progressed down the aisle.
He walked through thin clouds of incense wafting through the air, the woody scent filling his nostrils.
The altar was ringed with tall candelabras, dozens of flames dancing on candlewicks.
Behind the altar stood the priestess, chaplain of Silverlight, and her acolytes.
The multi-colored light filtering through the stained-glass windows played on the priestess’s long, white dress.
A woman in her fifties, she had served his family for decades.
William had known her his whole life. She was one of the last people set to leave after the wedding.
It saddened William to see her go, but he understood.
The fae didn’t worship the Lady, and the faerie realm was no place for a priestess.
Every step he took toward the altar fueled the nervous energy in his stomach. William had always thought he would dread the marriage of convenience he’d inevitably have to enter, but he wasn’t worried about his union with Iver. He should be.
William reached the dais, climbing the three steps to the altar.
He exchanged an imperceptible nod with the priestess, and a wave of melancholy rolled over him.
This was the last service she’d honor him and his family with.
William was no religious zealot, but he practiced his faith.
From now on, he’d have to pray on his own in the chapel or perhaps with Charlotte and her children.
He turned to the open church doors. Snowflakes danced outside—it must’ve started snowing only seconds ago. William waited, and then a lone figure peeled out of the white flurry.
His heart stopped. Even from across the length of the nave, Iver’s otherworldly beauty haunted him. He’d seen Iver in skintight leather armor. He’d seen him in his royal finery. He hadn’t seen him like this.
Iver stepped through the doors dressed in a startling white robe with seams of rich silver brocade dotted with diamonds and pearls.
The garment gaped at his chest, exposing a swath of skin that ran almost to his navel.
A white, hooded cloak hid his eyes as he approached, his steps so light on the limestone floor that he made no sound.
As if he were an apparition. Snow fell even though they were inside, delicate flakes landing on the pews, the guests, even the altar.
Iver reached the dais and let his hood fall back, revealing his long, lush waves, his head crowned by a silver circlet.
Close up, his parting robe was even more scandalous, hinting at the muscles of his full pecs, the firmness of his stomach.
He looked like a king, a bride and an expensive whore all at once.
The sight dazed William. And not just him—every pair of eyes in the church was glued to Iver.
Taking the role of the lower-ranking spouse, Iver kept his eyes down in deference.
He sank to his knees in one fluid motion, stealing the breath from William’s lungs.
He was the picture of submission. As if he was going to be the perfect, obedient husband.
Nothing could be further from the truth, but this moment was his consummate surrender.
It stirred two beasts in William’s chest. The first, far easier to accept, craved Iver, wanted to take, possess and own him.
The second sat deeper—a profound yearning to show Iver the same respect, to let him subdue and claim him in front of the Winter Court.
William suppressed a shiver. As tradition demanded, he held out a hand to help Iver up.
Instead of getting to his feet, Iver took it, his icy fingers closing around William’s, and he leaned in.
He pressed his parted lips to William’s knuckles, sending a bolt of electricity through him.
He lifted his gaze to William’s, and the suggestion of what else he might kiss sizzled between them.
This time, there was no controlling of William’s bodily reaction.
William thanked the heavens for the skirt of his doublet hiding his growing predicament.
Iver’s hold firmed, and he rose. Together, they stood before the altar as kings.
“Today,” the priestess said, “the Lady will bear witness to the wedding of King William III of Vale and King Iver of the Winter Court.” The acolytes kneeling by her side rang the altar bells, their bright chime reverberating through the church.
The priestess turned to William. “King William of Vale, do you freely consent to take King Iver as your lawfully wedded husband?”
This was the last moment to bow out. Not gracefully, but he could. William had expected a sense of apprehension, but when it came to it, he knew what he wanted. And Iver would give it to him. “I do.”
“And do you, King Iver, freely consent to take King William as your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do.”
“The Lady and the congregation witness your joining in matrimonial union. You have accepted the holy terms of this wedding, and thus, you are married in the eyes of the church, the Lady and the people. I pronounce you husband and husband. May the Lady bless your marriage; may you live under her shield. Let this union be sealed with a kiss.”
William had known this was coming, and yet, he wasn’t prepared.
Iver turned toward him, and something unreadable blazed in his cool gaze.
The bare skin of his chest called to William.
Snowflakes danced between them, settling on Iver’s shoulders.
Iver cupped William’s face and leaned in, sending his heart into a gallop.
Over the years, William had kissed many people. Concubines, lower-ranking nobles with whom he’d entertained short affairs, and one or two lovers he had cared about. He’d never kissed another king. He’d never kissed in church or in front of the court.
Iver’s dark lashes lowered, and William forgot how to breathe. Dizzy with the feverish excitement pumping through him, he had to hold onto something. There was only Iver, and so he clasped his hips and stepped into the kiss.
His eyes closed, and as Iver’s soft, cool lips touched his, pleasure shuddered through him. The coldness of Iver’s body was there, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It was new and exciting and a hundred things William didn’t have words for.
Iver’s strong, hard form was unmoving under his hands, but his lips parted slightly. William couldn’t help but respond. His thoughts dissolved, and then a bold tongue nudged his. William was going to faint with bliss.
Iver withdrew. He stepped out of William’s reach, jerking him back into reality. The smirk playing on his lips was almost imperceptible, but William caught it. He was meant to see it. The message was clear: See, I barely have to lift a finger to make your knees go weak.
William clenched his jaw.
The wedding feast following the ceremony took place in the great hall, a ballroom of epic proportions.
It stretched across the width of the castle, towering pillars carrying the vaulted ceiling from which an endless procession of chandeliers hung.
Long refectory tables had been placed in the space between columns and windows on either side of the hall, leaving the enormous dance floor in the middle free.
Here, too, Iver’s influence was evident in the ever-present frost. At least it had stopped snowing indoors.
Twelvetide wreaths decorated the tables, one of the twelve candles lit on each.
Another would be added every day leading up to the winter solstice.
They were needed—it was barely late afternoon, and the sun was already setting.
Now that Silverlight Castle was part of the Winter Court, this would never change.
The days would be short and the nights long, leaving a lot of time to sit in front of the fire before retiring to bed early, spending hours indulging in carnal—no.
William was getting ahead of himself. Though whenever he looked at Iver, at his sculpted face and the carelessly revealed skin underneath his robe, he couldn’t help but imagine how he would look under him in bed. Or on top of him.
They sat next to each other at the head of one of the long tables.
A string quartet played at the end of the hall, the music floating through the air.
In between pieces, speeches were given. Charlotte expressed her happiness that William had struck such a good match and that she was looking forward to living as part of the Winter Court.
Opposite her sat Ailenor, who congratulated Iver and thanked William for allowing the Winter Court to reside in Silverlight henceforth.
Silenia, who had taken her place further down the table with her two adult children, said nothing.
Two cup-bearers, one human, one fae, waited on William and Iver, tasting food and drink for poison before serving anything.
Attendants hurried to and fro, delivering starters of smoked herring on puff pastries topped with sour cream.
It was a typical dish of the Winter Court, as Ailenor assured William, though that wasn’t why he hesitated to eat it.
It was faerie food. As soon as he swallowed the first bite, he’d forever be tied to the faerie realm.
If William had married any other man and the union soured, he would’ve been able to get out, either by seeking an annulment—which priestesses granted only in extreme circumstances—or by throwing his spouse out of Silverlight.
But he and Iver shared ownership of the castle, and with William tied to the faerie realm, there was no getting away.
“Stop fretting and eat your food,” Iver muttered under his breath.
“I’m not fretting.”
Iver gave him a pointed look. He was halfway through his dish while William hadn’t touched his. A long, uncomfortable moment passed during which Iver stared at him. “You’ll have to eat faerie food eventually.”