Chapter Four #4
“No.” So strained. What was going on with him?
“You should try wine sometime. It’ll loosen you up.”
“I’m not interested.”
William huffed—and froze. Puzzled, he puffed out air but saw nothing come out. His breath no longer fogged the air.
Curious, he laid a hand against Iver’s face. He wasn’t cold to the touch, his skin as warm as a human’s. But no. Iver hadn’t warmed—William had cooled. Now that he paid attention, the ballroom didn’t feel cold either, despite him having discarded two-thirds of his clothes.
William’s lips parted in delight. This was more than he’d hoped for.
He ran his hand over Iver’s smooth cheek, his heart beating faster, stronger. That, too, had to be an effect of the apple.
“Why are we here?” Iver pressed out.
William, regaining his composure, yanked his hand away. He stepped back. “There’s something I want to try. Something I need space for.” He’d been wanting to do this since Iver had promised him the fruit in Winterbourne.
William glanced at the ceiling, ensuring no chandelier was in the way.
He pushed off the ground, exploding into the air.
With more force than he’d anticipated, he flew upward.
He backflipped, the rotation disorienting, but he found his balance as the ground rushed toward him.
He didn’t stick the landing, falling on his knees, but his body absorbed the impact. It didn’t even hurt.
William laughed as he got up, exhilarated. A bit more practice, and he’d land on his feet every time.
He bent his knees and jumped once more, accelerating upward, trying to rise as high as he could.
The ceiling of the ballroom was forty feet high. He made it halfway before gravity won and pulled him down. This time, he landed well.
He grinned at Iver. “Can you do this?”
“Of course.”
William let his gaze wander through the room. It latched onto the gallery, which was much lower than the ceiling.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Iver said.
“I don’t think I can.”
“Oh, you can. You have the strength of a fae, but you’re not immune to pain. And you can still twist your ankle. I don’t want you limping when I wrestle you down.”
That cocksure bastard. It didn’t dampen William’s good mood. After all, he’d wanted to have Iver with him for this exact reason: William, if he was honest, had no idea what he could and could not do. Iver did.
William stepped back, taking a running start. What a pleasure to be so fast! With his sights set on the balustrade framing the gallery, he pushed off his feet, momentum carrying him.
He almost made it. His feet came short of the banister. William latched onto it with his hands. The impact jerked his arms as he hung on, dangling in the air.
The muscles in his arms bulged as he pulled himself up. With a twist, he leaped over the balustrade and onto the gallery.
He had never felt so powerful. Not even when he’d ascended to the throne. That had been a nuisance. This was a gift. He closed his eyes, reveling in his strength. Iver couldn’t match that, no matter what he said. If he still thought he could subdue William, he had another thing coming.
“I can see why humans are so eager for the fruit,” a voice said into his ear.
William’s heart skipped a beat. He whirled around, finding a smug Iver not a foot behind him.
“How…”
“I’m the Winter King. I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”
William had no idea whether Iver had jumped onto the gallery in the second that he’d had his eyes closed or run up the stairs halfway down the hall. Either way, Iver was lightning fast. For all William knew, Iver had apparated onto the gallery. He hadn’t heard him move. Bloody hell.
“Oh, you don’t like that,” Iver said, amused.
“It’s not a matter of liking it…” William said, distracted. He was already eyeing the next test of his newfound power.
Iver followed his gaze. “Don’t try to swing from the chandelier.”
“Why not? It’s not that far. We’ve established that I can jump the distance.”
“Oh, you can. That’s not it.”
“Then what?”
“You’d burn yourself on the candles and tear the crystals off the chandelier. The luster won’t hold your weight. You’d rip the whole thing off the ceiling.”
“Right. But I could jump off the gallery without hurting myself?”
Iver vaulted over the balustrade, landing soundlessly on the ballroom floor. He smirked at William. “Probably.”
William took it as an affirmative. He wouldn’t heal as quickly as a fae if he hurt himself, but he could make his husband take care of him if he did. Not that he wanted Iver to do that.
Following Iver’s example, William leaped off the gallery. The landing was easier than after the backflip, and he managed it with grace.
Pleased, he dashed across the width of the room, gathering momentum. Hitting the other side, he jumped and ran up the wall, launching into a backflip. This time, he stuck the landing.
Iver patiently watched and refrained from dropping sarcastic comments as William bounced through the ballroom. This went on for a while.
When he had exhausted his initial curiosity, though not his body, they made their way back to his apartment.
William was in high spirits. They’d had a beautiful ceremony, and he, there was no denying it, had a beautiful husband.
He’d gained the protection of the Winter Court and more strength than he’d ever dreamed of.
As they walked, his eyes kept flicking to Iver. That gorgeous, aristocratic profile, that lush, white mane. Every move was the epitome of elegance and power. The corners of William’s lips turned upward. They could have a good time together.
The servants had lit the chandelier in the dressing room, the warm light welcoming them.
Ice had befallen the chamber, clinging to every surface.
Among William’s belongings stood bulky wooden chests, the lids propped open, revealing Iver’s possessions.
William sighed. This was an invasion. He’d never had to share his space.
“We’ll get another wardrobe for this room and a cabinet for the study,” Iver said as he took off his cloak and draped it over a chair. His hands went for the silver belt holding his robe in place, and William, blushing, averted his eyes.
“There’s no need to be shy,” Iver said, “you’re going to see me naked tomorrow anyway.”
Turmoil built inside William. Iver was undressing within feet of him. It stirred his loins. Why was the bastard so good-looking? Being denied his wedding night, William didn’t want to be lusting after him, but how could he not?
It took him longer than Iver to remove his clothes.
When he entered the bedchamber, which was full of unfamiliar chests, too, he found Iver in his bed.
William had known it was coming, but the sight still shocked him.
Iver lay relaxed on his back, his long, white hair fanning out on a royal blue pillow.
He regarded William as he approached in nothing but his nightshirt.
William took his time extinguishing the lights.
He shouldn’t have to share his rooms. His father certainly hadn’t shared them with William’s mother.
The consort’s apartment was perfectly suitable for Iver.
Why had he and his bloated sense of self-importance insisted on living in the monarch’s chambers? What an inconvenience.
He climbed into bed beside Iver. That faint scent of fresh snow and pine needles drew him in, and William realized too late that he’d come closer to Iver than he’d intended to.
In the darkness, William made out his arresting profile.
Disgruntled, he rolled onto his side, away from Iver, and let out a huff.
He was going to show him. The powers the winter faerie fruit had granted him were extraordinary.
He was going to vanquish Iver during their wrestling match.
He’d wring submission from his writhing body.