Chapter Six #4
Iver pulled a leather satchel from the trunk, and then he was out of the door, leaving a stunned William behind. Part of William couldn’t believe this was going to happen. Part of him couldn’t wait.
But first, he had more pressing matters to attend to.
He checked himself in the mirror, ensuring he was presentable and no trace of red lip paint marked his skin.
Satisfied that he looked respectable, he left his chambers and made his way to the barracks.
He was going to instruct the fae soldiers to bar his former concubines from entering Silverlight.
Besides, they’d have to search the castle for Beatrice and throw her out. He didn’t want to run into her again.
William strutted down the corridor, past the windows facing the inner courtyard.
On its other side, the rooms of the guest wing stretched across the length of the castle.
A flash of red caught William’s attention.
Curious, he stopped. Across the courtyard, visible through the windows, two figures stood in the guest wing corridor, talking.
He recognized Beatrice—the scarlet dress was unmistakable, and so was her dark, curly mane.
The other person—a woman—was harder to identify across the distance.
She wasn’t a member of William’s remaining household—she had to be a fae.
Like Beatrice’s, her hair was long and dark, though this woman’s was sleek and straight.
He’d seen that dusty pink dress before… Silenia?
William squinted. It was difficult to make out her features as she stood in the shadows of the corridor, but he was certain he was looking at his sister-in-law.
Why was she talking to Beatrice? Had they run into each other in the hallway?
Silenia, a princess, outranked Beatrice by a mile.
Had Beatrice spun some colorful tale about being a noble member of William’s household, explaining why she was in the castle?
He’d better hurry and get the guards to take care of Beatrice. She’d caused enough problems. Things wouldn’t get better if he allowed her to talk her way into his family’s good graces.
Once he’d informed the guards, who swiftly took care of the issue, William returned to his chambers and prepared for the wedding.
The sun had set, the last light of the day vanishing, when two high fae of Iver’s court picked up William to escort him to the throne room. They walked him down the spiral staircase, nerves fluttering in his stomach.
All the possible outcomes of the fight played out in his mind’s eye. With his new strength, he had every chance to subdue Iver and take him, teaching him a lesson he wouldn’t forget. But Iver overpowering him was just as likely.
Ever since their first meeting in Winterbourne, William had imagined it over and over—Iver forcing submission from his body, claiming him as his husband before the court.
The notion made William hard. It wouldn’t be so bad if Iver wrestled him down.
Perhaps he was still angry about finding him and Beatrice in a compromising situation.
Perhaps he’d take that anger out on him. In public. William licked his lips.
At the bottom of the stairs, the fae opened the door for him.
The throne room, like every chamber and hall at Silverlight Castle, proclaimed Iver’s ownership.
Frost clung to the marble pillars; ice crystals adorned the lancet windows.
It was snowing again, a white blanket covering the floor from the back of the hall to the dais.
The latter had changed too. William’s golden throne had once sat at the center of the dais.
Now, it had been moved to the right, making room for its brother in silver, an equally regal chair of the same size.
Above the thrones, the golden lion had been moved to create space for a silver coat of arms bearing a snowflake.
Beneath the dais stood an altar of white marble—before long, either William or Iver would have to lie down on it as an offering to the other.
The fae of the Winter Court clustered around a circular space at the center of the hall, their hooded cloaks drawn deeply into their faces, hiding their eyes.
Among them, the officiant stood out, diamond-studded snowflakes embroidered onto the skirt of her dress.
Despite the many guests, it was eerily quiet.
The whisper of velvet seams brushing the snow underfoot was the only sound.
To the side of the hall, a space was sectioned off by folding screens, powder blue silk on ebony frames.
This was where the final preparations for the ceremony would take place.
The fae guided William toward the partitioned area, and when he stepped behind the screen, he found Iver in nothing but a silver robe, laced together at the front.
William toed off his shoes and stepped into the snow.
It was as soft and welcoming as a plush rug.
Iver’s gaze rested on him, giving nothing away.
He moved toward him, and without a word, undid the belt holding William’s robe closed.
As it loosened, the robe parted, revealing William’s naked form.
Iver slid it off his shoulders, thumbs brushing his collarbones.
The small touch was enough to make William’s stomach flutter.
The garment fell off him, and Iver caught it and draped it over a dark wood chair.
He had all the opportunity to let his gaze wander over William’s naked body, but he didn’t. His eyes stayed above William’s neckline, perhaps a sign of respect before the ultimate subdual.
The air between them crackled with tension as Iver stood dressed before him, William naked.
His eyes resting on Iver’s, he tugged at the strings lacing Iver’s robe.
They slid free, silk running between his fingers.
William worked the garment open, sinking into Iver’s blue eyes.
They were darker in the dim hall, and with every lace William pulled free, Iver’s pupils dilated further.
Like Iver, William didn’t look at the skin he revealed, no matter how much he wanted to. He granted Iver the same respect he’d shown him. Finally, he pulled the robe off Iver’s shoulders, the silk like cool water in his hands.
Everything between them, from the second they stepped out from behind the screen, would play out in public, but they had this to themselves. No matter what would happen in the ring, this was their island of honest intimacy before everything changed.
Emotions swirled through William. He disliked Iver’s presumptuous, demanding attitude, but he was also grateful that he supported him.
He wanted to pin Iver down and mount him, and yet, he wouldn’t mind if Iver gained the upper hand.
William didn’t know which way things would go, and that made it all the more exciting.
He faced Iver, naked and exposed, two men with no barriers, a mere three feet between them. It was exhilarating.
“You can look if you want to,” Iver said quietly, one side of his mouth curving in a lopsided smile.
“You too.”
“Good to know.”
And as Iver’s gaze slid lower, so did William’s.
Ever since seeing Iver in his skintight leather armor, William had wondered what he’d find underneath.
Iver’s scandalously revealing robes had given him hints, but nothing compared to the reality of Iver before him, not a shred of clothing on his glorious body.
There’d been a suggestion of full pecs under Iver’s robe, but the unobstructed sight of that ample pair made William’s mouth water.
Round and firm, Iver’s pecs were begging him to take one of those dark pink nipples between his lips and suck.
He could almost taste Iver’s skin as he pictured licking along the alluring curves underneath those sweet mounds of muscle.
Further down, hard muscles created ridges and valleys on his taut abdomen. His torso tapered to slim hips, and between his legs... William gulped. Iver was half-hard. And he was big.
William’s eyes flicked up to meet his. Disbelief had to be written all over his face because subtle amusement pulled at Iver’s features.
“Like what you see?” Iver asked innocently.
William swallowed. What was he supposed to say? Iver was supernaturally beautiful. Just like his face was a picture of perfection and his hair lush splendor, his body was the epitome of a male in his prime.
“Don’t worry,” Iver said mildly when William found himself at a loss for words, “I like what I see too.”
He stepped up to William and cupped his cheek. William’s breath caught, and then Iver leaned in and pressed his lips to William’s. They no longer felt cold, just soft and demanding.
Iver’s tongue slid into his mouth, and a quiet moan rose in William’s throat. He melted into the kiss, hands finding Iver’s hips. William opened further for him, letting him deeper, and Iver took advantage, conquering his mouth.
Why was Iver kissing him? Was it to pacify William before the ceremony? Was it because this was the most intimate act they could exchange before they entered the ring? Or was it much simpler, Iver kissing him because he wanted to?
William craved more. But as he relaxed into the kiss, Iver withdrew, leaving him aching. He went to retrieve a vial of faerie oil, instantly recognizable by the flower petals and coiling tendrils floating in amber liquid.
Faerie oil was widely used across Vale as a lubricant and valued for its endurance-enhancing properties.
William always applied it before penetrating a partner—its stimulating qualities were the other reason for its popularity.
Iver uncorked the vial, and the familiar flowery scent permeated the air.
William didn’t know whether he wanted to flee or roll over and present.
“I’ll go first,” Iver said, perhaps sensing William’s nerves. He handed William the vial and sauntered over to a sturdy ebony table. His hair flowed down his back, gently swaying with every step.