Chapter Eight
William
Bright sunlight was flooding the room when William came to.
A smile curved his lips as he thought of the previous night, of how he made Iver unravel in his arms. He’d come beautifully, repeatedly, arching under William’s touch.
And fuck, that gloriously tight hole clenching on his dick had nearly been the end of him.
The unfamiliar urge to hold him and place a chaste kiss on his shoulder wove through William. Stretching, he rolled onto his side, reaching out to pull Iver into his arms. This was new. He’d never wanted to cuddle the morning after, certainly not with his concubines.
William’s eyes shot open when his seeking hands found nothing but cold sheets. He stared at the empty bed incredulously, the corners of his lips pulling downward in displeasure. How dare Iver disappear from their marital bed before William had his fill of him!
William sighed. This was no love marriage, he reminded himself.
He couldn’t expect cuddles and roses. Yes, they’d agreed they would only sleep with one another, and the sex had been spectacular, but there weren’t going to be any grand romantic gestures.
Not that William wanted any. He was in a political marriage, and he did well to be pragmatic in his expectations.
He rolled out of bed, determined to make the most of the day—well, whatever was left of it. It was past noon. Even if there had been an inkling of romance, he couldn’t be mad that Iver was out of bed at this hour.
William got ready for the day and left his chambers to find Iver. They could at least have lunch together like any other married couple.
William huffed. Where was this obsession with Iver coming from?
Asking around, he learned that Iver was in the kitchen, of all places.
What was he doing in the kitchen? God, he hoped Iver hadn’t disliked the food at the feast and wasn’t tearing the poor cook to shreds.
Several of William’s kitchen staff had volunteered to stay in Silverlight Castle, for which he was grateful.
He enjoyed faerie food, but sometimes he wanted a familiar dish.
The idea of Iver disciplining the cook with some sadistic faerie punishment horrified him. He liked the old woman!
Taking two steps at a time, he flew down the stairs to the ground floor. He jogged along the corridor and ripped open the kitchen door.
“…and then you fill the tray with dough to about here,” Iver said to the cook. “Don’t put more as it’s going to rise.”
William blinked at the scene unfolding in front of him. Was he awake? Surely, he had to be dreaming because in what world would he find Iver in the kitchen, wearing an apron, gesturing with a spatula?
Iver and the cook stood side by side next to an array of dirtied kitchen utensils. Trays upon trays of freshly baked goods, all unfamiliar to William, clustered on the enormous table at the center of the kitchen. The sweet and buttery scent of warm cake permeated the air, watering William’s mouth.
A group of kitchen hands hovered nearby, listening with rapt attention as Iver rattled off the ingredients to some faerie recipe.
At a table pushed against the wall, two women were baking traditional gingerbread men.
A couple of fae servants were washing dishes while others applied edible decorations to cakes and biscuits.
When Iver spotted William standing frozen in the door frame, his face lit up, and he waved him over, greeting him with a peck on the cheek. William laughed. Who was this man, and what had he done with Iver?
“Perfect timing,” the imposter said, “we’re almost done.”
William glanced at his cook. The words Almost done? The kitchen is a mess! were practically written on her forehead.
“W-What are you doing here?” William asked.
“Baking,” Iver said, as if that explained anything.
“No, what I mean is, why are you baking?”
“Oh, I’ve always enjoyed it.” Iver licked the batter off his spatula before dropping it in a washing bucket. “Plus, I wanted to show your cook how to bake winter faerie cakes.” He threw her a hopeful glance before returning his attention to William. “Come, I want you to try some of my creations.”
He wiped his hands on his apron and guided William around the table to a large selection of small cakes. They each were no bigger than William’s fist and clustered in groups of twelve, each set sporting different colors and decorations.
Iver picked up a small, half-blue-half-pink cake topped with creamy frosting sprinkled with faerie dust and stylized snowflakes. “Blue faerie dust ice cake with a rose base and snowflake candy. Try it.” He held it up to William’s mouth.
The cake gave off a sweet and slightly floral scent that made William salivate. “You’re not trying to poison me, are you?” He still couldn’t believe that Iver enjoyed baking.
“No.”
With a mental shrug, William bit into the small cake, his gaze fixed on Iver. The bastard was smiling.
William’s teeth went right through the frosting and sank into the cake.
A sweet and creamy flavor exploded on his taste buds.
He moaned as his eyes closed, savoring the rich goodness.
Subtle notes of fresh mint were mellowed by sweetness, and the faerie dust mixed perfectly with the buttery taste of the base.
“You like it?” Iver asked in a low voice.
“My mouth just had an orgasm.”
Iver’s eyes flashed at the last word.
William took another bite, this time from the pink half of the cake. It was fragrant and sweet with a hint of a floral flavor. William licked his lips. “You made this?”
“Yes. To teach your cook.” Iver picked one of the decorative snowflakes off the cake and fed it to William, fingertips brushing his lips.
The candy was sweet and crunchy, crumbling in his mouth. “I had no idea you were good at baking.”
“I’m good at a lot of things.” Iver’s tone was full of innuendo. He tilted his head, regarding William with a mild frown. “You have frosting on your face.” He leaned in and licked the corner of William’s mouth. “There.” He curled his tongue back into his mouth and swallowed, looking pleased.
Iver showed him the other cakes: warm ice cake, gooey butter cake, sweet mint cake. William tried them all, Iver tracking his every bite, eyes glinting whenever William licked his lips.
By the end of it, William had no room left for lunch, having gorged himself on half a dozen faerie cakes.
“Now,” Iver said as William swallowed the last bite of a rich and slightly tangy, purple cake, “how do you intend to repay me for all these delicacies?”
William choked. He coughed into his fist. Thankfully, whatever had caught in his windpipe dislodged. Dying of asphyxiation was not in his plans for the day.
“Repay you?” William asked hoarsely. He’d forgotten about the fae’s habit to trade in debts and favors, always keeping a mental tally of who owed whom how much.
“Did you think I’d make these delicious treats that gave you ‘orgasms in your mouth,’ and expect nothing in return?” Iver grinned like an imp.
Cold sweat ran down William’s back. Thus far, everything they’d given each other had been part of their marriage contract.
The cakes hadn’t. There’d been no agreement that Iver would bake a certain number each week and that in return, William would organize a ball for him, also every week. Or something like that.
He was out of his depth. This was what he got for marrying a fae. Why hadn’t he thought about this earlier? And what would Iver want from him? Had William walked into a trap the second he set foot in the kitchen?
“I have a suggestion for your repayment,” Iver said. “Perhaps hearing it will put you at ease.”
“Yes?” Being at ease sounded wonderful.
“I want to go into the mountains this afternoon. Come with me, and consider your debt paid.”
“Into the mountains?” William’s gaze wandered to the windows looking out onto the White Mountains to the north. Legend said they soared so high that you could touch the moon from their peaks. “What do you want to do in the mountains?”
“Climb,” Iver said, the corners of his mouth turning upward.
“Climb? The mountains?” William had never heard of anyone climbing one of those icy peaks. What did Iver hope to find up there? More snow? “For what?”
“For sport.”
William hadn’t thought the day could get any more bizarre, but here they were. Iver wanted to climb a mountain. For sport.
Iver raised an eyebrow. “Are you coming?”
“Why do you want me to come with you?” The whole endeavor sounded suspicious, like there was something William was missing.
“To have company.”
Iver made it sound so simple. As if they could march out the gate and start ascending… William paused. It was that simple, wasn’t it? The cold wouldn’t bother them, and they enjoyed strength no human possessed.
A sense of freedom took flight in William’s heart. He and Iver were capable of things no ordinary man was. If they wanted, they could sleep outside in the snow and call it an adventure. Going into the mountains would be an opportunity to test the limits of his powers.
“All right,” William said, and Iver beamed at him.
They changed in their dressing room, attendants helping them into their leather armor—anything more delicate would invariably be ruined, according to Iver, who had done this before.
It was strange to see an attendant buckling Iver in, the man’s hands all over him.
A sour emotion rose in William. Not that there was anything inappropriate in the way the servant touched him, especially in front of his husband, but his mere proximity to Iver was rubbing William the wrong way.
Did Iver feel the same about the woman dressing him? He gave no sign of irritation, but he did watch as she laced William into his cuirass.
Once suited up, the servants wrapped them in heavy fur cloaks, Iver’s white to William’s black. They clad their feet in hobnailed boots for traction on frozen ground.