Chapter 9
Nine
Nick
Holly and I appear in a glade in the sacred forest. The silver trees are coated in frost, and above us, the aurora borealis flickers in the sky, tinging everything with shades of pink and green.
The snow crunches beneath our boots, breath fogging the air between us.
I summon my magic with ease and feel it pulse out of me.
“Look up,” I say to Holly, who’s still clinging to me. She does, and gasps when she sees the shooting star whiz by. “That’s the star of the Winter Queen. It only appears when the mating ceremony is about to take place, or when a baby is born.”
She looks up at me with love, and devotion, and I can’t stop myself from kissing her, from fondling her massive breasts. She’s so delicious. So sweet and precious. So beautiful and open.
And she’s mine.
Slowly, Fae elders enter the glade, nodding in approval at me and Holly.
Magic appears in the clearing, silky wisps of it floating in the air like gauze.
The animals gather around, heads bowed low in reverence.
The branches of the silver trees tinkle, and bells jingle softly.
Candles swim in the air, flickering in the gentle breeze.
“The Winter Queen has arrived,” I say, my voice solemn despite my grin. “She has accepted the mating bond.”
The elders all bow in reverence to her, and she blushes so prettily that I want to say fuck the ceremony and carry her off to my bedroom right now.
The head of the Fae council of elders steps forward.
“Then they shall be mated,” he says, his voice deep and resonant, echoing out across the clearing.
His staff is made of gnarled oak and wrapped in ivy, and I watch as he lifts it and sweeps it through the air as he moves closer, and the magic me hits like a gust of wind.
My coat materializes first. It’s a deep red velvet, intricately embroidered in green and gold thread, and open over my bare chest. It’s trimmed in regal, luxurious white fur.
My crown settles onto my brow. It’s cold and heavy, but I don’t mind.
For the first time, I feel truly worthy of it with Holly by my side.
Holly gasps, fingers flying to her chest as her gown weaves itself around her.
The shimmery white fabric clings to her every curve, the bodice dipping low enough to make my cock throb.
The semi-sheer panels of fabric over her breasts do nothing to hide the dark pink of her nipples, already tight, already leaking, a damp patch spreading where the milk beads.
The red velvet ribbon beneath her tits pushes them up, making my mouth water.
She’s so stunningly beautiful that my knees nearly buckle. She is radiant. And I know it’s not just because of the magic. It’s because she feels the same joy, the same hope, the same love that I’m feeling right now.
I step forward, unable to stop myself from reaching for her.
As I do, her crown appears on her head, a smaller, more delicate version of mine.
It’s made of silver, with intricate snowflakes engraved all around it.
It catches the light, shining brightly, and pride fills my chest, making it tight.
I slide my hands around her waist, pulling her close.
“You’re everything I could’ve ever hoped for,” I whisper, thumb brushing the underside of her breast where the ribbon ties.
She whimpers softly. “And so much more.”
An ice altar rises in front of us, smooth as glass, carved with runes that pulse a soft blue.
I take Holly’s trembling hands in mine, and despite her nerves, her grip is sure.
Trusting. The elder’s voice rings out around the clearing, the old words settling into my bones. Changing me. Making me new.
“By milk and frost, by hearth and storm…”
Her breath stutters in her chest, and I can sense how overwhelming this is for her. I squeeze her hands, thumbs tracing the delicate veins at her wrists. The magic between us thickens, a living thing, coiling around our joined fingers like ribbon.
“…bind flesh to fate, mortal to king.” The elder waves his staff through the air, and magic sparkles float out around it in shades of red and green.
“You may now speak the sacred vows.” He nods at Holly, and I know he’s giving her the words she needs to say.
She gasps softly as she hears his voice in her head. But then she nods, resolute, brave.
She swallows, her pulse fluttering against my fingers. Then she lifts her chin, green eyes bright with unshed tears, and says her vow.
“I give you my hands, my heart, my milk, my magic.”
The words hit me right in the center of my chest. When I speak, my voice is rough and ragged with emotion.
“I give you my kingdom, my power, my body, my soul.”
The moment the last syllable leaves my lips, the magic unfurls.
Gold and silver light emanates from our hands, twisting up our arms like vines.
Holly gasps as the threads weave between us, the ancient, spiritual bond sealing with a sound like distant sleigh bells.
The runes on the altar flare blue-white, and the aurora above us glows brighter, sending a cascade of stardust raining down on us.
It lands on her lashes. Her lips. The swell of her breasts where the milk already glistens, ready for me.
The moment this part of the bond snaps into place, the world tilts—not the forest, not the North Pole, but the very fabric of who and what I am. Holly’s gasp echoes in my skull as her mind crashes into mine.
Memories, shared through the soul-bond we now have.
Hers come first, sharp and sweet and aching.
I see her at eight, pressing her small hands to the bakery’s frosted window, whispering to the snowflakes like they might answer.
Her aunt’s voice, singing lullabies, reading stories.
Then the funeral, the empty bakery, the way she clutched a sugar cookie in her fist like it could fill the hollow in her chest. The bakery and the way she’d press her forehead to the oven door at 3 AM, whispering, “I don’t know if I can do this alone. ”
And then my memories flood the bond.
She sucks in a breath as my past unfurls behind her eyes.
The first Christmas Eve flight, my father’s gloved hand steady on my shoulder as the reindeer lifted us into a sky so vast it stole my breath.
Centuries of silent nights, the weight of a crown carried alone.
The way I’d press my palm to the frost-kissed glass of my throne room window, watching the mortal world spin below, wondering if I’d ever find the one who’d make me whole and restore my fading magic.
The moment Theodore showed me her—Holly in her apron, flour-dusted and glowing, leaving that mug of cocoa out like an offering on a sacred altar.
Her fingers tighten around mine. “You saw me before I saw you.”
I can’t speak. My throat’s too thick with the memory of every lonely winter I ever endured, and the gratitude that I’ll never be alone again.
She’s crying. I’m crying. The tears cut paths through the stardust on her cheeks, and I reach up, wiping one away.
“Nick,” she whispers, and it doesn’t feel like my name. Not when she says it like that. It feels like a prayer, like a promise. It’s the most glorious thing I’ve ever heard in my long life.
The bond hums between us, a living thing, stitching her grief to my solitude, her warmth to my frost. The aurora above us glows and undulates, and the snowflakes falling around us aren’t white anymore, but gold.
Holly’s milk drips, making the fabric of her gown completely transparent, and my cock jerks so hard it hurts.
A low, feral sound rips from my chest before I can stop it, hunger for my woman clawing at my insides like a wild thing.
Holly sighs, her nipples tightening further under that sheer bodice, and another thick bead of milk wells up, glistening.
It rolls down the curve of her breast, making my mouth water and my balls ache.
The scent of it—warm vanilla and frost-kissed cream—hits me like a fist to the gut.
The need inside me is so intense that I can’t breathe.
Before I can move, the great bronze bells of the North Pole, the ones that only ring for coronations, births, and solstices, ring out across the land. Their peals shake the ice from the trees, and the reindeer lift their heads.
The officiant’s staff slams into the ground, the crack of it echoing through the glade. “The Winter Queen has arisen!”
The Fae elders drop to one knee, their heads bowing in unison. The creatures of the forest—foxes and owls and great silver stags—follow, their breath puffing white in the frigid air. The aurora above us expands, and the snowflakes swirl faster, gold and white, catching in Holly’s lashes.
Then the chant begins. It starts low, a murmur from the elders, but it swells fast, voices layering, magic humming beneath the words.
“Long live the King.”
My chest tightens.
“Long live the Queen.”
Holly’s milk drips again. The runes carved into the altar flare blue-white, and the scent of it fills my lungs until I’m dizzy with it. I scoop Holly into my arms, cradling her against my chest like the precious thing she is. She cuddles against me, soft and sweet.
The moment her fingers brush my bare chest, tracing the ridges of muscle beneath my coat, I nearly stumble. The feeling of her fingers on my bare skin is exquisite.
“Santa must work out,” she teases, voice breathy, her nails scraping lightly over my skin.
The sound that rips from my throat is half-laugh, half-growl.
I’m barely hanging on to my control now.
My arms tighten around her, holding her closer, her weight nothing against my strength.
She’s soft where I’m hard, and the contrast makes my cock throb painfully against my trousers.
The elders part before us, their celebratory words barely registering. My focus narrows to the woman in my arms. This treasure. This gift. My lips find the shell of her ear, my voice a rough whisper. “Now that you’re mine, I’m going to gorge myself on your milk as I fuck you, little one.”
A whimper escapes her, her back arching just enough that her breasts press against my chest, the dampness of her leaking milk seeping through the fabric between us. The scent of it makes my cock ache and throb for her. I need to be inside her more than I need my next breath.
Holly squirms, her fingers digging into my shoulders.
“Nick,” she breathes. Her voice is pleading, needy, and the sound of it nearly undoes me.
The elders are still bowing as we pass, but I don’t give a damn.
All I can think about is the way her body is responding to mine, the way her milk is dripping for me, the way she’s going to scream my name when I finally bury myself inside her.
I carry her through the village center, where cheers erupt around us, but all I can focus on is Holly. On getting her to the Winter Palace. To my bed.
As we enter the palace, the bells peal again, loud and clear, and more cheers fill the air. My boots click over the stone floors as I stride through the palace, feeling like a starving man on his way to a banquet.
Fireplaces roar to life down every hall, their flames licking higher, casting flickering gold across the ice-carved walls.
The pillars lining the corridor outside my chambers twist into candy cane stripes, red and white swirling together.
Mistletoe blooms from the ceiling in thick, waxy clusters, their berries plump and glistening.
Everywhere I look, our magic drips, just like her milk.
Holly arches beneath me, her gown clinging to every curve, the sheer fabric now utterly transparent where her milk soaks through. Her nipples are dark pink, tight as berries, another thick bead welling at the tip before it spills down the slope of her engorged breast.
I kick open the door to my bed chamber and stride right to the massive bed in the center of the room, facing a large hearth where a fire crackles merrily.
I lay Holly down gently on the bed, my heart and cock both clenching at the sight of her spread there, leaking and ready for me.
I strip off my coat and let it pool on the floor, then set my crown on a nearby table.
I reach over and take hers, too, laying it beside mine.
I lean down and brace one hand beside her head, kissing her jaw, her cheek, her temple.
“I’ll be gentle,” I say quietly, voice rough as gravel.
“For about five minutes.” My free hand skims up her thigh, pushing her pretty gown higher.
“And then, little one?” A sharp inhale escapes her as my thumb grazes the soaked lace between her legs. “All bets are off.”
She spreads her thighs wider for me, the scent of her arousal mixing with the milk that drips from her breasts. She’s glowing, not just her skin, but the magic in her veins, gold and silver threading beneath her flushed cheeks, her collarbone, the pulse at her throat.
Holly lifts her chin, green eyes dark with need, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Then she parts her legs wider, heels digging into the mattress.
“Claim me, Daddy. Come take what’s yours.”
I don’t need to be told twice.