CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT #3
The words struck everyone in the room, a current of shock running through the space.
Like he’d just suffered a punch to the stomach, Thom took a step back, a faint gasp escaping him.
The ministers pulled back, wearing surprised and confused looks.
The troop members shifted their focus between Thom and Brea.
“I would ask,” Brea continued, still holding his gaze, “that you approve my marriage to Thom Deckard.”
Thom’s mouth dropped open.
Brea’s brows raised in question. “If he’ll have me.”
The whole room held its breath, eagerly anticipating Thom’s reply.
But what could he say? He loved her deeply and wanted her by his side.
Still, a little voice nagged at him, whispering that their relationship might not be meant to be.
It told him she was too perfect, and he was a mere mortal.
She was incredible, while he was so far below her.
Desperate for help, Thom turned to Deckard. He received exactly what he expected: his brother’s kind and supportive smile paired with a firm nod of approval.
Thom couldn’t suppress the small scoff that escaped him. Trying to gather his thoughts, he ran a hand through his hair and then passed it over his face. “Are you sure?” he asked Brea. “I’m not good enough for you.”
“Probably not,” she said, her cunning smirk in place. “But I love you, regardless.”
“You shouldn’t,” he advised.
“Too late, mi’eló.”
Mi’eló. My only.
Hearing those words fall from her lips didn’t strike Thom the way he thought it would.
He didn’t experience an electrifying rush or an incredible warmth igniting his soul.
He didn’t feel instantly complete or whole.
His past was riddled with mistakes, and he had years of redemption ahead of him.
Yet, a wonderful sense of joy washed over his heart, knowing that, for once, he was the one someone chose.
As Thom took three tentative steps closer, he examined her face, studying its angles, curves, and contours.
In her dark eyes, he saw hope and sincerity despite the worry and intensity etched into her lowered brows.
Nerves and humor flickered at the corners of her lips.
He had admired her beauty countless times, but at this moment, she appeared more captivating than ever.
Thom gently traced his finger along her jawline, lifting her chin. “It’s too late,” he repeated, “for both of us.”
“Is that a yes?” she asked. “You’ll have me?”
“Only if you’ll have me,” he promised.
“I wouldn’t want anyone else.”
The overwhelming urge to kiss her pressed upon him.
He’d thought about it multiple times in the past. Even during moments when he considered them just friends, he’d occasionally wondered what the press of her lips on his would feel like.
However, he never allowed these thoughts to develop until his discussion with Deckard a week prior.
Now, it was difficult to think of anything but kissing her.
Despite having gained confidence that he could—and perhaps should—kiss her, he hesitated. It shouldn’t be here. Not in front of the ministers and their friends. Certainly not for the first time.
Forcing himself to look up, Thom stared at the ministers. “Will you approve our marriage?” he demanded.
The ministers were silent, exchanging uncertain looks. “We . . .” Archminister Essen looked to Archminister Dudleye. “We need to discuss it?”
The man shrugged. “Technically, we should.”
“You promised to approve any requests we made,” Brea said sharply. Her hand grasped Thom’s, and he stared down at them in astonishment.
Am I really engaged? The thought was fleeting and abstract, and his attention quickly returned to the men and women who would decide his fate.
“Within reason,” one of the western ministers said.
Deckard stepped forward. “And how is this unreasonable? You said that you fully respect her choice to marry for love. This is your chance to demonstrate that.”
Essen raised a placating hand. “It is our policy to take each marriage of magical persons very seriously,” she said. “As they are reflections of Allore’s power himself, we believe they have a responsibility—”
“Oh, shove your responsibility,” Deckard said in a very uncharacteristic fashion.
Thom’s eyes went wide as Evylin’s hand flew to her mouth with barely contained laughter.
Deckard stood at the forefront of the group, contending for his brother. “Will you break your promise just because it conflicts with your plans? Are you going to compel her to marry someone to shape the world to your liking? Is that truly the kind of nation we envision Allund to be?”
Several ministers wore disgruntled looks, but Archminister Dudleye waved his hand through the air.
“We never said we wouldn’t approve it, Chancellor Deckard,” he said soothingly.
“No, this isn’t what we hoped for, but you are right.
We aren’t a tyranny, and we won’t start Allund by breaking a promise to the very people who risked everything to help us raise it. ”
Nods of support came from nearly every minister.
“We had an agreement, and we will honor it,” Dudleye promised. “Together, Archminister Essen and I and the whole of the Administration approve this marriage.”
Cheers rang out from their friends on either side, yet Thom and Brea simply exchanged smiles. He grasped her other hand, drawing her an inch closer.
Not here, he reminded himself. Not yet. But soon.
“Archminister,” Thom called, still looking down at Brea.
“Yes, Captain Deckard?” Dudleye replied.
“I know what reward I want.”
“What’s that?”
“A house,” he said with a bright smile. “Right next door to Deckard and Evie’s. And I want to work for my wife.”
Brea smirked. “I won’t go easy on you just because we’re married.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.”
“That’s all?” Dudleye asked, sounding genuinely surprised.
“That’s all I need.”
“Very well,” the western archminister replied. “Having heard all your requests, we will initiate the necessary processes to fulfill them. Once again, our gratitude to your troop is beyond words. We will forever be in your debt. If there are no further matters, you may be excused.”
While Deckard and Ilain expressed their gratitude to the ministers, Thom and Brea quickly made their exit. They hurried through the archway into the bustling, column-lined halls. He felt lost with so many people moving around, but she guided him confidently to the right without hesitation.
“Brea,” Thom whispered as she tugged him through the busy halls.
She smiled as she glanced over her shoulder. “What?”
As Thom glanced to the left and right, he noticed an empty room ahead and quickly took the lead. They entered, and he closed the door and fixed his gaze on her. “Brea.”
“What?” she asked again.
“I love you.”
She smiled, brighter and more beautiful than ever before.
Taking her face in his hands, Thom marveled at how his racing heart had not yet burst from his chest. Her skin was so soft beneath his fingers, her face tilted toward him, open and full of hope.
“I was so afraid,” he whispered, his voice barely rising above the flood of emotions inside him. “I thought I’d ruined everything last night—that I’d pushed you away.”
“You didn’t,” she reassured him, placing her hands on his wrists.
“I can see that now.”
“I wouldn’t have said anything,” she said. “I wouldn’t have asked to marry you if you hadn’t . . .”
His eyes darted between hers. “You wouldn’t have?”
“Of course not. I never thought . . . I didn’t believe you desired anything beyond friendship. I was content with that.”
“So was I,” he confessed, savoring the way his thumb glided along her cheekbone. “But that changed.”
Gently, she ran her hands down his arms and stepped closer.
“Thom,” she whispered now, “there are many challenges ahead for us. I spoke with my grandfather about his marriage; my grandmother was non-magical, too, and their life together, while beautiful, was fraught with difficulty and pain. He had to watch her age while he stayed the same. She endured ridicule for being with a man presumably so much her junior. While he remained in his prime, she became frail and weak. We won’t have an easy life, you and I. ”
Hearing the warning she was giving him—he would endure ridicule from those who didn’t understand as he grew old and gray while she remained youthful, and he would age into feebleness while she maintained her vitality and vigor—Thom couldn’t find it in him to care.
“Easy is boring,” he said.
Brea raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smile forming on her full lips, drawing his attention to her mouth as she continued, “You’ve always been difficult, haven’t you?”
“Absolutely,” he affirmed, dipping down toward her. Their lips nearly met just as she tugged back lightly.
“Well then,” she said playfully, her breath mingling with his, “perhaps I should make this a little more challenging for you.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“I thought easy was boring?”
“Brea.” He wound one arm around her waist. “Mi’cara,” he whispered in her ear. “There’s nothing about you that could ever be boring.”
“And nothing about you could ever be easy, mi’eló.”
Thom smiled and leaned in, laughing softly as he brought his face closer to hers again.
“I love you,” he repeated. “Though I’ve foolishly said those words to others in the past, I now know—with complete certainty—that you are the only one I’ve ever truly meant it about.
The only one who’s made me fully understand what love is. ”
“Thom,” she whispered, setting a hand along his jaw.
“What?”
Brea didn’t speak but drew Thom closer, rising on her toes to press her lips to his in a long and far-overdue kiss.