The Warrior and the Monk

Chapter Sixteen

Wilder's heart leapt when the field came into sight. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the landscape, and there, amidst the wildflowers, was a large crowd already gathered. The vibrant colors of the flowers contrasted against the sea of people, their faces filled with anticipation. Wilder’s breath caught in his throat as he realized they were all here—waiting for him and Anders to exchange their vows, to declare their love for one another in the eyes of the town. A wave of emotion flooded him, and his heart swelled in his chest.

He had never, in his wildest dreams, imagined he would one day marry. For so many years, his thoughts of the future had been bound within the cold, stone walls of the monastery. His life had been a cycle of prayer and work, punctuated only by the changing of the seasons, each day blending into the next with a quiet monotony. Marriage had been something reserved for others—those with families, with lives outside the monastery’s rigid structure. The idea that Wilder’s own life could lead to this moment—a wedding to a loving husband—was a revelation that left him both humbled and awestruck.

A celebration of their love. A moment to honor their bond. Wilder could barely contain the excitement building inside him, and before he could think twice, he was practically leaping from the cart, eager to take Anders’s hand and rush into the ceremony.

But just as he was about to step down, a raised hand stopped him.

"Wait, now." One of the warriors who had accompanied them on the journey spoke up. "Give us a moment to get ready."

Wilder paused, surprised. The warrior's words seemed almost comical, but then, as he watched the third warrior, the one who had been sweeping the tracks of the cart, catch up to them and lean the broom against the cart, it became clear there was more happening than he had first realized. The third warrior began to strip the garlands of flowers from the cart with deliberate care, while another emptied the cart of its furs, gathering them up in his arms and walking off with them.

Wilder blinked, his confusion mounting. "Our cart?" he asked, his voice faltering as he watched the decorations being dismantled. He had imagined the cart, with its beautiful floral adornments and the soft furs inside, would be something to carry them home, perhaps even serving as a bed for the night. But now the cart was being stripped of its comforts, leaving Wilder with a sense of unease. Had he misunderstood? Were they not supposed to return home in the cart?

"Can't be letting things go to waste!" the first warrior called out, rummaging through his bag and pulling out an apple for the horse, who eagerly took it. The warrior patted the horse’s flank affectionately.

Wilder turned to Anders, his brow furrowing. "Are we not—"

Anders placed a hand on the small of his back, guiding him gently toward the crowd. He pointed in the distance. See the tent?

Wilder squinted, trying to focus his eyes through the sea of heads. His gaze finally landed on the small, brightly colored tent rising above the crowd, just visible at the edge of the gathering. It was surrounded by people, but it stood distinct, almost as if beckoning to them. Wilder nodded. "Yes, I see it," he replied, curiosity growing.

The flowers will go in there, Anders continued, his motions steady. The tent is for us. When we change for the feast.

“Oh!” Wilder’s eyes brightened as the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. How economical, he thought. They were saving resources for the ceremony. The flowers that had adorned the cart would now serve their purpose in the tent, and the furs—well, they would likely be used during the ceremony itself. That would make sense. Afterward, when the ceremony was done, the cart would be re-decorated and perhaps used for the ride home.

But then, Wilder’s curiosity led to more questions. "And the furs?" he asked, still unsure. "Will they be brought back when it’s time to return home? It might get chilly later in the evening."

Anders’s brow furrowed slightly, as if this question should have been obvious. For the ceremony, he signed simply, gesturing toward the now-empty cart.

"For the ceremony?" Wilder repeated, feeling his stomach twist with the unknown. "But... will it be that long? I thought the ceremony would be brief, just a few words, then a blessing. You kneel, the priest blesses you, and then—"

He trailed off, suddenly unsure of what exactly to expect. He had been so caught up in the excitement of the wedding, the joy of it, that he hadn't considered the details of the ceremony itself. How would it unfold? Would there be a priest, or would there be multiple priests, or even priestesses?

Wilder chided himself for not asking more questions, for not being more curious about the customs and rituals of Anders’s people. But—he admitted to himself—matters of the flesh had been much more interesting to him. The connection he shared with Anders, the intimacy, the passion—that had consumed his thoughts. He hadn’t been as focused on the spiritual side of their lives, not like he should have been. But now, with the ceremony so close, Wilder realized just how little he knew about the religious practices of Anders’s people.

He knew that Anders was not a particularly religious man. The longhouse had no shrine, no icons, no figures. While Wilder prayed at various hours of the day, he had never seen Anders do so. That didn’t necessarily mean he didn’t—prayer, after all, was a private matter between the worshipper and the worshipped. But Anders shared so much of himself with Wilder, so much of his world, that Wilder was certain if gods were a part of his life, he would have learned of them by now. But perhaps that was just Anders—one man among many. Wilder had no doubt that Disa’s household, or Kirk and Osgood’s, would be very different, their religious practices unique to them.

Now, more than ever, Wilder was determined to undertake the ceremony—not only to legitimize his marriage in the eyes of the townspeople, but to bring him into the fold, to become a part of this community. He had come so far from the life he had once known, and this ceremony, this ritual, was a symbol of his transformation. There would surely be parts of it that were unfamiliar to him, but it was their wedding, and Anders would be there with him, standing by his side the entire time.

Anders, sensing his uncertainty, turned to him with a soft smile. Are you ready?

Wilder nodded, the flutter of excitement returning in his chest. "Yes, I am," he said, his voice steady despite the torrent of thoughts racing through his mind. He was ready, not just for the ceremony, but for everything that came after. This was the beginning of their life together, and he was prepared to step forward into it, hand in hand with the man he loved.

The crowd parted as Anders and Wilder made their way toward the stone altar, their footsteps tentative but full of anticipation. The air was thick with the scent of wildflowers and the murmurs of the gathered people, who smiled, clapped, and offered their congratulations in an excited chorus. Some even thumped them on the back, sharing hearty laughter and good-natured jests.

"About time!" a man called out to Anders, his tone jovial and full of affection.

A woman, older with weathered but kind eyes, added, "You look like a fine match."

"And we’ll see how well, soon!" someone shouted from the crowd, and a ripple of laughter spread through the onlookers, breaking the tension and making Wilder smile in response.

As they continued to walk up the gentle hill, the familiar faces of the town gathered around them, their warmth and good spirits evident. It was a beautiful sight—the green of the grass, the bright colors of the wildflowers, and the many faces of the people who had come to witness this moment. Wilder couldn’t help but feel the weight of their love and support pressing in on him. These were the people who had seen Anders grow, who had known him long before Wilder had stepped into his life. And now, they would see the promise that he and Anders had made to one another.

At the top of the hill stood a woman waiting for them, her posture regal and dignified. She was of a similar age to Frode—perhaps older—and she stood with a quiet strength. Short, round in figure, with graying blonde hair woven into an intricate braid that was pinned securely to her head, she seemed both wise and welcoming. Her long, gray-black gown pooled at her feet, spilling onto the grass around her, and she wore a white fur cloak draped elegantly over her shoulders. Wilder took in the sight of her, struck by her presence. She looked both kind and powerful, as though she held the power of generations within her gaze.

Behind her, Wilder noticed a large stone altar, its surface adorned with a delicate array of flowers, their bright petals contrasting with the rough stone. Around the altar, small candles were lit, their soft flames flickering gently in the cool breeze. The candles filled the air with the sweet scent of beeswax, and the whole scene felt sacred. Wilder’s mind began to turn over the significance of the altar. It had to be some part of the ceremony. Perhaps it was where they would share a drink, or where vows might be sealed with a gesture. He was intrigued but, again, uncertain.

With a subtle nudge, Anders leaned closer and signed, That’s the earl.

Wilder blinked, surprised. He had heard of the earl, of course—of her position, her influence—but he had not expected the ceremony to involve someone of such importance. “Oh,” he said quietly, understanding the significance of the woman before them. “I see. Still, an important figure then.”

Indeed.

The earl smiled warmly as she extended her hand to them both. “How nice to finally meet you, Wilder,” she said, her voice soothing and full of authority. Wilder’s first instinct was to apologize, to say he was sorry for not having properly introduced himself sooner, for not paying his respects as he should have. But before he could speak, the earl let out a soft, knowing chuckle.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I know how it is to be newlyweds. The only company you want is each other.” She placed a hand on her heart and gave them both a sympathetic look. “Now, are you both ready?” she asked, her eyes glinting with quiet joy.

Wilder took a steadying breath, his nerves settling a little. “I am. We are.” He looked over at Anders, a soft smile on his lips.

The earl’s gaze flickered over the two of them, her expression becoming a little more serious as she continued, “I understand there was some concern about the vows.”

Concern? Wilder thought with a scoff, the word almost comical. He knew exactly who had likely been spreading such rumors. “There is no concern from us,” he said firmly, standing tall. “We will say our vows to each other just as we speak at home.” He glanced over at Anders, his hands gesturing toward him. “Right, Anders?”

Anders’s gaze softened, and he nodded, his expression gentle but filled with the same quiet determination that had always been a part of him.

The earl’s eyes twinkled with amusement. She clapped her hands together, drawing the crowd’s attention. “Then let us begin, shall we?” she said, a touch of excitement in her voice. She gestured for them to step forward, and as Wilder and Anders moved into position, she settled herself just to the side, her presence still commanding yet filled with grace.

“Here, friends,” the earl began, raising her arms to address the crowd. “We have a man we have long known and long hoped would find his happiness. Anders, you have exchanged your sword and armor for a marriage and a household. How have you found your duties as a husband? Is it as pleasing as they say?”

The crowd chuckled at the earl’s words, and Anders responded with an enthusiastic nod, his dark curls bouncing with the motion. The audience laughed, clearly entertained by the lightheartedness of the moment.

“And here is the man whom Anders has chosen,” the earl continued, turning her gaze toward Wilder. “Wilder, you are not of this land—how are you faring?”

Wilder’s heart gave a slight lurch. He had expected to be asked this, but hearing it out loud made him pause. It was not an accusation, nor a challenge, but an honest question, as if the earl truly cared about his well-being. Wilder had no doubt that if he had answered otherwise—if he were unhappy or uncertain—she would have stopped the wedding immediately.

But Wilder was not unhappy. Far from it. With as much confidence as he could muster, he straightened his shoulders and said loudly, clearly, "What I do know I like. When I do not know, Anders guides me." He smiled warmly at Anders, his heart swelling with affection.

Anders squeezed his hand, his palm warm against Wilder’s. Wilder could feel his nervousness in the slight tremble of Anders’s fingers, and he realized that, despite everything, they were both equally anxious. They were in this together.

The earl gave a soft smile, her eyes filled with kindness and approval. “That’s good to hear,” she said, her tone almost maternal. Then, she raised her voice again, turning her attention to the crowd. “Now, for your vows.”

Wilder took a deep breath. This was it—the moment he and Anders had been preparing for. He could feel the eyes of the entire town on them, the pressure of the moment weighing on his chest. The earl addressed the crowd once more, her voice ringing out with authority and warmth. “Anders and Wilder will now say their vows. If you do not understand them, then you’d do well to remember that it is not for you.”

Wilder’s heart thrummed in his chest. That’s right , he thought. Our vows are for us. This moment, this exchange, was for no one else but the two of them. The people gathered here could witness it, but only he and Anders truly knew the depth of their love, the promises they were about to make to each other.

He let go of Anders’s hands and stepped back slightly, giving him the space to speak freely. Anders’s hands were shaking, but when their eyes met, Wilder could see the love there, the same overwhelming affection that Wilder felt in return. Anders took a breath and began:

Love, Anders signed, trembling with emotion. He stopped and smiled, almost to himself. I love you so. All gathered here know me. They know how I was before I saw you. Before you, my heart beat for no one. It beats for you now. I place it in your hands.

Wilder’s chest tightened, and his throat burned. He wasn’t sure if it was the words themselves or the way Anders spoke them—so raw, so open—but his heart swelled in his chest. He was moved, and his voice was thick when he responded.

“I take it gladly, Anders.” Wilder paused, his heart hammering in his chest. “We did not have an easy start.” He turned to Anders, gently patting his shoulder in understanding. “I did not understand—anything. But I know you now. You are my husband. I am yours. Our lives are one.” He smiled, his voice clear despite the emotion threatening to break it. “What else is there to say, but that I love you?”

Anders’s eyes glistened as he reached for Wilder, and Wilder, overcome with love, rushed into his arms. They embraced, holding each other tightly as the crowd cheered around them. It was a beautiful noise—a symphony of joy and celebration, their love echoed in the sound of the people’s approval.

The earl stepped forward, her voice carrying over the noise. “These two men are joined together in matrimony. Before themselves, they have called each other husband. Now, before us, they shall demonstrate their love.”

Anders abruptly stepped away from him. Wilder scrambled not to lose his footing. He blinked, unsure what had just occurred. The earl made a gesture, and the warrior who had taken the furs from the cart carried them out, draping them over the altar. Another man followed carrying a bowl of—oil? The earl took from her sleeve a long, thin knife and handed it to Anders, who bowed.

Weapon in hand, he approached Wilder.

What was happening? What was the knife for? This was not a part of any wedding ceremony Wilder recognized. Whatever was happening—or going to happen—was clearly a custom of Anders's people. Wilder knew that something like this might occur, and he'd thought he'd been ready for it, but the glint of the knife's blade unnerved him. Anders would not ever hurt him. But what was happening? There were some who made vows of brotherhood and sisterhood with the mingling of blood—this had to be similar. But he would not offer himself freely into something like that unless he understood—Wilder would be doing both Anders and himself wrong if he did so. There could be no repeats of their early days together.

"Stop," he said, holding up a hand.

A gasp rippled through the audience. Anders stopped mid-stride, his expression one of confusion and heartbreak.

Wilder shook his head. "No, Anders, just—wait. I don't understand." He said it again with his hands. I don't understand. Then he said, I'm scared.

Anders's eyes widened. He placed himself in front of Wilder, hiding him from the crowd with his bulk, and set the knife atop the altar. Tell me what's wrong , he said.

What is happening?

The ceremony, Anders said.

We said our vows. What is happening now? What is the knife for?

For the ceremony. His husband only looked more confused. Wilder—the ceremony. Your people have a ceremony. You said your people have a ceremony. You display your love for each other, as we do.

Wilder repeated, We said our vows. We showed our love for one another. That is the ceremony.

Anders's arms remained at his side. Then, with shaking hands and increasing panic in his eyes, he said, The knife. I will cut the clothes from you. I will make love to you on the altar. Everyone will see how I— He faltered. How much I adore you.

Oh, God.

Wilder stood there, stunned. Oh, God! He hadn't realized. Should he have realized? Had anyone said that? No, no—it had just been ceremony this and ceremony that—Wilder had thought that all weddings, wherever they took place, had to be mostly the same. He never thought that he might be expected to—

"Make love? In front of—everyone?" Wilder whispered. It was too scandalous, too lewd to repeat any louder. The very idea of—of coupling in front of a crowd—though the waiting guests—the audience?—were waiting for exactly that. They had attended expecting exactly that. He shook his head. "Anders, I don't—" He finished with his hands, I did not know .

You did not know, Anders said, looking dazed. Your people don't do this? They do not...

It is a private thing. Wilder didn't know if he had the vocabulary to describe just how private it was to have sex with one's partner. The body is private. Sex is private. To show oneself is shameful.

Anders's expression was one of complete horror. Aghast, he asked, This will shame you?

"No, Anders, I didn't say that—"

We will not do it , Anders declared.

"What?"

His husband looked resolute. I will not shame you.

But the ceremony! Wilder glanced at the crowd, milling about with confusion, and then at the earl, who was gazing at them with concern.

She asked, "Is all well?"

Wilder nodded. "Please, forgive us, we are just—"

"There is nothing to forgive. Take all the time you need. This is part of the ceremony, too. It is to observe a couple, and how well they fit together."

Oh, but he and Anders fit together so well. Sometimes Wilder felt that he had known Anders his whole life. Other times he felt he had not truly lived until Anders stole him away from the monastery. But either way, he could not imagine a day without Anders by his side.

He took one deep breath, and then another. Wilder said, What I know, I like, and what I don't know, you will guide me through.

What?

Take me as you do at night, when the fire is warm and when the stars are out. Just like when we are at home.

Anders snarled. I will not force you.

It is not forced. I want to. I want to be your husband. I want to complete this ceremony. I am a little afraid, but— Wilder smiled at Anders. If you are here with me, then I will be fine. And... I would like for others to see me as yours.

Anders stood there for a very long moment. Then placed his hands on Wilder's shoulders and kissed his cheek. I will care for you. He handed Wilder the knife. Here. Disrobe me first . Anders opened his arms wide and gave Wilder an encouraging smile.

Wilder swallowed. Gripping the knife in his hand, Wilder approached his husband. He did not look at their audience, watching intently. Instead, he did his best to focus on Anders, standing there, waiting.

Where to start? Wilder swallowed. He didn't want to cut Anders. tugged at Anders's tunic so that the fabric was stretched taut and then, carefully, tore into it with the blade, from the bottom of the tunic to just below Anders's chest. He stepped back, scrutinizing his work.

That's it, Anders said. Like gutting a fish.

"Anders, don't say that!" Wilder said with a laugh. A bit of the nervousness left him. He set the knife on the altar. He took the two sections of Anders's tunic and yanked, ripping the fabric apart until the tunic hung on Anders's shoulders like a jacket. He wore nothing underneath; his chest was bare. Wilder watched the rise and fall of his pecs with each breath. Anders's eyes were dark with want. Wilder licked his lips. "Take it off," he said.

Anders shrugged the ruined tunic off his shoulders and let it fall to the ground. Their audience could see the magnificent muscles of his back, so broad and so strong, but Wilder rested his eyes on the hair that trailed down Anders's chest to his belly and lower still. Wilder slid down to his knees and pressed his lips to Anders's soft stomach. He heard Anders's sharp intake of breath, felt him shiver.

Emboldened by his reaction, Wilder saw to Anders's breeches with more confidence. They were laced at the sides; he pulled them loose so that they fell off Anders's hips, revealing his thick cock hanging between his legs. Once more, Wilder took the knife and carefully, carefully, cut the breeches away from Anders's legs.

Wilder now understood better the appeal of this. Anders was so handsome—Wilder delighted in his form, the shape of his body against his own—and here were members of the town, watching and observing what Wilder saw every morning, every evening. They saw and knew that Anders belonged to Wilder. And now—Wilder stood, trembling.

Now it was his turn.

Anders said, I will be gentle.

With one swift movement, Anders cut the robes from Wilder's body. They were once the only clothes that Wilder had ever owned. Now there he was, completely naked before a sea of eyes, with the remains of his robes in a puddle of worn, rough cloth at his feet.

Wilder was suddenly reminded of shearing sheep and laughed. "I'm fine," he said as Anders gave him a concerned look. He shivered again. This was different from bathing naked in the river. There he was out in the open and under the sun, but no one had ever actually seen him. Now in the dusk and flickering candlelight every freckle dotting Wilder's skin was visible to all gathered. They looked at him and knew that Anders's hands roamed his body, that his tongue had licked and lapped at every part of him. He felt brazen. He felt shy. His heart pounded in his chest. He dared not look at anyone but his husband. Anders was the only one who truly mattered in this ceremony, anyway.

Anders moved in front of him, then, and even if Wilder wanted to look at another he couldn't, his husband was so broad. Anders shielded him with no self-consciousness about his own body. He had no reason to be—he was strength personified, built like a hero from tales of old. But when he squeezed Wilder's bare hips and guided him so that he reclined onto the altar, his back against the furs, Anders was so very gentle.

This isn't so different from home , Wilder thought. The candle light even mimicked the flames from the hearth.

Beautiful, said Anders. He pushed Wilder's knees up to his chest and dipped his fingers into the bowl of oil.

This was it. Wilder was naked on an altar before half the town. They would all see his husband prepare him—how his body easily took Anders's thick fingers. It was an intoxicating, heady thought, but it was also—

Wilder's entire body heated with both arousal and embarrassment as Anders's oiled fingers pressed against his rim. Wilder gasped.

His husband's other hand moved along his stomach, spelling out a silent observation. You're tense.

Wilder's nails dug into the furs. "S-sorry," he whispered.

Relax, Anders said. Relax for me. I'm here. I'll take care of you.

He took a deep breath and let go of the furs, reaching instead for Anders's hand resting above his belly button. He laced their fingers together; Anders gave his hand a squeeze. Wilder took another breath. He could see only the sky, turning from blue to pink and red and yellow with slowly setting sun, and his husband, covering him like a shield and a blanket both, protective and comforting. What could everyone see but Anders tending to him with such affection?

Some of the tension in Wilder's body dissipated. As he lay against the furs, taking slow, steady, deep breaths, he felt Anders's finger slip past his rim, entering him, brushing against his inner walls, sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through his body. "Oh!"

The crowd murmured in appreciation. Anders did not stop his ministrations, but Wilder saw his chest puffed out, proud as a rooster, pleased to have elicited such a reaction in front of their audience.

Yes, this was what it was all about, Wilder supposed. He turned his eyes toward the sky once more, embarrassed and giddy and aroused and then moving his hips to meet two of Anders's fingers now preparing him for his cock. To show their love, to put it on display. Everyone would know just how Anders's touch delighted him, how skillful he was at making Wilder gasp and cry and wail, how when they joined together it was like they were a single soul sharing two heartbeats, two bodies becoming one.

Underneath the buzzing pleasure in his head Wilder heard only the barest of chatter. How could such a crowd be so silent? All Wilder could hear was his own rapid breathing and the wet, sinful noise of Anders's fingers pumping in and out of Wilder's hole.

"Ah—" He squirmed into the furs, moaning. "Ah, Anders—"

Anders leaned down and kissed his neck. His tongue slid along the line of Wilder's pulse. He slid a third finger into Wilder, prompting another strangled moan from Wilder's throat as he spread his legs wider, toes curling into the furs. The skin of his throat was flushed and sensitive. Wilder trembled as Anders's beard rubbed against it. He felt his own cock bob between his legs, spurting precum onto his stomach.

He babbled, "Please, please." Wilder untangled his hand from Anders's and gripped his thick, dark curls, yanking him away from his neck. For a moment he worried that he had been too rough, but Anders only growled in low, rumbling arousal. Wilder said, "Anders," and Anders lunged for him, his fingers leaving Wilder empty as he climbed atop the altar. His lips found Wilder's; his kisses were hungry, craving, covetous.

Wilder could feel the head of Anders's cock at his entrance. Since they had grown accustomed to one another, more often than not Anders entered him with some impatient eagerness and ease, as though he had always been meant to be inside Wilder. This time, however, Anders filled him slowly, steadily, inch by inch. Was this for their audience's benefit? Were they watching intently, waiting for the moment that Wilder took the entirety of his husband? Could they see Wilder stretching around his girth?

"Ah!" Wilder cried out as Anders sheathed himself fully inside him with one powerful thrust. There.

Suddenly nothing mattered but that Anders moved. Whimpering, Wilder wrapped his arms around Anders's broad shoulders. Anders rocked his hips with agonizingly slow, but precise, movements. His face was a mask of pleasure, his eyes closed, his mouth open, his lips wet with Wilder's spit. His breath came in hot, heavy pants against Wilder's ear.

Wilder wrote a plea along Anders's back. Harder , he said. Faster.

His husband moaned and, as always, did exactly what Wilder wanted. Anders fucked him like a wild animal, rutting with frantic, ragged breaths. Wilder spread his legs even wider in order to better accommodate him, keening with each deep, hard thrust of Anders's cock.

It was good. When wasn't it good? Anders knew how to wring every ounce of pleasure from Wilder's body. But there was a different pleasure here, too. He knew that they were still watching—the crowd—that they were seeing this most intimate part of their marriage. Every single soul was there to see just that—how their bodies, slick with sweat and oil and precum, moved together. How they touched and grabbed and squeezed at one another in desperation and with a longing that simply could not be sated. It was not enough, it would never be enough, if only Anders could stay inside him forever—

That was what they saw. That was what they heard. Anders atop of him, inside of him, the tangle of their limbs, the moans and grunts and cries, the wanting, the desire.

The very thought of that was what pushed Wilder over the edge of pleasure. Nails digging into Anders's back, his entire body tensing, Wilder came with a wail, coming between them in a hot, sticky mess. Throughout that wave of bliss, Anders chased his own release, gasping, thrusting, his eyes wild, his lips finding Wilder's, licking into his mouth, sucking on his tongue, swallowing his cries and whimpers, until his hips jerked and he slammed into Wilder one final time and spilled inside him, filling him.

He felt Anders's seed leaking from him, dripping from his legs and onto the furs. Wilder, dazed, had the sudden, inane realization that they would most likely not be putting these furs back into the cart. As though from a great distance he heard the crowd cheer—for them? For their performance? Or because they could now move on to the feast? Anders and his entire naked bulk was still resting on him, and Wilder was still just as naked and twice as debauched. He let out a laugh at the wonderful ridiculousness of it all.

Anders trailed kisses along his bare, sweaty body. It's time to dress for the wedding feast.

Finally, his lovely tunic! Wilder laughed again. "Yes," he murmured as Anders gathered him into his arms.

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