Chapter Thirty #2
always been a fall and winter girl (I lived in Phoenix, so fall and winter were
the best), and Loren told me Hawkvale didn’t
have the fierce winters that Lunwyn did. Sometimes
there were only dustings of snow in the northern regions, but in the central
and southern ones, the temperature changed only slightly.
So I thought it was perfect the seat of his House was here,
where it got cold(ish), and I could wear long sweater
gowns that clung to my body and made my man hot and hungry (so sometimes, I
didn’t wear those gowns very long before he took them off).
I stared at the Riven Sea that, miles and miles east, led to
The Mystics, and as such, reminded myself how beautiful this place was, with
its glittery, gray rock cliffs and that blue, blue ocean that was so clean and
clear, it was a blue we didn’t even have in my old world.
I also saw Frey’s galleon, The Finnie, anchored out there.
And the Premier of Fleuridia’s
ship, which was smaller than The Finnie, and strange to me, because I’d never
seen anything like it. The only way to describe it was sleek and chic and rad.
There were a few other ships anchored, because our guest
list had gone from around seventy-five, which was what could fit in Dalwin’s private temple, to over five hundred, which was
what fit in the temple in Castledge, the large-town-almost-city just down the
coast.
This was my life, this magical world filled with glitter and
castles and galleons, kings and queens and dukes, flowers and hats and blue,
blue seas.
In a couple of hours, I was going to be a Marchioness.
I was going to miss my friend Holly, and the Aunt Mary I
knew all my life, and tons of other people and things.
But I smiled at the vista before me knowing the girls were
right.
I was about to become Satrine
Copeland, Marchioness of Remington, the future Duchess of Dalton.
Far more importantly, I was officially about to become
Loren’s.
This world was his.
And there was nowhere else I’d rather be.
Loren
“It’s fucking ridiculous,” Loren muttered.
“Calm down, man,” Croft ordered, but his voice was filled
with amusement.
Loren seared him with a look.
Which, of course, made Croft burst with laughter.
And his other brothers besides.
“What reason could there possibly be to separate a man from
his woman on the eve of their wedding?” Loren went on grumbling. “They’re
madder in her world than they seemed when I visited, and they seemed unhinged
when I was there.”
“It’s as if he thinks she’ll flee,” Middy said to Holt.
“I would flee, laying my eyes on this bloke,” Holt replied.
“He’s a foul-tempered bastard. No one would think he’s imminently to marry one
of the greatest beauties in our land.”
Loren’s brow went up and he asked dangerously, “One of?”
“Right, the greatest beauty,” Holt muttered, his
lips quirking.
“Fucking hell,” Marlow whispered.
Loren turned to Marlow.
He then turned in the direction Marlow was gazing, which was
out the windows.
And there she was, his father assisting as she alighted from
the carriage.
Her gown was mostly white, an odd choice, but on Satrine, it was incredibly fetching. The long-sleeved top
was netting stitched with the finest embroidery which made it seem like her
very skin shimmered and was adorned with flowers. The skirts fell in full,
gathered sheets of tule, with an underskirt in dark gray that gave it depth and
made it interesting.
And on her head was a wide, graceful hat, a large rosette at
the front, the brim lined and double-edged, dropping cheekily over one eye, but
it was much longer in the back, dipping down like a veil. It was the most
graceful, stylish hat Loren had ever seen.
Her lips were bright red.
And the wedding garland she carried draped across both palms
was rife with velvety black roses that looked as if they were snipped after a
rain, and there were tufts sitting amongst the blooms of something Loren didn’t
know what it was, but it was webby and delicate and shimmering and ethereal.
At sight of it, he felt his chest seize.
She carried him, or how she thought of him, in
their garland in her hands.
On this thought, his throat closed, something happening at
his eyes, and there were cuffs on his arm and slaps on his back as his brothers
left him to take their places lining the aisle opposite Cora, Circe, Idina and
Maxie. The line of honor they would stride through to the altar, where Corliss
and Ansley would await them and stand with them as they were wed.
The only reason he tore his gaze from her was when he felt a
slight pain in his shoulder at how hard he was being gripped.
He shifted his attention to Marlow, who was gazing at him
with feeling and meaning.
And his tone was gruff when he said low, “I forgot how to
dream, until now, witnessing one come true for you.”
“Brother,” Loren whispered.
“Glad as fuck she makes you happy, gladder still you’re
letting her.”
Then with a squeeze, his friend disappeared.
And she walked in.
They locked eyes.
It was not lost on him that his father, her mother and her
sister, who had arrived with her, all came to him and touched him in different
ways, murmuring their greetings and well wishes before they rushed to take
their places in the temple.
But it was only Satrine he paid
any real attention.
As their family faded away, she finally came to him.
“Hey,” she whispered.
Loren gazed down at her and said nothing.
“We need to wind this around our arms and get this show on
the road,” she prompted when he didn’t speak or move.
“This is lovely,” he whispered.
Her expression grew soft, but her eyes, as they had been
from the moment she entered the atrium, shined bright with the depth of her
love for him.
A bright so bright, it drove deep into his soul.
He allowed that to settle before he lifted a hand, pulled
that remarkable hat off her head, and sent it flying.
She cried out in surprise.
“But it has to go,” he finished.
She stared up at him for but a brief moment.
And then his soul exploded with radiance as his bride filled
the vestibule with laughter.
He had his hands full of her ass and his gaze full of
her beauty, bouncing as it was on his cock.
He lifted up to sitting, and then he had her arms around his
shoulders and her lips on his.
“Baby,” she breathed.
He pulled her off his shaft.
“Loren!” she snapped.
“Knees,” he ordered. “Offer yourself to me.”
They were in the shadows, but he didn’t miss her eyes catch
fire.
Then, facing the head of the bed that sat along a bank of
arched windows that had a view to the now-stormy sea, she positioned her
exquisiteness before him, offering her ass and her cunt.
Loren took it, his fingers curling into that glorious flesh,
his cock pounding into her sleek wet.
He raised a hand to his mouth, sucked in his thumb, then
returned it to her ass, slipping his thumb into her hole.
She reared back into his cock, emitting a soft whimper of
pleasure, as he knew she would.
She loved him inside her, any way she could take him.
“Fuck me, sweeting,” he growled.
She did, he watched, stroking her hole, and when he knew
from the clutching of her pussy that she was close, he pulled out.
“Honey,” she begged.
He turned her to her back, covered her, and entered her
again.
He laced their fingers on one hand, wound his others in her
riot of curls, and she circled him with her legs.
The look on her face, the feel of her sheath, the sounds she
was making, the intermingled smell of their bodies, he was going to lose
control.
And he always wanted her to climax first, of course, but
tonight, he wanted them to climax together.
He shifted a hand between their bodies, moving it down to
her clit.
He touched her.
She whispered, “Husband,” as she climaxed under
him, around him, for him.
And at that word, Loren lost it, and he went with her.
The room exploded in light as the dragons outside their
windows blazed fire through the air above the Riven.
And the stone of their room turned incandescent all around
them with the flash.
But it was only her for him, and him for her in their
wedding bed as Satrine accepted his seed, and he
accepted her love, and in her ear, he whispered, “Wife.”
Buttersnatch
Hawkvale
Newton
Oxblood Region
Some weeks later…
They’d cornered him.
He squatted like a rat and stared into the fog, breathing
heavily.
It didn’t take long before they formed through the dark and
mist, still mounted on their powerful steeds.
Six of them.
Six tall, handsome commanding men, staring down their noble
noses at him cowered in an alley.
They were led by the king.
Buttersnatch stared in shock up at
the mighty Noctorno, knowing it was his end and
feeling a strange sense of pride he would meet it at the edge of a royal blade.
“Fancy serving your king?” his monarch asked.
Buttersnatch blinked into the fog.
Another, stranger sense of pride stole through him, and he
was surprised at how strong it was.
This meant he straightened from his squat.
Only to bend forward and bow.