Chapter 55
Amryn
Ahmi took a step back, a soft smile playing at her lips. “You look beautiful, my lady.”
Amryn glanced at the tall mirror Ahmi had placed against one wall of the suite.
Piera Denvoux’s design was undeniably elegant, and the deep, midnight blue gown looked especially bold against her pale skin.
The dress was sleeveless, leaving her shoulders and arms bare.
The fitted bodice accentuated her narrow waist, with the skirt flaring out at her hips in wide, sweeping folds.
Accents of gold were woven throughout the dress, giving an almost glittering effect.
According to Elowen, the colors were a perfect echo of Carver’s traditional military dress uniform.
It was easily the most beautiful gown Amryn had ever worn.
Ahmi had carefully gathered and pinned Amryn’s long curling locks until they spilled over one shoulder in a flowing cascade, leaving a few crimson tendrils to hang around her face.
She’d also artfully applied Amryn’s makeup, lining her eyes with kohl and brushing powder across her eyelids to shadow them.
Color had been applied to her lips as well, darkening her natural hue.
It was the night of the emperor’s ball. Nerves sang through her as she thought about the trap they’d set for the Rising. The part she still needed to play, and the betrayal that Bram would surely feel. Despite her anxiety, she was grateful that after tonight, all of this would be behind her.
She was alone in the room with Ahmi. Elowen had insisted that Carver get dressed in the Vincetti family suite down the hall so he could—in her words—get the full effect of seeing Amryn in her new dress for the first time. Amryn thought the idea was a little silly.
Until Carver walked in.
The moment her eyes fell on him, she could only stare.
His dark hair fell across his brow in effortless waves, longer on top than it was on the sides.
Dark stubble traced across his angular jaw, highlighting the perfectly sculpted lines of his face.
High cheekbones and long, dark lashes framed his sharp blue eyes.
His wide shoulders strained the formal jacket he wore.
The midnight blue of the uniform perfectly matched her dress, as did the gold accents that appeared on the edges and along the collar.
Beneath the jacket was a matching blue vest with gold buttons, and a white shirt below that opened partially to bare his throat.
He wore a dark pair of breeches, tall black boots, and his strong hands were covered with formal black leather gloves.
A sword was belted at his hip, though she was certain he had more blades hidden somewhere.
Carver had always been attractive to her, even from the first moment she’d seen him.
But now that she knew him—knew the endless depths of his strength, loyalty, and love—she could barely breathe at the sight of him.
Carver Vincetti might carry scars, both inside and out, but nothing could ever diminish his beauty in her eyes.
And he was hers. The mere thought made her heart race.
As did the realization that—the entire time she’d been studying him—he’d been studying her.
His gaze heated as he took in her appearance, and his voice was low and thin as he said, “You’re breathtaking.”
Warmth spread through her. She was aware of Ahmi drifting from the room, but Carver had her complete attention as he slowly walked toward her.
As he came closer, the spicy sandalwood scent of his soap hit her, and her knees went a little weak by the time he stopped before her.
She was nearly overwhelmed by the fact that the achingly handsome man was her husband.
He reached out, fingering a loose curl that dangled near her temple. “I had no idea seeing you in Westmont’s colors would do this to me.” He scanned her face once more, then shook his head. “How am I supposed to concentrate on anything tonight with you looking like this?”
She didn’t bother to hide her smile. Feeling daring, she touched the small scar on his chin, loving the rough feel of his stubble. “You look breathtaking, too,” she told him.
His lips quirked. “Not sure I’ve ever been called that.
But I’m glad you think so.” His hand shifted, moving to rest against the side of her neck.
Her pulse thrummed when his thumb gently caressed her throat.
He tipped his head toward her, his tone dropping as their foreheads touched.
“When tonight is over, I want to take out every pin in your hair.”
A thrill shot through her. She couldn’t stop her grin. “I’m not sure you’ll want to go to all that trouble,” she teased. “Ahmi put in quite a few.”
The heat in his eyes flared. “Every. Pin,” he repeated purposefully. “Even if it takes all night.”
She placed her hands against his chest and lifted up on her toes, pressing an impulsive kiss against his lips.
The instant their mouths brushed, his free hand curved around her waist to steady her.
Which was good, because while Amryn had initiated this, Carver quickly took over.
He deepened the kiss, his fingers tightening against her lower back as he changed the angle.
His lips slanted over hers, his head tipping one way while hers instinctively leaned to the other.
The kiss might have started slow and soft, but soon their mingled breaths were coming too fast, and Amryn felt almost dizzy with the combined passion they were feeling.
The passage of time meant little, but eventually Carver groaned and pulled back, even though reluctance pulsed through him. “Saints, are you trying to undo me?”
Her swollen lips twitched, but the reality of tonight’s dangers pressed in, rekindling nerves that spiked any time she thought about what would happen tonight.
If things would go smoothly, like Keats believed, or if there would be a fight—one she and Carver would be caught in the middle of.
“I need you to stay focused.” She set her palms against his chest. “I need you to be safe, Carver.”
He sighed and eased back, only to gather her hands between his larger ones. Holding her palms together, he gently pressed his lips to her fingertips. “You’re the one I’m worried about.”
“The rebels won’t be trying to kill me.”
“Only because they think you’re one of them.” A furrow grew between Carver’s dark brows. “Promise you’ll stay close to Ivan.”
“I never thought I’d hear you say that.”
He grunted. “Trust me, I don’t like it. I’d much rather be the one at your side.”
They both knew that was impossible. But Carver would be with General Keats, waiting in the shadows of the treasury until it was time to spring the trap.
“Do you have the bloodstone?” Carver asked.
As if in response to his words, the amulet hummed from inside the pocket Amryn had insisted Piera Denvoux add to the gown. She couldn’t wear the bloodstone with the low neckline, but she also couldn’t afford to be without it.
When she nodded an affirmative, Carver’s eyes clouded slightly. His emotions were tangled when it came to the bloodstone, but he pushed those aside as he raised her right hand to his mouth. The warmth of his lips hitting the center of her palm sent a shiver down her spine.
When he straightened, his eyes caught hers, a strange hum of anticipation, excitement, and nervousness rushing through him.
“I didn’t go to Esperance for a wife, even though I knew I would gain one.
I didn’t think love would ever be a part of my future.
And that was all right. I didn’t need love.
I was there to serve the emperor, and that was enough.
After everything I’d experienced in Harvari, I didn’t think I was capable of giving love to a woman.
I didn’t think I had anything left to give.
” Carver’s eyes rose, and Amryn had to blink back tears so she wouldn’t miss a second of this.
Not only the endearing vulnerability in his eyes, but the absolute truth that resonated inside him.
His jaw tightened. “I went to Esperance prepared for anything—except you. I wasn’t prepared to fall in love with you, Amryn. But I did.”
Her heart squeezed, her pulse suddenly racing.
Carver was still holding her hand, watching as his thumb traced the dip in her palm.
“I know the emperor asked us to leave our traditions behind when we came to Esperance. But in Westmont, it’s traditional for a man to give his bride a marriage bracelet.
It’s a symbol of his love and devotion, as well as his ability—and vow—to always provide for her. ”
Her breath caught as he went down to one knee, still holding her hand. With his free hand he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a gold bracelet. It was a thin, solid band that managed to look delicate yet strong. A few small, glittering diamonds were set along the slim cuff.
“Amryn Lukis Vincetti,” Carver said, his deep voice more serious than before. “I promise to provide for you with all that I have, defend you with all the strength I possess, and love you with all that I am.”
Her hand shook in his, her other hand pressed against her trembling mouth.
Carver’s throat bobbed as he stared up at her, palming the bracelet. “I know you weren’t given a choice when you first married me, but will you choose me now?”
Her eyes stung with emotion—hers and his—and her throat constricted tightly as she fought back a rush of tears. Warmth filled her chest as she held his gaze and whispered, “Yes. I choose you, Carver.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a half-grin that warmed every part of her.
He stood, offering her the bracelet. She took it with gentle fingers, examining the exquisite piece.
It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
Glimpsing small, curving script on the inner band, she squinted to read the word etched there.
“Aeternum?” she asked, pronouncing the foreign word carefully.
Carver nodded, assuring her she’d said it correctly. “It’s an old word in Westmont. It means forever.” His voice softened. “It seemed like the perfect word to give you, because what I feel for you is never going to change. I’m yours, Amryn. Always.”
Her vision blurred, obscuring that simple but wonderful word from her sight.
He made a sound in his throat, his fingers instantly moving to swipe away her tears. “Saints, you and those tears. You’re killing me, sweetheart.”
“Will you put it on me?” she asked.
Carver’s long fingers moved deftly to fit the bracelet on her wrist. She swore she could feel the promise of that etched word press against her inner wrist. “Thank you,” she breathed, tears still sliding down her cheeks as she met Carver’s gaze. “Just how much have you spent at the jeweler’s?”
He chuckled. “Let’s just say there’s a jeweler on High Market Street who really likes me.”
She laughed, shaking her head. Her heart still felt like it was expanding in her chest. She took a breath, trying to steady her emotions before she took his hand.
Carver silently followed her lead as she raised their clasped hands between them and slowly interlocked their fingers. His curiosity was strong, but he didn’t ask what she was doing. He merely waited for her explanation.
Clearing her throat, she said, “Long ago in Ferradin, couples married each other in simple ceremonies they conducted themselves. They joined hands, like this, and spoke the traditional words the gods shared with them. Afterwards, they were deemed married beneath the sun and the stars.” She took a breath, then spoke in her native tongue.
Carver watched her intently, love shining in his eyes even though he obviously couldn’t understand a single word.
When she finished, she translated the ceremonial words without prompting. “With this hand, I take thee freely. With this grasp, I cling to thee alone. With this vow, I wed thee. And with this kiss, I claim thee mine.”
Still gripping his hand, their fingers woven together, she leaned up to kiss her husband, even as he bent down to claim her mouth.