Chapter 29 A Midnight Wedding
A Midnight Wedding
The Starmaker
“Okay.”
The Starmaker responded instantly, before he even had time to think about the question or his answer or the consequences.
He said okay because he wanted to marry Aurora Finch, because the only thing in the world he wanted more than to marry her was to have a life with her, and since he could not have both, he would, with hunger and greed and fervor, take one.
“Okay,” he said again.
Aurora smiled, taking his hands. “Okay.”
* * *
Later that night, beneath the light of the moon and a thousand stars, Aurora walked down the garden path to marry the Starmaker.
She wore a white silk dress that brushed the earth as she moved, and when it caught the wind, it fluttered out behind her.
It was plain, with long billowing sleeves, a deep neckline, and a flowing silhouette that made her feel free.
There were no crystals or lace or embroidery, and Aurora was fairly certain it was meant for sleeping, but it was perfect, exactly what she wanted to wear.
Ina had helped her weave pink flowers into her loose shimmering-white braid and had dusted her cheekbones with a silver mineral that sparkled faintly against her skin.
The night of their failed nuptials, the Starmaker’s voice had been soft when he’d spoken of wholly belonging to another.
Aurora remembered her reaction to the words, the way she’d felt each one in the very depths of her soul.
She hadn’t understood it at the time, but she now knew it was because the Starmaker had voiced a desire she had buried so deep within herself that she hadn’t known it was there.
She had wanted to wholly belong to another.
And now she did.
Aurora held a single white rose from the plant she had given the Starmaker earlier, and the bloom twinkled like the stars and the fresh snowfall around them. A row of candles had been pushed into the ground, illuminating her path, and the crisp night air was heavy with silence.
The Starmaker waited for her in the middle of the gardens, the priest their only witness, though Aurora was certain Tilly was watching from somewhere out of view.
When Aurora met the Starmaker’s eyes, she was overcome.
He was bathed in moonlight, and he watched her with a gravity unlike anything she had experienced, as if she was being seen for the very first time.
His stance was rigid, his jaw tight, and his lips parted at the sight of her.
When she reached his side, he held out both hands, and Aurora took them in hers. She turned to face him, and he inhaled sharply. Aurora drew closer, as if she was the air that filled his lungs, and with clear, wide eyes, she gazed into his.
He was glorious.
And he was hers.
The Starmaker’s eyes turned red and wet, and a look of utter shock passed over his features.
He slowly raised a hand to his face, wiped his cheek, then looked at his tearstained fingers.
“You…” he started, then trailed off. He took Aurora’s hand once more, and she felt the tears on his skin. “I am undone by you.”
Aurora inhaled, her chest aching, unsure if her ribs could contain her expanding heart. “And I by you.”
The priest began to speak, leading them through the vows that would join them together for the rest of their days and follow them into the earth.
They were the same vows Aurora’s parents had spoken, and Aurora repeated them with veneration, binding her soul to the Starmaker’s with the same promises that had bound the great loves that came before her.
“I will love you with the warmth of the Sun and the light of the moon,” she began, the stars overhead shining brightly.
“I will carry you with the strength of the mountain and keep your soul tucked close to mine. And when we return to the dust of the stars, I will whisper your name in the endless after so that I may find you even in death. Always will I come for you, and always will I stay.”
When Aurora finished, the Starmaker said the same words, his voice unsteady, as if it might break at any moment. His composure never slipped, but for Aurora, it did.
The village jeweler had been able to accommodate their sudden request, and so they were able to exchange rings as well as vows.
The Starmaker placed a band of vibrant sapphires onto Aurora’s finger, rich blue stones the color of the sky just before the moon rose.
His was a simple white gold band with a single inlaid sapphire at the top, a perfect match to the gems in Aurora’s ring.
She had thought it was beautiful when she had chosen it from the bands the jeweler had set before her, but seeing it on the Starmaker was something else entirely.
She ran her thumb over the top of it, assuring herself it was real.
“All that remains is for you to kiss your bride,” the priest said, and Aurora looked up at the Starmaker, watching his perfect face.
She was scared of loving him, of what losing him would do to her.
But in the end, she’d been more scared of never knowing him at all, never knowing who she was capable of becoming with him by her side.
She understood now that she was exactly where she was meant to be, and that if she was granted a thousand lifetimes, in each and every one, she would choose the path that led her here, to the Starmaker.
“My bride,” the Starmaker whispered, taking her face in his hands and kissing her slowly.
He touched her with reverence, his mouth moving over hers with absolute devotion.
Her breath caught when his tongue found hers, and when he deepened the kiss, she leaned into him, afraid her legs might give way beneath her.
The Starmaker pulled back just slightly, brushing his lips over her jaw and up to her ear. “I’ve been waiting a long while for you.”
They were the same words he had said to her when they’d first met in the woods, yet they were entirely new, heavy with a different meaning. He kissed her ear and her jaw before finding her mouth once more, and it was a wonder that Aurora was still able to stand at all.
When the Starmaker pulled away, she could feel his reluctance, but then they were walking inside the castle, and Ina was showering them with rose petals, and they shared crystal flutes of sparkling wine, a pear tart Ina had made, and glasses of ice wine that had not gone bad.
After they had celebrated with the staff, they made their way to the Starmaker’s room, and not even Constance was allowed inside.
The Starmaker held Aurora’s hand and led her to the bed, and she sat down, keeping her eyes on his.
He gently slipped the silk from her shoulders, kissing her collarbone and her neck and the corner of her mouth.
His lips lingered on her skin, and then he pulled back and looked at her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“My name is Caspian,” he said, the word catching in his mouth as if he’d forgotten how to say it.
“Caspian,” Aurora repeated, and it hit her straight in her gut because it was so him, so perfectly him, that it hurt her to say. It felt significant and wonderful on her tongue.
She stood to kiss him, the echo of his name still present on her lips. Then she slowly took off his shirt, trailing her mouth down his chest and stomach, sitting back on the bed and stopping at his hips. She looked up at him, her fingers tracing the button on his trousers.
“Tell me what you want,” she said.
He swallowed hard, watching her. “I want to touch you while you say my name.” His voice was hoarse, and Aurora knew what it had taken for him to speak his desire aloud, to be vulnerable in that way.
Keeping her eyes on his, Aurora let her dress fall to the floor and lay back on the bed, shifting out of the rest of her garments.
Caspian’s gaze slowly ran over the length of her body, and Aurora forced herself to be still, wanting him to see all of her.
She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, trying to calm her racing heart. Then Caspian found her eyes once more.
“I am captivated by you,” he whispered.
Aurora reached for him, and he stepped out of his pants before joining her on the bed.
Every part of him was as beautiful as the last, and she traced her fingers down his neck and over his chest, committing him to memory.
He kissed her, and as he did, Aurora took his hand and placed it over her heart, inhaling into his touch, watching him as he reacted to his name on her tongue.
“Caspian.”
Aurora burned with longing and nerves and need, but more than anything, with a love she had never thought would be hers, a love she had told herself she would never want.
But with her hand over his and his mouth on hers, she understood that she had never had a choice in the matter.
Loving Caspian was as inevitable as breathing, and whenever she had tried to fight against it, she was left gasping for air.
Aurora tipped her head back, and Caspian kissed the length of her neck, over her collarbone, and down her sternum, following her rib cage around her heart.
He was where she felt most at home, and while she used to believe that love could only be either all-consuming or safe, she had been wrong. It could be both.
Caspian’s mouth moved over her breast, finding the most sensitive part, and Aurora’s breath caught in her throat.
“Caspian.”
He groaned when she said his name, replacing his mouth with his hand, trailing his lips back to hers.
The universe itself was not vast enough to contain the love Aurora had for this man, and yet she felt perfectly safe, as if she was curled up by the fire in her family’s cottage, her heart steady and her mind calm.
He slowed then, kissing her as if they had all the time in the world—gentle and deliberate and soft, as if they were eternal. Unhurriedly, Caspian slid his hand down her ribs, brushing over her stomach and pausing at her hip.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, the very thought making her desperate.
“Don’t you dare,” she breathed, arching into his touch.
He drew circles around her hips before finally trailing his fingers down, brushing the place between her legs, and Aurora said his name on a gasp. She felt him react to her with the way he deepened his kiss and the way his body tensed, needing her as much as she needed him.
Still, he took his time, applying a soft pressure that made her mind foggy and her body warm, and he pulled back to watch her as pleasure built deep in her core.
Caspian overwhelmed her senses until he was all she could taste, all she see, all she could feel, and somehow it still wasn’t enough.
She needed more, gripping the sheets and pushing into him until an urgent heat concentrated into one single point beneath his touch.
All at once, she let herself go, warmth flooding her, as she looked at Caspian and whispered his name over and over again.
Caspian slowly kissed her neck, her ear, trailing his mouth along her jaw, then pausing just above her lips. His eyes were heavy with awe, gazing deep into hers.
“You brought me back to life,” he said.
Aurora grasped the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss, pressing her tongue against his, and sliding her palms down his chest. She rested her hands on his hips, gripping him tight and pulling him closer, and as he slowly fit his body to hers, a low moan escaped his lips.
Aurora ran her fingers through his hair and clutched his back, opened her eyes to watch his face so she could memorize the way it felt to be his.
Caspian kissed her deeply, his breaths coming faster.
Aurora understood the weight of his words because he had brought her to life as well, opened up the entire universe before her just as she was ready to settle for the smallest piece.
Aurora had not expected the longing that would awaken in her gut when she saw the wonders of the world, and the more she discovered, the more she wanted.
She wanted to live an extraordinary life with an extraordinary love on this extraordinary mountain.
She wanted an extraordinary story to tell.
She wanted it all.
Aurora kissed Caspian with her hands tangled in his hair, trailing her mouth along his jaw and whispering his name in his ear. Her lips were warm against his skin, and when he lost himself to her, he buried his face in her neck and exhaled long and slow, his body collapsing into hers.
For a while they were silent, their deep breaths the only sounds. Aurora said his name once more, and he looked at her with tears in his eyes, a small disbelieving smile forming on his face.
“I did not think I would ever hear it again.”
He kissed her in the stillness, and a small laugh escaped his lips. Aurora thought it was the best thing she’d ever heard.