Hours later, Aren is on her back in our bed, out of breath and smiling up at the painted ceiling depicting the ocean gods and their endless battles. The way she looks at it, I know she finds it breathtaking.
This bedroom is the best in the castle—especially from this angle. Especially when Aren’s lying naked next to me. But I don’t care about the ceiling. I have better things to look at than art.
Crawling up her body, I prop myself on my elbows and look down at her, blocking her view of the mural. She sighs and gives me a dreamy smile, and I know she’s still feeling the high of our lovemaking.
“So, you’ve had two weeks to consider,” I say. “Will you marry me, for real?”
She huffs out a breathless laugh. “Of course, you’re only asking now after…” She gestures to our naked, sweat-slicked bodies.
“You know you want to,” I say, smirking. “But for whatever reason, you’re too stubborn to admit it.”
“Only because I’ve become enamored of the luxuries of royal life, thank you very much,” she says. “I’ve had enough of cooking and cleaning for the rest of my existence.”
I laugh and bury my face between her breasts, breathing her in. I love the heat of her, the scent of her, the feel of her.
She reaches out, idly tracing the ring-shaped scars on my back, which still haven’t fully healed, despite the rings now adorning both of our hands. I glance at her, a small smile tugging at my lips.
“Does it hurt?” she asks.
“No,” I murmur. “Hasn’t for a while.”
We don’t say anything after that. We just listen to the waves crashing in the distance, the sound echoing through the open window. The rhythm is steady, soothing, like the beat of her heart beneath my ear.
After a while, her voice comes, soft with sleep. “Dietan, do you really want to marry me?”
I crack an eyelid open. “You really have to ask, Aren of Evandale?”
She shifts, and I roll onto my back beside her, tucking her against my side, her head beneath my chin. I wrap an arm around her, holding her tight.
“I’m not Aren of Evandale anymore. At least not the same Aren who left Evandale. That Aren of Evandale never thought herself worthy of a prince,” she says.
I plant a soft kiss on her nose and say, “Well, that Aren of Evandale was wrong.”
She stares deep into my eyes and says the words I’ve been waiting to hear for so long. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah,” she smiles. “I’ll marry you.”
Joy fills me from head to toe, but it’s compounded by the words she says next.
“I love you Dietan,” she says, with a serious look on her face. And she doesn’t add a joke, or laugh, or call me your worship or a dumbass.
“I love you too,” I say, even though she already knows that. I’ll say it again and again for the rest of my life.
She drifts to sleep and so do I, the two of us entangled in each other.
My heart settles into an easy, steady rhythm, forever beside my future wife.
The love doesn’t end here…
