As her body tremored with pleasure, he suddenly released her coil of hair so he could grab both her hips. Her hair fanned out around them as a moan rose in his throat.
“Gods . . . Bryn . . .”
His body tightened as his hands dug into her flesh. His breath heaved as he pushed into her one more time. A line of sweat dripped from his brow.
Both of them spent, he gripped her jaw, holding her face to look at him.
“Thatis my dessert of choice,” he rasped, brushing his thumb against her bottom lip like he was already ready for another bite.
* * *
When she wokein the morning, Rangar was gone.
She stared at the ceiling, one hand lightly trailing against the sapphire necklace as she thought,Today I marry Rangar Barendur.
Baer tradition, as she knew all too well from her marriage to Trei, required a royal wedding to be held at sunset beneath the open sky. Her previous wedding day had been miserable when a rainstorm had left her and Trei drenched. Of course, that had only portended the tragic events that followed.
Today will be different, she thought fiercely.Today, Rangar and I take our fates into our own hands.
Before going downstairs for breakfast, however, she took the time to unstring Trei’s ring from her chain necklace and press it between her palms. Kneeling before the hearth, she whispered a prayer to her Saints and Trei’s gods to watch over his soul.
“Oh, wise Saints of the South, oh mighty gods of the North, I ask that you guard Trei Barendur’s soul across the life bridge to his rightful place among the honored dead.” Then, because she wasn’t sure exactly what she believed happened to a soul, she whispered to Trei’s spirit itself, “You’re missed, Trei. You’re loved. You aren’t forgotten.”
She was relieved to see sunlight pouring through the window.No rainstorms today. Fresh snow had fallen overnight, blanketing the castle grounds and village square in pristine white. The snow replaced the white sashes and banners of King Aleth’s grieving period. Gone were all emblems of mourning. It felt like a good omen. A fresh start.
For the first time in a month, she didn’t wear her white sash.
In the great hall, she snagged honeybuns and milk from the kitchen girls passing around breakfast baskets, then spotted Valenden and Oliver eating by the northern hearth. She made her way over, though slowly, having to stop five times to greet well-wishers for her big day. The mood was noticeably lighter throughout the breakfast crowd now that the mourning period was over.
“And what a joyful way to move on from our mourning,” one elderly weaver said, clutching Bryn’s hand. “With a royal wedding!”
Bryn beamed sincerely. It felt marvelous not to have to pretend anymore. She’d pretended to be interested when Baron Marmose courted her. She’d acted the part of a happy bride with Trei, though her heart had been breaking. She’d even forced herself to smile sweetly at the villainous Captain Carr’s proposal.
But now, her smiles could finally be genuine.
I’m marrying my soulmate.
She caught Valenden’s eye over the weaver’s enthusiastic nodding head and begged her leave. She sank onto the bench next to Valenden, taking a bite of her honeybun at last. She groaned with delight.
“If it isn’t the most favored girl in the Baersladen,” Valenden teased. “Gracing us with her presence.”
She rolled her eyes. “Everyone’s so kind, but I might have to hide out all morning in my room, or I’ll never accomplish anything except talk to well-wishers. Have you seen Rangar this morning?”
“You mean he didn’t wake you up with a cock pressing into your back?” Valenden asked.
Oliver snorted so hard that milk frothed at the corners of his mouth.
Bryn flicked a crumb toward him. “Really, Val, you’re going to have to tame that tongue of yours ifyouever hope to one day marry.”
“Bah. My tongue has no interest in being tamed.” He laughed in his usual cavalier way, but Bryn caught him glance across the great hall toward Winter, the girl who ran the village tavern. Bryn wasn’t a fool—she’d often wondered if the reason Valenden frequented The Whale Tavern didn’t have less to do with ale and more to do with the girl serving it.
Bryn cleared her throat. “Oliver, have the scouts said anything about carriages on the road?”
Oliver finished chewing his breakfast and wiped his mouth. Speaking gently so as not to disappoint her, he said, “I’m sorry, my lady. They haven’t.”
Bryn’s good mood faltered. She had hoped Mars and Illiana would be able to attend the wedding by some miracle, though she’d known how unlikely it was. Her letter had probably only arrived to Mars a few days before. The king and queen of the Mirien wouldn’t be able to drop everything and travel to the Outlands on short notice. Besides, Mars and Illiana had their own issues to occupy them.
War.
