“Have faith in your brother,” Rangar said. “A true leader learns from his mistakes, and I believe Mars has done just that. An untested king is an invitation for weakness.”
Bryn sighed. “I’m grateful that we could be here for their wedding, at least.”
His mouth hitched. “And now you have your own wedding to plan for.”
A flush of nerves rushed through her at the idea. Was she truly, finally, going to marry Rangar? “I was never the type to dream about my wedding day,” she confessed. “I assumed I’d be betrothed to some dull old minor lord like Baron Marmose. And that my mother would plan the wedding according to tradition, and I’d hardly be involved except to recite the vows.”
“I wish to give you the wedding that you deserve,” Rangar said, gently brushing back a loose strand of her hair. But then sadness crept into his eyes. “A second wedding, I should say.”
Bryn swallowed a lump. “You’re thinking of my wedding to Trei?”
Rangar continued to smooth down her errant curls, his eyes a little distant. “It would be a lie to say I don’t wish I could have been your first—and only—husband.”
She clutched his hand tightly and looked him straight in the eye. “We’ll have a special wedding, Rangar. I’ll make sure it’s nothing like my first wedding. I don’t want those doomed reminders, either. No maiden roses, no honey cakes, no dais in the village square.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “No honey cakes?”
A brief grin played at the corners of her mouth. “Very well, the honey cakes can stay. But I’m serious, Rangar. I want something new between you and me. Old traditions are being shattered across the Eyrie; let us be a symbol of change as well. Perhaps we’ll marry on a ship at sea. Or in a forested glen. Or at midnight around a bonfire.”
A mischievous light crept into his eyes. He gathered her up around the waist and dragged her into his lap, stroking a hand down the side of her face. He purred, “I like hearing you talk about our wedding. I’d like to discuss our weddingnighteven more.”
Bryn slid her arms around his neck as she gave him a playful, scolding look. “You’ve already tarnished me, Rangar Barendur. I’ll hardly be a virgin bride.”
His fingers squeezed the folds of her dress as his eyes simmered with growing desire. “Do you feel like being tarnished again?”
She threw another glance at the carriage window. They were on the outskirts of Mir Town now, but a few houses and farms still flanked the road.
“We should wait until we’re at Barendur Hold,” she said.
“It’s a journey of five days,” Rangar answered in a low rumble. “If you think I’m waiting that long beforetarnishingyou again, you are gravely mistaken. I’ve waited years to have you perch in my lap and taste your sweet mouth. I plan on having you every night, my queen.”
Warmth bloomed in Bryn’s cheeks. As she adjusted her position in his lap, she could feel Rangar’s growing desire. “It’s daytime,” she pointed out.
“Every night,” he corrected himself steadily. “Andevery day.”
He tugged the curtain closed with a swift movement, then crushed his mouth against hers. She drank him in as her body began to crave him in equal measure. Her hands around his neck clung on, unwilling to let go. The carriage bounced, and he gripped her harder around the waist.
“On second thought,” he murmured as his lips found the outline of her jaw. “Perhaps waiting until tonight to bury myself inside you will make it all the sweeter. For now, I’ll just have a taste.”
Bryn moved in for another kiss, but he caught her chin and shook his head. A wicked gleam lit his eyes. “Not that kind of a taste, princess.”
She blinked at him, not understanding, until his fingers slowly gathered the hem of her skirt up around her knees. She clamped her hands on her skirt protectively as she squelched a gasp. “Rangar!”
But his hands didn’t stop pulling up her skirt until it was up around her thighs. His thumb slipped under the band of one stocking, dragging it down to expose her inner thigh. “You’re mine, Bryn. That’s my ring on your finger. If I want a taste of you, I’ll have it. Anywhere on your body I want.”
Her body turned to fire as he kneaded the sensitive skin on her bare thigh. Gasping, she challenged, “You think you can do as you wish because I wear your ring?”
His darkened eyes taunted her as his hand continued to stroke her thigh. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
She clamped her jaw shut, narrowing her eyes. Want it? Lords and ladies, she was craving it more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life. She was practically panting to have him touch her more. But she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction.
“Right,” he barked at her silence. “That’s what I thought. Now sit back on the seat and spread your legs.”
Her eyes widened. Her body was already quivering, and with shaky limbs, she slid off his lap and onto the velvet bench seat. Reclining against the backrest, she eased her knees open a few more inches.
“More,” Rangar grunted as he wrenched her knees apart. Her thighs tried to clamp together on instinct, but Rangar was already on his knees on the carriage floor. He balled her dress’s hem in his fists as he slid the fabric up to her waist.
The carriage jostled, and Bryn squeaked as the motion awakened her already-alert body. She found her gaze pinned on Rangar’s hands as he stroked his way up her thighs and pressed his thumb against the buzzing place at her center.
