"We're still married," Asher says softly. "We're still us."
Kayden smirks. "Just… one more obnoxious asshole for you to tolerate."
A sound escapes me that's half laugh, half sob. Something in my chest eases a little.
"Then let's do it," I whisper.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Darius
There is something bittersweet in the preparations for this ceremony. I've imagined our wedding many times, but never like this. Not with her already bonded to two others, let alone vampires.
I have witnessed many strange things in my time, but nothing like what we're about to attempt. I cannot fully grasp the consequences. Yet I'm ready.
The day is settled into dusk. I'm dressed properly, with everything arranged as it should be. The project with the town progresses smoothly, the mayor is content, and the remnants of my inner circle have been sent away, back to the broader mission that still binds us. Only Ruaidhrí remains, both to assist with logistics and, at Sage's suggestion, to stand beside me as best man. It's an odd custom, but when she asked it so gently, I could not refuse.
Even now, she thinks of others. Even like this, she worries that I might stand alone.
We've chosen an ancient grove deep in the forest for the ceremony. The garden near the house is still lifeless, while this place breathes.
The young Bright has outdone herself—lanterns hung from branches, soft lights swaying like stars caught in the leaves. She's worked tirelessly with helpers from both sides, creating something that looks like a midsummer dream, though spring has barely begun. There's relief in her eyes, since the worst of the darkness has passed.
The soldier vampire stands sentinel, calm and focused. Men like him never stop expecting another battle.
And then there's the valkyrie. She strides toward me, chin high, eyes sharp.
"I still don't like you, satyr," she says.
"I appreciate your honesty, Astrid Brandt," I answer evenly. "Perhaps this might soften your opinion."
I nod toward Ruaidhrí, who brings forward the bottle we prepared. He offers it with a grin that could charm a stone, but perhaps not her.
Astrid uncorks it, sniffs suspiciously.
"If we wanted you dead, poisoning wouldn't be the way," Ruaidhrí teases.
"Maybe not dead," she replies dryly, "but shitting myself for a week."
He laughs unrestrained, and even I find myself forming a smile. Her bluntness has a strange charm of its own.
She takes a tentative sip. Her eyes widen, surprise overtaking suspicion.
"The recipe was thought lost," I tell her quietly. "But we found it in the archives."
"Raven's Mead," she murmurs, shaking her head. "I never thought I'd taste it again."
For a moment, her face softens with nostalgia, almost sorrow, but then the familiar steel returns. "This changes nothing."
"Of course not," I reply.
Yet she walks away with the bottle in hand.
Ru chuckles under his breath. "I'll call that progress, boss."
I allow myself another small smile. "So will I."
The trickster returns to the altar where Maeve waits. She has agreed to perform the ceremony without argument or further persuasion. Even her usual sternness has softened. Perhaps out of compassion, or out of curiosity. Binding a dark nymph, two vampires, and a satyr in a nature bond is unprecedented. Whatever her reasons, she's here, and she will see it done.
