The Sovereigns of Death swept into an intimate dance, swaying close, nothing but pure love on their faces. There was a time when the sight used to sicken Rune. It took until now to realize why he had fought so hard to be Sunnëva’s choice. Because that hollow void inside of him was desperately searching for even a thread of the light he once lost.
And here it was now, lingering quietly at his side.
Rune tensed, suddenly worried how his mate might feel in the presence of his former lover.
But Alora gave him a sensual smile, her voice smooth as silk in his mind.I have two cocks to please me. What do I have to be jealous of?
Rune nearly choked on his drink.
It wasn’t as awkward when his other brothers arrived with their brides, divine light gracing each of them in the Realm of darkness.
“From Mother,” Eitan said with a knowing expression as he presented Rune with a box gilded in gold before moving on to greet Alora.
Inside lay a length of folded cloth, woven of luminous thread that appeared to be made of starlight. It was soft to the touch, impossibly light, and unburned by shadow or flame.
On top lay a note, written in a familiar, graceful hand.
May the light always shield you, even where all light is swallowed by the dark.
Touching, though Rune wasn’t sure why she would send him a mantle the size of a cloth napkin. The shadows carried the gift away.
Then they sat upon their thrones when came time for the Dominions to present their gifts.
Deimos stepped forward first, stoic as he produced something small and unspeakably ugly.
A doll.
Crookedly stitched from rough cloth, its proportions all wrong with a comically large head and cornsilk hair. A third eye had been embedded into its brow made from a dark topaz stone, faintly glittering.
“What is that,” Rune asked flatly.
“A ward,” Deimos replied indifferently. “It will shield against dark magic by consuming it. Extremely effective.”
Rune was hardly listening. His attention had already shifted to Alora as she accepted the doll with a soft smile, fingers lingering on its cornsilk hair. Something warm and insistent stirred low in Rune’s gut, a familiar pull that had been plaguing him more of late.
Calla and Hadeon stepped forward together next, guiding a large object concealed beneath a velvet red cloth. Rune’s focus sharpened on it. The thing was large and hovered off the ground.
“We made this one together,” Calla said, her fingers resting openly on Hadeon’s arm.
Hadeon inclined his head, proudly bearing her mark of eternal mate on his neck.
“This gift, sire, is fortified,” he said simply. “Warded to endure even if the castle itself were to fall.”
Rune stared at him, his brow furrowing. The castle would never fall. Not while he still drew breath.
Confusion stirred, sharp and unwelcome, but Alora spoke before he could voice it.
“Thank you,” she said softly, laying her hand atop the veiled gift. “We will open this one later.”
Rune didn’t argue when her warm eyes fell on him. Only one look and he was aching to take her upstairs. That pull deepened, coiling tighter, inexplicable and demanding.
But the night wore on.
His gaze drifted reluctantly to Segrith as she approached. A single eye hung from her neck, the other from her ear, opalescent and lifeless, set in dark metal. He was compelled to return her eyes after the war. Though they no longer held sight, they sometimes seemed to be watching.
Once the remaining Dominions presented their gifts and blessings were given, dinner was served.
The court reveled, though tonight, Rune had no care for it. He only had eyes for his queen. She sat on the other end of the high table, prattling with the goddesses. His tail flicked idly as he sent a single tendril of smoke to coil around Alora’s ankle.
