He breathed once more when Deyvid finally looked at him with shining gray eyes and said, “I’m yours.”
Chapter eight
Deyvid
It took six more months for Deyvid to truly believe that a lasting relationship with Petur might be something he could have. Six months of continual togetherness, of mornings waking up in each other’s arms, of evenings falling asleep in each other’s beds, of a back-and-forth of such easy affection that Deyvid wondered how he’d lived his life before it.
There was nobody else out there like Petur, he reflected. No one with the same level of sheer, gutsy commitment. If Petur had been born in Deyvid’s place, if he had been turned into a High Harrier … triple gods, he would have ended dynasties. But instead, Delomar was lucky enough that Petur belonged to them. He belonged to his country wholeheartedly even while he gave himself over with equal ardentness to Deyvid.
That part was challenging for more than just Deyvid to accept. The queen’s ten-year-old son, for example, was far from enamored with their relationship. “Ihateyou,” he declared passionately to Deyvid when Petur first introduced the pair of them. Fortunately, it wasn’t in front of the whole court. “Youthink you can steal my uncle from me? You can’t. Uncle Petur, tell him he’s got to go.”
Petur, whose expression had gone from happy to rather set in the span of ten seconds, shook his head. “I can’t do that, Arven.”
“Why not?” The young prince actually stamped his foot on the marble floor. “Mama sends people away when I tell her to.”
“Your mama is wrapped around your little finger,” Petur replied, a bit of a smile breaking out on his face. “I, on the other hand, am not. I have the needs of many to put before the needs of, well, just you.”
“But I need him to go.”
“That’s a shame because he’s not going anywhere.”
“But I don’tlikehim.”
Petur, whose well of tolerance for his nephew seemed to have run dry by then, simply shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t care. You’ll learn to get along with him in time.”
“I won’t,” Arven shouted, then ran off.
The little princesses, who had been hanging back, came forward. Petur had eyed them suspiciously, but Deyvid got down onto one knee to make himself look less intimidating and smiled.
“You must be Delainie”—he looked at the taller girl with blonde curls—“and Givencie,” he added to the small one with fierce brown eyes and pouty lips. “I’m so pleased to meet you. Your uncle has told me many wonderful things about you.”
Delainie’s eyes were wide, and she had one hand pressed to her cheek as she stared at Deyvid. “Really?” she said.
“Really,” he replied. “I understand that you speak two other languages already.”
“I do,” she said with an eager nod.
“That’s very impressive.”
“Do you truly think so?” She looked down at her shining leather shoes. “Mama says I need to work harder at my shifting, but I like languages better.”
“I prefer languages to shifting as well,” Deyvid said and ignored Petur as he snorted in amusement.
“I like shifting,” little Givencie said bluntly. “I’m going to be a great shifter, as good as Uncle Petur.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Deyvid told her. “A very ambitious goal for an ambitious girl.”
The child’s brow furrowed. “What’s bitchous mean?”
“It means a very distasteful person,” Petur muttered under his breath. Deyvid, without looking, whapped him on the shin with one hand, and Petur snickered. The girls, watching this interplay, began to giggle.
“That’s not what it means,” Deyvid said, fighting a smile off his face. “Ambitious means you’ve got big goals, and you’re willing to work hard to accomplish them.”
“Oh!” Princess Givencie nodded decisively. “I am very bitchous, then.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Deyvid agreed. “Ambitious people tend to go far in life.”
“Indeed, we do,” Petur purred from behind him. “Just look at me. A prince, four shifts, and the love of my life, all before the age of thirty.”
