“The altar for the blood sacrifice that won’t be happening, aye?” Dove’s expression hardens.
“The only feasting will be on the succulent roast goose, plump grapes, and the sticky honey and date cakes that I ordered in honor of Freya and you. Bring some back to us, after you’ve stuffed your fae face.”
He salutes. “Aye, aye, Your Majesty.”
I shove Dove toward the tables.
Dove stumbles, before righting himself with a swagger that I have never seen anyone else pull off.
He winks at Freya.
After taking a deep sniff, he moves directly towards the serving tables. They are laden with not just cakes, but also trays of marinated beef, aromatic lentils in bowls, and round loaves of bread placed alongside soft, crumbly cheese.
Freya loops her arms around my shoulders, and I rest one of my hands on her waist.
I can sense heavy gazes resting on me, calculating and assessing.
Will I ever become used to this much touch? In public?
“You know that was dangerous,” Freya murmurs. “He’ll probably eat every cake you have.”
“Little Dove deserves the treats more than anyone else here,” I reply. “There must be some perk to being a king.”
Suddenly, there is a flutter of movement on the dance floor. I swing Freya back to the reed mats.
The drums start up like a frantic heartbeat.
“What’s going on?” Freya asks, excitedly.
Despite myself, I relax my shoulders, enjoying the moment. This is the first time that I have had someone to share this event with.
I glance over the crowds at Dove, who hunches over the table, nose close to the serving platters, as he hunts eagerly for the cakes. He lets out a whoop, when his fingers close over the honey and date cakes.
Dove’s wings flap, and he stuffs an entire cake into his mouth in one go, while smoothly rolling his hips to the rhythm of the music.
Stunned, I still, when a sudden wave of emotion washes over me.
This. Is. Happiness.
I thought that I had felt it before with my cock buried in my Omega’s pussy or my fangs in my Blood Lover’s throat.
Or when I heard their promise of love.
Yet there is warmth in my chest, as my Omega nuzzles against me in her wolf mask, while my fae delightedly eats the treat that I supplied for him at an annual ball that has only filled me with sadness before.
Now, I understand love — fated love — for your nest mates.
I place my finger under Freya’s chin, tipping up her head.
Her surprised gaze meets mine.
“I love you, dearheart,” I say, simply.
Freya’s gaze softens. “I love you, darkness.”
I lean down, licking up her rose-tinged scent gland. She whines, clinging harder to me.
In front of us, a troop of naked male and female dancers in nothing but sparkling makeup, as if they have been dipped in crushed stars, are elegantly dancing to the beat of the drums and the clappers. They curve their arms like lotus stems. Then they bend sensually at the waists, as if they are the ripples on a pond.
