Chapter 14
Blaéz pulledon his tuxedo jacket, then just stared at his reflection in the mirror.
He was getting married. In his exceptionally long life, he’d never thought that sentiment would ever apply to him. But it was time he got his mate back.
It had been the worst twenty-four hours of his life. Not seeing or being with Darci had felt like a noose around his neck. He’d fallen back to his brutal fights during the night with the few demoniis he encountered. And training during the day. Aethan had finally shaken his head and said he’d be damn glad when evening came before he stalked off.
Thankfully, his collection of bruises and sword gashes had already healed. They would trouble Darci if she knew. He wanted nothing to ruin this evening.
Blaéz picked up the creamy rosebud boutonniere from the bureau. It supposedly matched one of the blooms in Darci’s bouquet, or so her note had said. He pinned the bud to his lapel.
Exhaling roughly, he buttoned up his jacket and strode out of his quarters and met Týr, dressed just as formally, heading his way. He looked up from fiddling with his boutonniere. A three-inch wound shaped like an arc contoured Týr’s jawbone. Blaéz frowned.
Týr lifted a brow. “You all set, man?”
“Yes.”
He looked down at his tux. “This jacket is like a damn steel vest and just as constraining. How do you bear it?”
“For her, I do.”
“Right.” Týr nodded, smoothing his black silk tie.
Silently, they headed for the landing, jogged downstairs, and made their way to the enormous, seldom-used double living room at the back of the castle, only to stop at the doorway and stare.
“Well…” Týr gave a low whistle. “This is…quite something.”
“Indeed.” Those faeries Hedori knew from the realm of Exilum had certainly done an amazing job on the décor.
White birch formed a short tunnel adorned with white and purple flowers and twinkling lights interwoven with the wood. They strolled through the fragrant underpass and turned into the living room. It appeared as if the snow outside had hit the interior.
The same white birch branches decorated the ceiling. Tall pewter vases were set on pedestals along the sides of the room and the aisle, from which various shades of purple and lavender blooms cascaded, adding a splash of color. A long, carpeted walkway in a deeper shade of purple led straight to the makeshift gazebo altar at the far end. The open French doors behind showcased the snowy night beyond.
The room would have been impossibly cold, but for the protection shield cast over the open doors, keeping the wintery air out.
Soft voices drifted to him. Several people were already seated near the flower-decked altar. Off to its side, the elderly, white-haired cleric who would officiate the marriage waited with Nik and Dagan.
“Saving a male like him sure comes in handy,” Týr said.
“I’m just grateful he came out of retirement to do this.”
Nik had saved the old priest from a blood-demon attack three decades ago.
But the human appeared far too thin and possessed an air of frailty that troubled Blaéz. He telepathed Nik,Is Father Frank okay?
The tall warrior glanced Blaéz’s way and inclined his head in response. With his buzzed hair, cold expression and pale eyes, Nik looked like he was off to execute someone, not attend a wedding. And those tattoos peeping from the collar of his black shirt simply added to the dangerous air.
Mortality is unavoidable, he said then.But Father Frank is…content.
Right. Of course. Blaéz nodded.
After Nik had introduced him and Týr to the priest, Blaéz excused himself and headed for Michael. The archangel stood on the terrace behind the altar, hands in his pants’ pocket, eyes narrowed as he studied the invisible dome he’d put into place.
It was certainly strange to see him dressed for the occasion, even if he had foregone the tie. But then the Arc rarely did gatherings of any sort, so he appreciated this.
“The place looks…” Michael paused.
“Amazing,” Blaéz added, strolling onto the warm terrace.
