He realized everyone waited for him to say something. “I was busy looking at you. What was the question?” Isabella swooned next to Rainer, who rolled his eyes.
“Do you take her to be your wife?” Sariah deadpanned.
“I do,” he replied, grazing his thumb over the top of her hand.
“Clover, do you take Amos to be your husband?”
Her sweet smile flipped something in his chest. “I do.”
“Are you sure?” Rainer asked, earning himself a whack from his mate.
Sariah pulled out a bottle of holy oil and a small knife. “Hold out your first fingers.” They complied, and she dabbed a bit of oil on each of them, then pricked them with the blade. “Squeeze your finger until a drop of blood comes out, then do the blood exchange.”
A sick part of Amos couldn’t wait to have Clover’s blood on his tongue. Every part of her called to him.
They held their fingers in front of each other’s mouths. Clover flicked her tongue over the pad of Amos’ finger, and he clamped his lips around hers, sucking with a wink.
Her nostrils flared, and she yanked her hand back. “My father is here,” she hissed.
Amos leaned down. “Did you think I wouldn’t savor the last taste of your body I’ll have until we meet again?”
Heat blasted down their bond, and he kissed her, forgetting there were other people in the room.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Sariah announced.
19
TWENTY-ONE YEARS OLD
Clover,
It’s been six months since I’ve seen you, and Paul still insists on traveling to Dragon Village for the monthly sacrifices. I’ve told my father repeatedly that it was unnecessary, but he doesn’t see it that way. He’s convinced Paul will be my right hand when I’m finally allowed to take over the throne.
So I’m writing again to tell you not to come to Dragon Village for the sacrifices anymore until I tell you it's safe. Paul is a smart man and never puts himself in a situation where I can get to him, but all it takes is one slip. I’ll wait as long as I have to.
I don’t know how long I can go without seeing you before I lose myself completely. Do you know what I do now? I sit at my father’s table and listen to men laugh about things I will kill them for. I nod, play the part, and let them believe we are the same while deciding which of them will die first.
The faster we dismantle the labyrinth of evil my father has built, the faster I can bring you home. Every laugh I fake, every lie I tell, every name I add to the list all leads back to you. I’ve sold my soul so no one ever gets to take you from me again.
The smallest things set me off now. I think about the cold where you are, and it makes me irrational. I imagine your hands freezing, and I want to burn the Human Kingdom to ash just to keep you warm. I imagine someone looking at you the wrong way, and I have to physically stop myself from leaving in the middle of the night and beating my fists against the barrier until they split open.
This is what losing you again has done to me. Loving you has made me soft in the one place I can’t afford to be, and ruthless everywhere else to compensate.
I don’t sleep, and when I do, it’s you I see. In my dreams, you look at me like I’m worth saving. It’s funny, because we both know I’m no longer something that can be saved.
But I am something that will destroy everything standing between us. I don’t care how much blood it costs or what I become in the process.
I would cease to exist without you, and I don’t care to try.
I love you.
Yours,
Amos
Amos,
Your letters are the highlight of my week. Even when they’re dark and brooding, you still manage to make me feel like the most important person in the world. You’re also prone to theatrics that we should probably address.
