The cleric smiled. “I now assert you—”
“I give my solemn vow,” Draylon continued, earning a glare from his father, “to use my skills and position to protect you and yours, up to and with my dying breath.”
What? That wasn’t in standard vows. Yarif’s eyes burned, and he blurted out, “What skills and knowledge I have, I will use for you. I am no warrior, but in matters where I can assist, I will.”
Yarif ignored the emperor’s gasp, focusing instead on Draylon. As weddings went, he’d seen better, but he’d seen worse, like the time a young lordling made vows to a heavily pregnant woman with a sword held to his back.
Four fights broke out at the banquet.
Usually, the cleric would say something about them kissing. Yarif heard nothing, every one of his senses tuned to Draylon’s firm hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer, closer, closer, their gazes locked. Warm lips brushed Yarif’s in what should have been an innocent kiss, suitable for an audience.
Oh no. Something worth doing needed finesse! Yarif wrapped his arms around his new husband, deepening the kiss, brushing his tongue against Draylon’s.
In a church, the emperor didn’t dare retaliate. Yarif saw a long future ahead of annoying his father-in-law.
Draylon froze momentarily, then committed wholeheartedly to the play of lips, tongues, and teeth.
From behind Yarif, someone snickered. Not hard to figure out which of the three other men found the public display funny. The kiss went on and on, possibly longer than the ceremony. Yarif might have heard a snort of disgust and retreating footsteps but couldn’t be sure. Besides, how could he care about anything else at this moment?
He’d survived his family’s overthrow, hopefully securing a future for the twins.
Someone cleared their throat. Then someone else.
Adrina’s squeal of “Yarif!” broke Yarif and Draylon apart.
Yarif spent another heartbeat lost in the moment, then tore his gaze away from Draylon. The emperor was nowhere to be seen. Had he thought Yarif might take his duties lightly? Yarif might not know what precisely Draylon expected of him, but the time for fighting was long past. Instead, he’d make the most of the situation.
And score a point from the emperor he’d made retreat.
The captain stood sniggering a few feet away. Not the anticipated reaction from a man Yarif feared might be his husband’s lover.
The crown prince swaggered over, clapping his hand on Draylon's shoulder so hard Draylon staggered. No easy feat for a man of such a sturdy build. His brother stood nearly as tall and equally wide.
“Ah, brother. I regret we couldn’t have a proper ceremony for you,” the crown prince said.
Draylon laughed. “What? You mean like the grueling six hours of your own wedding after four days of feasting? No, thank you. I thought the empire might run out of wine.” He turned toward Yarif, mirth fading. “I hope you’re not displeased with the lack of a more formal rite.”
The image of Yarif’s fantasy wedding vanished in the face of the probable reality. Insincere fawning by courtiers. The violin hitting a sour note, or the violinist attending drunk. A torn sleeve minutes before the wedding. Hours and hours of clerical pontificating. The twins would have never been still. “Not at all.”
The smile returned to Draylon’s face. “Brother, I’m eternally grateful you could be here.” He wrapped his brother in a hug, complete with much back-slapping, as though they each tried to one-up the other. When he pulled back, he said, “I’d like you to meet Prince Yarif DiRici of Renvalle. Prince Yarif, this less talented, less handsome son of Emperor Soland is my brother Imperial Crown Prince Avestan Aravaid.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, but please, call me Avestan or Avi unless protocol calls for more formality.” Prince Avestan ignored Yarif’s outstretched hand, pulling him into a brief hug instead. “There is much mourning in the kingdom today for someone else finally landing the legendary commander so many set their sights on.”
Draylon’s face flushed. “I think you’re exaggerating.”
Avestan smirked. “But I believe you’re mistaken, brother, and not merely about the mourning. This handsome littleprincelingis currentlyKing ConsortYarifAravaid. Unless you plan on taking the DiRici name, which will ensure I am named emperor by nightfall when our esteemed father collapses from horror.”
Baro had never teased so. Yarif had expected the imperial family to be unbending, always on guard to keep up appearances. This… playfulness was unexpected.
Avestan abruptly whirled, taking a knee in front of the twins. “Hello there. I’m your new uncle, cousin, something removed, or whatever, but you may call me Uncle Avestan.” He winked. Like Draylon, Avestan spoke flawless Renvallian. “Or Uncle Avi when we’re out of the public eye.”
“I’m Adrina, and this is Emile,” Adrina said, eyes wide in awe at the crown prince. Yarif wasn’t one to make snap decisions but found he might grow into feelings for his new brother-in-law despite his current suspicion of all things Aravaid.
Draylon grinned at his brother, now deeply engrossed in conversation with the twins.
“He gets along well with children, I see,” Yarif ventured, feeling somewhat awkward.
Draylon whispered from behind his hand. “That’s because, mentally, they’re the same age.”
