So, when Warlord Navlin begins reciting the ceremony, Sei offers a tiny smile of his own. He’s addicted to the way that simple action warms Marek’s face in return. As if Marek’s violet eyes are scalestone too, lit by magic from within.
The ceremony is in Draskoran, not Trade. Sei listens carefully until his first cue, when Navlin asks if he’ll renounce his family name. The part when anyone with an inheritance or title would renounce that too. All Sei has to surrender is his name.
Sei presents the glass goblet with both hands. In careful Draskoran, he says, “I offer my past.”
Marek’s hands close over Sei’s. At the next cue from Navlin, Marek drains the goblet dry. Then he tosses it over the dais.
Glass shatters across the scalestone.
Sei shivers, alone and exposed and nameless through the rest of the ceremony. Until an attendant passes over the house cloak, and Marek fastens it around Sei’s shoulders.
The brocade and fur aren’t nearly as warm as Marek’s hands. However fine the garment, it hardly compares to the bright pink wyrmskin jacket Marek already gave him.
The ceremony is wrong, but Sei’s heart still flips over when Marek recites the final promise: “I vow to shelter you, body and soul, from every storm.”
Scarcely listening to Warlord Navlin, Sei grabs Marek by the front of his cloak. Marek leans in, his gaze jumping across Sei’s face like he can’t believe what he sees. The next moment, Sei is surrounded by Marek’s arms, and the rest of the room falls away.
And Sei Marek Dire goes dizzy again with the taste of Fellrian wine.
***
The banquet is much more enjoyable than the ceremony. Draskoran tradition says the new spouses should eat from one plate and drink from one cup, representing their newly sworn unity.
Tradition says nothing about handfeeding each other sweet tidbits. Also nothing about Sei climbing into his claimant’s lap to see if South Draskoran ale tastes better from Marek’s lips too.
“Sit still,” Marek hisses, clamping his hands down on Sei’s thighs. “Or we’re leaving this banquet early.”
“Do you promise?” Sei touches Marek’s lips, then his jaw. Marek’s short beard tickles Sei’s fingers.
The dining hall is full. Warlord Navlin sits to one side of Sei and Marek; to their other side sits Prince Julien. Subtly or blatantly, everyone is watching the new husbands. Their scrutiny is far more welcome now. Maybe because Sei is exactly where he wants to be, not following ritual instructions.
Maybe because Marek’s cock is so hot and hard against his thigh, Sei can’t think about anything else. Meeting Marek’s eyes, Sei deliberately rocks into his lap. “What was that about leaving early?”
Marek exhales against Sei’s lips. “I don’t know, husband. That might be rude.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Navlin mutters. “Pleaseleave early.”
On their other side, Julien leans towards his lover’s ear. “See, Whisper? I’m very restrained.”
Sei pecks a kiss on Marek’s cheek, then smiles at Navlin. “Thank you for your hard work organizing everything. Today was so lovely.”
Navlin’s eye twitches. She gestures for a servant to refill her wine glass.
Conceding to the tragedy of leaving Marek’s lap, Sei allows Marek to bid cursory farewells to the Silaisans. House Dire’s cloak is heavy, but Sei welcomes the weight of it. Like Marek’s arm over his shoulder.
Then Marek grabs his wrist. He would have pulled Sei from the room if Sei wasn’t already flying ahead.
Their borrowed chambers are too far away. An entire hallway and two flights of stairs. By the time they reach the suite, Sei is desperate for touch. Any touch, every touch. Marek’s hand is sure around his wrist, but Sei is greedy for more.
Marek must be just as desperate. As soon as the door closes, Marek lifts Sei against it. The door slams in its hinges, and Sei opens to Marek’s ravenous kiss.
Sei’s wedding cloak drags on the floor as his legs hook over Marek’s hips. Marek holds him up effortlessly, and it’s the hottest thing Sei has ever experienced.
He still wants more. His teeth ache until Marek’s tongue slides behind them. His back stings until Marek’s fingernails dig through the silk.
Growing up in the Porcelain Guild, Sei always expected to have sex with his mage. Physical intimacy is such a convenient route to magical compatibility. Not necessary, but convenient. Sei didn’t dislike the idea. It sounded special. A prize worth the intervening solitude.
Sei never expected to crave touch for its own sake. He doesn’t care about having a purpose. He just loves getting drunk on Marek’s breath.
