Page 132 of His Realm

“We will have to procure me a suit from town,” Varic told his rajan. “We don’t even have time to fly to Rome and back.”

“Oh, we most certainly do,” Tiago assured him, looking like a little boy in his rubber boots, standing in the water that people were working on pumping out.

Our bed made it unscathed, as it was on a platform, but it would take a lot of people working to get it all dried. Since Varic needed everyone in the palace at the wedding, he gave orders for them to get as much done as possible in the time they had.

“I will make the trip,” Tiago said, squinting at me. “But I will have to buy you something off the rack at Varic’s tailor, as your measurements are not on file.”

I gave him a thumbs-up.

What he brought me back was a gorgeous dove-gray suit with a white dress shirt, a crimson tie, and black leather Gucci lace-ups. Leave it to Tiago to come up with something perfect at the last moment. I hugged him in thanks, which, of course, he didn’t appreciate. Once I was changed and ready to go to Isabella’s wing, I strode into the room, and when Varic turned and saw me, he walked into the side of the couch.

“That’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received,” I said, standing there smiling at him as he recovered and came toward me.

“You’re breathtaking,” he murmured.

Once he was close enough, I reached for him. I wasn’t gentle. I tipped my head to the side so we’d fit like two puzzle pieces, and wrapped one arm around his neck and the other under his right arm. It was as close as I could get to him, as tight, and after a moment—I’d surprised him, after all—he clutched me back like he was drowning. It was so needed.

He held on, and I could feel the shudder run through him. Varic had been so strong, a rock for everyone to cling to through the storm that was rebuilding Ophir, my actual death, the attack on his mother, and the seismic change that was him soon becoming king. Not once had he taken a moment to let all that hit him.

It couldn’t go on. I wouldn’t allow him to keep shouldering everything.

“I am your consort,” I said as I hugged him. “I need you to talk to me and share with me. I’m your shelter, don’t you know that?”

He nodded instead of speaking because, I suspected, words were eluding him at the moment.

“I’m strong,” I assured him as he clutched me. “I saved the queen, and then I lived.”

“For me,” he barely got out.

“Yes. Only for you.”

We stood there, sealed together, for several minutes.

“I love you in darkness and light,” he told me.

And I knew what he meant. He loved me like the sun, all warmth and ease, a happily ever after. But he also loved me in a shadowy, twisted way that lived angry and cold deep inside him, that would emerge if I ever tried to leave him. Two parts of him, man and beast, day and night, light and dark. Thing was, though, I loved every part of him, heart and soul.

“Today you become mine, tomorrow I become king. Which day do you imagine I hold more dear?”

I knew. It was today. He wanted to be married as much as I did. “Always been yours,” I reminded him. “From the very beginning.”

His sigh was such a good sound.

Isabella walked me down the aisle toward the throne, and she cried the whole way. I had to pat her hand and tell her everything was going to be all right.

“The two of you have made me believe in love once more,” she said, sounding stuffed up between sniffles. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” I said, and stopped in the middle of the procession and hugged her.

Varic smiled like we were both dear, Tiago threw up his hands in defeat, Hadrian looked at the ceiling so he didn’t laugh, and Zev, standing beside Ode, gazed at Isabella and sighed.

We finally made it to the bottom of the stairs, where the king took Isabella’s hand, kissed my forehead, and then stepped aside. I started up the stairs strewn with white rose petals, and near the top, Varic was there to take my hand and lead me over to where Sabira was standing with a dark-red sash in her hands.

Ode was to my left, stunning in a gold silk Victorian balloon-sleeve gown. An ornate gold choker with yellow diamonds adorned her neck, and hanging lower was Nerilla’s seal.

“We’re both here for you,” she whispered, her eyes welling with tears but not spilling over as she smiled at me.

Beside her was Zev, resplendent in a pale-gold three-piece suit, the flower pattern on the vest in gold brocade with a white glove on his left hand. Clean-shaven and smiling, with his mane pulled back, he was stunning.