Page 88 of Throne of the Wolf Queen

‘She’d be so proud,’ Enfys whispered.

I held back the tears. ‘It’s just like you to upstage the bride by making her cry. It’s rather rude, you know.’

She shook her head and, offering her arm, we walked down the aisle as a lone fiddler played in the shadows.

The last time I’d approached Matthias, my insides had swarmed as though I’d eaten wasps. Sharp, complicated pain, confusion and ire had writhed within. As he came into focus, the smile, the green eyes, the way Asher tugged the sleeve of his simple white shirt to warn him it was untucked, I couldn’t stop my heart from thundering. I glanced over to Asher, grinning as he slapped Matthias on his shoulder and whispered something in his friend’s ear that forced an even greater smile on Matthias’s face. Gods, seeing them as friends once more almost did force the tears from my eyes. I clutched Pab tighter, certain I heard Skye’s disappointed groan to see the wolf had abandoned his flower crown.

Matthias’s throat worked as I stood before him. My cheeks burned as the eyes of all those gathered bore into me. The flickering light shone across his high cheekbones, the amber flecks in his green eyes bursting as he pushed the waves from his eyes. They didn’t quite fall back and I smiled, realising he’d had a much-needed trim. The stubble that had been so delicious between my legs, gone. Heat rose up my neck. Shame, I’d been hoping for a repeat later on. He reached out, ignoring the growls of the wolf, to take my hand, lifting it and brushing the softest whisper of a kiss across my trembling knuckles.

‘Villente?’

‘Elmswood?’

He grinned and damn if my heart didn’t swell at the sight.

‘Ready to marry me again?’

‘Why not? I’m famous for my abysmally bad choices.’

Matthias chuckled, shaking his head and, heaving in a deep breath, he turned to face the Sister who’d join us together.

I nudged his shoulder.

‘And I have to admit, out of all the mistakes I’ve made, you’re my favourite.’

Under the watchful eye of a shivering moon, with the love of those rare souls whose presence warmed the chill late autumn night, Matthias and I spoke our vows with broken voices and whole hearts.

This time, there was no chance we’d miss our kiss.

CHAPTER 33

MATTHIAS

I can’t confirm where my son is, but I can assure you that his betrothal to Lady Bethany will be officially announced on his return. It’ll give us something to look forward to when this mess is finally sorted.

​— ​A LETTER FROM LORD ROSSING TO SIR HARTSWELL, LADY BETHANY’S FATHER

Witnessing Sorrow’s hips loosen under my touch was a revelation. I twirled her, once, twice, delighting in her squeal as I pulled her in, wrapping one hand around her waist, clutching her hand with the other as we swayed to the music. There were no little dents marring her forehead this evening. Her smile eclipsed the moon. I pressed a kiss to her temple, breathed her in. Her hair, always as wild as her soul, fell in rebellious waves. The dancing brought colour to her cheeks as she locked her gaze on me.

‘Gods,’ she said, wrapping her arms around my neck, ensnaring me with those golden eyes. ‘Do you remember those damned dancing lessons we were forced into as children?’

I laughed, nuzzling her neck and relishing her little sigh as my lips brushed that spot.

‘I actually quite enjoyed them.’

‘You would,’ she said as the fiddler’s tempo increased and the yard reverberated to the thunder of stamping boots. ‘You loved any excuse to show off.’

‘Still do,’ I said into the shell of her ear. ‘I’m rather hoping I’ll finally impress you when we return to our room.’

Her eyes darkened. ‘As much as I hate stoking the flames of your ego, Elmswood, that little trick on the rock was the most impressive sensation of my life.’

I hardened at her words and pressed her closer. Damn it. I wanted to dance all night, but right now, there was only one thought on my mind.

‘How about we slip away?’ I lowered my voice, closing my eyes as she shivered in my arms. ‘Strip that dress from those⁠—’

‘Bloody animal!’ A crash grabbed our attention. The fiddle squeaked as her wolf padded off, dragging the entire roasted hog with him.

‘Damn dog,’ Sorrow said, slipping out of my grip. ‘I’ll sort this.’