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“Your Emperor, too, is eager to make another claim.” He presses a smiling kiss into my nose. “But now that you have given me back my dynasty, we must consummate our marriage.”
The music cuts off, along with the chatter. A thousand Orcs go quiet and turn to face us as one.
But I’m still staring at their Emperor open-mouthed.
“Hold up. Are you trying to tell me after all of that, our marriage still isn’t consummated?”
Chapter 15
Vows
“Yes, of course we must still consummate the marriage.” Ivar’s brow furrows, as if he’s thoroughly confused by my surprise. “By exchanging vows of commitment as husband and wife, Emperor and Empress.”
He shakes his head. “Are Lower Realm weddings not consummated in this manner?”
“Oh…” My linguist brain sparks in recognition of the issue. “You mean consummate as in finalize or finish—not confirm that we had sex.”
“Yes, I believe that has been confirmed, Little Bride.” Ivar smirks. “Several times.”
The Orcs choose Bridgerton this go-round and respond with a low titter.
But it cuts off immediately when Ivar holds up four fingers.
He regards me in the commanded quiet, his expression growing serious.
“Ivar the Terrible, Orc Emperor Supreme of all Swamplands, wishes to join in mateship with…”
He stops. Thinks… And his cheeks tinge with a dark green that I think might be the Orc equivalent of blushing.
“What is your formal name, Little Bride?” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “And do you have any titles?”
My own face heats with the realization that he’s been three holes deep inside of me and I never introduced myself.
“Adora Myers,” I answer, “and no, I don’t have any of those fancy titles—just a mom who really loved She-Ra.”
If he cares about my lack of titles—or knows who She-Ra is—it doesn’t show in his expression.
He just grins and announces, “Ivar the Terrible, Orc Emperor Supreme of all Swamplands, wishes to join in lifelong mateship with Adora Myers the Most Magnificent, Human of Lower Realm. Does Little Bride also wish to join in mateship with Emperor Ivar?”
“Oh wait, do I…” Searching his face, I find myself asking, “Do I actually have a choice?”
He tilts his head, his golden gaze bemused. “Of course you do. I can offer you not only my dynasty and gold, but also my empire and my steadfast loyalty until the day we are commended to the stars. However, I will not compel you to become my wife. An Emperor commands. But, Adora, I wish to be your husband most of all.”
His expression softens, and he beckons the nearby Orc mage, who steps forward with a black pillow. “So I am asking.…”
My breath catches when I see what’s sitting on top of the pillow.
A solid gold skull ring, like the ones adorning all of Ivar’s fingers.
Wait, maybe not all of them.…
On instinct, I look down to where his right hand rests on my waist. Sure enough, there is no longer a pinkie skull ring on his finger.
“I sent it to my goldsmith to be refitted for your teeny finger shortly after beholding you for the first time,” he explains, taking the ring from the pillow.
“Will you? Will you become my wife and receive my dynasty until the stars return us to the sky?”
His dynasty…
