Rune made a face as she tugged the white silk free of his neck, lifted his collar, then tied it again. “We can be fashionably late.”
As in, so late, we arrive when everyone else is drunk and leaving.
Ever since the election results were announced, Rune had been like a jumpy horse in a cramped stall. She’d been chosen to represent her district in the House of Commons, the heart of Cascadia’s new government. Thirteen officials had been elected, with each one having a seat in parliament. Six seats had gone to witches; seven to non-witches.
Rune crossed Gideon’s cravat over itself twice, then pulled it through, tying the knot and tucking it into his waistcoat.
Perfect.
“Antonio spent a week making the cake.”
“So he says,” she murmured, running her hands up Gideon’s chest and looping her arms around his neck. If she couldn’t convince him with words, there were other ways to win him over…
“There are a hundred people downstairs waiting to—”
Rune pressed her lips against his throat.
He fell silent. She continued kissing, moving slowly upward. She felt the change in him—the stiffening of desire. His handmoved to her hip, then slid to the small of her back. Drawing her closer.
“What are you doing?”
“Kissing my husband?” She slid her fingers into his hair and pushed up onto her toes, only to find his mouth waiting for hers.
Their hips collided as he pulled her flush against him.
Rune suddenly regretted retying his cravat. She should have left it off. Should have unbuttoned his coat and then moved on to his shirt…
As Gideon dragged her bottom lip between his teeth, Rune’s fingers moved to the buttons of his tailcoat, undoing them. When he realized, he grabbed her wrists, stopping her.
“Rune.”Her name was a frustrated growl. “You’re not going to seduce me into running away from your party with you.”
She pouted as he stepped back.
“These people want tocelebrateyou.”
Those words pinched her with guilt. Rune glanced away.
“What is this really about?” Gideon reached for her hand, running the pad of his thumb over the thin scar at the base of her ring finger. “There’s nothing to fear anymore. All you have to do is be yourself.”
That’s what I’m afraid of.
“What if I disappoint them?” she whispered, avoiding his gaze. “What if they don’t like the real Rune Winters?”
He laughed.
“Beloved.” He took her chin between his fingers, trying to drag her gaze up to him. “That’s not possible.”
She tugged her chin free and started to retreat, but he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back, nipping her bare shoulder, then kissing the edge of a scar peeking up above her dress.
“You’re the opposite of disappointing.”
“What if I fail them?” She weaved her fingers back into his hair. “What if none of this works?”
“Then we keep trying and fixing it until itdoeswork.” Releasing her waist, he grabbed her hand again, lifted it, and kissed the ring-like scar banded around her second smallest finger. “Just like everything else.”
Rune glanced at the matching scar banded around his finger.
They were casting scars formed from the spells she’d performed during their wedding, which Antonio officiated, keeping his promise. While speaking their vows as their friends bore witness, Rune had cast two spells: one for speaking the truth, and the other binding them to their words.
