“Not even a little bit.” Finn looked at him, and despite the hint of anxiety in his eyes, he was still smiling. “Though you’re definitely getting the first dance at the reception. I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Neither do I. We’ll figure it out together.” Darragh was sure he was being reassuring, but clearly Finn wasn’t so sure.
“I’m beginning to think that’s your standard answer to everything.”
“It’s worked so far.”
Finn laughed, and the crown stayed firmly on his head, so in Darragh’s head that made him right.See, still working.Although now the wedding itself was done, and none could say Finn wasn’t his consort, Darragh longed for the time when the two of them could just be alone, without the crowns. He’d really missed his husband in the three weeks Finn had been away.
Chapter Twelve
The reception hall glittered with candlelight and the hum of conversation. Finn sat at the head table beside Darragh, their chairs positioned close enough that their shoulders brushed.
This is real. This is actually happening.
The thought kept circling through Finn’s mind like a bird that couldn’t find a place to land. Just mere months ago, he was fixing roofs and checking fence lines. Now he was sitting at the head table of his own wedding reception, wearing a crown that still felt like a lump on his head, while people he’d never met were bowing in his direction - not only Darragh’s but his.
The weight of the crown was nothing compared to the weight of what it represented. Every time someone bowed to him - actually bowed, like he was someone important - Finn felt a strange disconnect, as if he were watching someone else’s life unfold.
“Your Majesty, this salmon is remarkable.” Lady Catherine had somehow secured an invitation. Finn recognized her from his disastrous first round of candidate interviews. “And Lord - I mean, Your Grace, you must be so pleased.”
Your Grace.The title landed wrong in Finn’s ears, like someone had called him by the wrong name. He shot Darragh a quick look, hoping his husband could translate whatever he was supposed to be pleased about.The salmon or the wedding?
“He is,” Darragh answered smoothly. “Although he prefers to be called Finn in informal settings.”
“Oh, of course. How wonderfully progressive.”
She drifted away, and Finn leaned closer to Darragh, keeping his voice low. “Your Grace?”
“One of the many formal titles for king consort. You’ve also got ‘Your Royal Highness’ and ‘Your Majesty’ in very formal settings - in that we would be addressed as ‘Your Majesties,’ but most people will stick with Your Grace.”
Three new names that weren’t Finn or Lord Finn. Three titles that were probably assigned to people who knew what they were doing and accepted the honorific because they’d been trained for their role since birth.Not someone who gets paid in baked goods for village repairs.
“I’m not comfortable with any of those.” The admission came out before Finn could stop it, but honesty had gotten him this far. No point stopping now.
“I know.” Darragh grinned, and that familiar warmth in his eyes eased some of the tightness in Finn’s chest. “But it’s part of the job. You’re stuck with them.”
Stuck with them. Stuck with all of this.The thought should have terrified him more than it did. Instead, Finn found himself studying the room - the elaborate decorations, the perfectly dressed guests, the servants moving around in their unobtrusive fashion, making sure everyone was fed, and their glasses were filled. He realized he was looking for problems to solve.That tapestry’s starting to come loose at the corner. The candle sconces on the east wall need polishing. Someone should check the foundation on that archway; the stonework looks uneven.
Old habits. Even surrounded by wealth and formality he’d never experienced before, Finn’s mind automatically cataloged what needed fixing.
I can’t change who I am, and maybe I don’t want to.
Jericho stood at the far end of the room, raising his glass, and Finn’s stomach dropped. His brother had that look - the one that meant he was about to say something embarrassing.
“A toast to my brother, who claimed he’d be a terrible consort and somehow convinced the king that was exactly what he needed.”
Laughter rippled through the hall. Finn groaned and seriously considered diving under the table. It didn’t matter that the first part was true, but it wasn’t as though Finn did anything to convince Darragh to marry him - he was just himself and ended up king consort anyway.
“To Their Majesties, Finn and Darragh,” Jericho continued, his grin widening. “May they continue to confuse everyone with their absolutely bizarre courtship and even stranger marriage, while continuing to do great things for Safe Harbor.”
“Here, here!” someone called out.
Glasses clinked all around them. Darragh touched his wine to Finn’s and drank, and Finn could feel heat creeping up his neck. His face had to be bright red by now.
“I’m going to kill him,” Finn muttered, watching his brother bow with exaggerated formality. “You do realize that, don’t you? As an older brother, he can be a bit much at times.”
“Get in line.” Darragh chuckled. “While you’ve been at Winrone, he’s been in court being totally insufferable. You might have to send him off on some remote ambassador mission just to get some peace and quiet.”
