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“My Queen,” he breathed reverently as his eyes filled with snow.
Unlike her, he was born of winter, so he wasn’t aching with the pain of the cold. In truth, he was more stunning in that instant than he’d ever been before.
“My consort,” she whispered.
He took her free hand in his. Bands of ice began to wrap around their arms, binding their wrists together. “Will you be my forever, Donia?”
“Yes. Will you share my life? My court? My forever?”
“Till death, my Queen.” Keenan sighed the words against her cheek; frost formed in her hair.
She pressed her lips to his, relishing the cold that lifted from his skin.
And the Winter Queen and her consort covered their winter garden with a fall of white snow.
The End
