Daromir straightens up. “I should probably let them in.”
“One second.” Vana yanks him around. He takes Daromir’s face in both hands and kisses him, long and hard, until they’re both panting for breath. Until Daromir’s lips are red enough that anyone could tell he’s been kissed. “There,” Vana says, satisfied. “Now you can open the door.”
Daromir steals one more kiss before he shatters the ice.
?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Daromir
Daromir hasn’t seen this sharpness in Vana for years. Maybe he’s never seen Vana quite like this. Vana burns bright as lightning, but far steadier. He’s driven, and he isn’t afraid anymore. Daromir is supposed to be the protector, but more than ever, he trusts Vana to take care of him too.
As the adrenaline of deadly combat wears off, exhilaration rises in its place. Vana agreed to marry him. Daromir has no idea how that’s going to work. Imrik will be furious. But Daromir doesn’t give a fuck what Imrik thinks. He’s too busy trying not to grin stupidly as Vana holds court in his parlor.
Vana only allowed Indra and Zuzana to see the scene in the bedroom, and he’s barely allowed anyone else into the rest of his quarters. He already sent Indra downstairs to lock down the Opal Tower, and he gives more orders now.
“Zuzana, gather a small, trusted team. If Petir Bernek is still in his Ostomar City manor—”
“Pardon me, Your Highness,” Zuzana interrupts. “The count has been staying in the palace this week. We’re still watching him.”
“Even better,” Vana says. “I want him apprehended and brought to the tower. If possible, let nobody see you return with him.”
Zuzana salutes and runs off. Part of Daromir envies her. He would enjoy punching Petir in the face. But Daromir’s place is at Vana’s side, and Vana’s place is safely out of the action.
“Daro, sit down,” Vana orders next, pointing at the couch. “Let the medic fix you up.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Daromir doesn’t bother pretending the injury doesn’t hurt. Vana would feel the lie.
The medic is a minor blood mage, and she cuts Daromir’s sleeve open more to examine the wound. “Looks like it’s just muscle,” she says. “Do you want it numb first?”
Daromir would refuse the extra consideration for his own sake, but he would rather spare Vana any unnecessary discomfort. “Please and thank you.”
The medic rubs the numbing ointment in. If she’s at all aware of Vana watching intently from across the room, she shows it only in the speed of her work. Daromir’s upper arm goes cold, until there’s only the strange pull and pressure of magic knitting his flesh together.
When the medic leaves, Daromir and Vana are alone again. The distance between them vanishes like another wound closing. Featherglass in hand, Vana sits next to Daromir. He stays focused on the object as Daromir pulls him closer, right where he always fits.
It’s only a few hours past sunset now, and the time feels later and earlier at once. Daromir can hardly believe how much has happened just since lunch, when Imrik shattered everything with the betrothal announcement. He and Vana should both be exhausted, but adrenaline and necessity will keep them awake a while yet.
Daromir should probably put on some tea soon. But first, he wants to savor Vana’s weight against him. “What are you looking at?”
“The front gates. Indra’s talking to one of the king’s heralds.” Vana makes a contemplative sound. “There’s only one squad of drasgard with the herald. There should be more, considering the amount of magic I used.”
“Do you think Imrik will believe your excuse that you were just practicing?”
“Not a chance,” Vana says. “But it should buy us enough time.”
“Enough time for what?” Daromir asks. He laughs when Vana doesn’t answer immediately. “You’re planning something absurd, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Vana says, cuddling closer. There’s a smile in his voice. “I’m deciding on a wedding venue. I’m thinking somewhere far, far away.”
Daromir’s heart flips in his chest. A long-crushed hope flutters its wings again between his lungs. “I like the sound of that.”
“I thought you might. Do you have any loose ends to tie up in Ostomar?”
“None at all,” Daromir answers with a grin.
Vana leans against Daromir’s shoulder. “And do you think Arla has reached his hidden ship yet?”
