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“I—”
A feminine throat clearing breaks us apart. Lyrielle stands there, arms crossed and eyes narrowed into a pointed glare. Definitely plotting my murder. The rest of the brides cluster around her, some of whom won’t meet my eye. I’m relieved when Miriya and Daphne push their way to the front and regard me with broad smiles. The latter even winks at Riven.
I wonder what that’s about.
“Well,” he drawls, wrapping his arm around my waist in a movement that is simultaneously possessive and endearing, “I’m glad you’re all gathered here. It’ll make this next part incredibly easy. But first—” He looks at me and lowers his voice for only me to hear. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
The sun halos him in gold, catching the gilded edges of his laurel leaf crown and scattering sparks of light across the gardens. I raise a hand to shield my eyes just so I can see his. “I’m going to need you to be a little more specific, grandsire.”
“I need to know that you’re choosing this cage, Gwyn,” he says seriously. “You said you didn’t want to trade one cage for another, so if I’m asking too much, I’ll find another way to fulfill our bargain without chaining you to me for eternity. But I think—” He swallows hard. “I think you should know that I want you. As my queen, my wife, my love. Mine and only mine.”
There are a hundred truths I could offer him, but none of them will mean as much to him as what I’m about to do. My heart pounds like it’s trying to burst free as I step out of his arms. I reach up—slowly, hands trembling—and untie the ribbon from my throat.
A collective gasp rises from the brides, nearly making me falter.
My coven matron’s voice lashes through my mind: You’re terrifying the witchlings.
So what if I am?
This is me. Laid bare. More vulnerable than if I stood before Riven and the brides naked.
Riven’s gaze turns molten. Soft around the edges but burning with something violent and protective.
He fixes his gaze on the scar.
He’ll want to know who gave it to me.
And he’ll probably want to kill them for it.
Because I am his. His to cherish. His to protect. His to love.
But before the inevitable bloodshed, I’ll do what Quill said and let my actions speak louder than any declaration.
I wind the ribbon around both our wrists, binding us together.
“From this day forward, Riven Thaelon,” I whisper, “I am yours to keep, for now and always.”
His grin is magnificent, a bright and glorious light, as he unwinds the ribbon binding us together and tugs me through the gardens, shouting over his shoulder to the brides, “Thank you for your time, but you’re all dismissed!”
Miriya and Daphne toss petals at us, and I’m breathless and giddy as Riven drags me into the palace, through the halls, and up to his suite, stopping again and again to steal kisses like he just can’t help himself, each one leaving me more undone than the last.
Alone in his bedroom, I’m shaking with anticipation and aching with need.
And Riven… he’s the portrait of calm as he tosses the ribbon onto the bed on his way over to the cart overflowing with bottles of wine and spirits. He grabs two goblets, fills them to the brim with sparkling wine the color of cranberries, and hands me one.
“For now and always.” He clinks his chalice against mine.
Such simple words, and yet, they’re as reverent as any vow.
I down the beverage, savoring the taste of wild cherries and honey as it bursts across my tongue.
He arches his brow. “Eager, aren’t you?”
“You have no idea.”
He finishes his glass and takes mine, setting both back on the tray.
And then he’s kissing me again, guiding me backward as he paws at my gown. I can feel his frustration as he struggles to undo the laces of my corset. He pushes me onto the bed and shucks off his clothes, climbing on top of me with his brandished dagger.
