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Rune wanted to call him back, when he stalked down the hall, or even chase after him.
But he didn’t.
Here he’d been worrying about fulfilling his role as a husband…and his brother was a wolf.
All things in perspective, he supposed.
~*~
Not that it counted for much, given he wasn’t the one getting married this morning, but Oliver wasn’t even a little nervous about the wedding. He woke to early sunlight kissing his face, and Erik snoring like a bear against the back of his neck. He took a moment to smile to himself and bask in the unlikely happiness of their circumstances. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t allow thoughts of repairs, supplies, or war reconnaissance crowd his mind; he pushed all that aside and marveled over the turn of events.
He'd brought Tessa north to wed a king – a king who now tightened his arm reflexively around Oliver’s waist in his sleep. And today Tessa was marrying the boy she truly loved, about to become a princess, already a shieldmaiden with a blooded sword, and a newly-minted dragon rider.
Oh, the strange turns of the world.
Then Erik stirred with a yawn, and a groan, a cracking and popping of joints and the usual grumble about his stiff back, and then it was time to rise and prepare for the ceremony. Tea and pastries arrived on a tray, and it was a flurry of washing, dressing, and braiding each other’s hair.
Erik took his shoulders and turned him around when the last bead thumped against the top of Oliver’s back.
“I was thinking,” Oliver said, “that we–” He broke off when he caught sight of the expression on Erik’s face. The unguarded softness, the warmth in his blue eyes and the small, but deeply affectionate curve of his mouth. “Oh. Hello.”
“And I was thinking,” Erik said, echoing his words from moments ago, “about how I regret you’ve not had a ceremony of your own. A proper display to acknowledge you as consort and introduce you to Aeretoll with all the usual fanfare.”
“Oh,” Oliver said again, feeling like he’d been struck – in a good way. In a way that was only painful because of how unexpectedly precious this gruff man managed to make him feel. He braced both hands on Erik’s velvet-covered chest, marveling a bit at the rings on his own fingers, heavy and Northern and proprietary. “I don’t need anything like that. You’ve made your intentions abundantly clear to your people, darling.”
“Still. It’s tradition.”
“Taking a Southern bastard as consort is tradition?”
Erik’s smile widened. “You know what I mean.”
“And you should know what you mean to me, by now.” Oliver stretched up on his toes so he could murmur against his lips: “I don’t need anything but you.” He kissed him, and he tasted of strong tea.
An hour later, breath steaming in the chill morning air, he reached to pluck a strand of red hair from a crown of winter roses. Tessa fairly glowed, cheeks flushed in the cold, eyes sparkling with unshed tears, all of her suffused with a barely contained joy that Oliver found infectious. He found that he was smiling at her wider than he’d intended, as they stood at the head of a clean-swept aisle, beneath a bower of dormant vines strung with greenery and glittering silver ornaments.
The garden had become a fairytale around them, dragons included. Candles flickered and sunlight gleamed on silver and jewels, and down at the end of the path they’d traverse, Rune stood beside his uncle, richly-garbed, beaming, trembling like a new colt.
This was the wedding Oliver had always wanted for his cousin.
And standing beside his nephew, dark and imposing, face transformed by happiness, was the love he’d always wanted for himself.
“Ready?” Oliver offered his arm, and Tessa looped hers through it. He leaned in to whisper, “Don’t be so nervous. It’s only a little walk.”
Tessa let out a breathless laugh. “I’m so, so happy. I don’t understand why I’m shaking like this.”
“Because you’re happy. And you’re nervous because this is something worth wanting.”
She breathed out, slowly. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I usually am.” He patted her hand, where it lay on his sleeve. “Come on, then. Look at our men down there, looking ten kinds of gorgeous.”
Tessa rested her head against his shoulder, briefly, and he felt the curve of her smile. Felt, too, her joy echoing through the bond they both shared with the drakes.
“Ready?” he asked again.
In answer, Tessa straightened, and she was the one who started marching him down the aisle.
Laughing under his breath, Oliver Meacham, now His Lordship Oliver Drake, walked his cousin down to be married, just as he’d been tasked with from the start.
FINISH
