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Theodor stared at the cold, almost rigid expression on that gorgeous face and searched deeper into his warrior, where his truest feelings resided, still guarded… but not to him.
Theodor moaned when his own core touched Boraleashe’s. Boraleashe’s love was just how he’d described it would be. So real and strong it was almost painful, almost too much to embrace.
They stayed suspended in that intense moment until more bickering started outside the bedchamber doors.
“If they don’t fucking come out, then I’m going in!”
“Uggh,” Theodor groaned at Mozraath’s annoying voice.
“You will not enter my lord’s chambers without first being granted permission and then announced.”
“That’s my master in there too, Beanpole. Now, step aside.” Mozraath’s demon voice rose to the forefront. “You have no right to keep me from him. I am his man.”
Boraleashe’s mouth tightened in a straight line.
Theodor shook his head in frustration.
“I may be small in stature,” Adresin retaliated, his tone low and stern, “but my pure elven blood makes me far superior to you, demon.”
Boraleashe’s eyes widened. Theodor placed a hand on his chest to stop him from getting up. Instead, he leapt off the bed and hurried toward the doors. He flung them open to see both their men squaring off against each other.
Mozraath was seething, his sharp teeth bared, the dark side of his body preparing to fight and demolish.
Adresin may be elven royalty, his kind more respected and superior in reputation, not fighters, but Mozraath’s demon lineage had trained him to be a fierce and evil contender. That part of him knew no weakness… or mercy.
“Enough!” Theodor barked, glaring between them. “Boraleashe and I will be wed before the sun sets on morrow’s eve. You both better be getting along by then.” Theodor lowered his voice to threatening. “And not for my sake… but for your own.”
Theodor gripped Mozraath’s arm and yanked him forward. “Move.”
Boraleashe stood just beyond the door, his naked body wrapped beneath an ivory fur robe. He took a couple of steps forward with a lifetime of love and lust blazing in his crystal-blue eyes. “I will see you soon, my lord.”
“Indeed, you will.” Theodor winked.
“Moz, how much fuckin’ longer? I’ve been sitting here for hours,” Theodor grumbled, bouncing his leg in anticipation of getting back to Boraleashe.
“Shut up. It’s been forty damn minutes. I’m almost done—stop bouncing. Your hair isn’t the length of the Winter Lord’s, but it’s still long as fuck, okay? If you stop moving, I’ll finish faster.”
Theodor wanted to bolt out of the seat, but instead of delaying himself more, he pressed his palms to his thighs to still them. He could damn near feel Boraleashe’s yearning in his own chest from the other side of the Keep.
“Okay, finished, you impatient, lovesick jackass,” Mozraath bitched, slamming the hairbrush on the vanity. Theodor took the opportunity to sprint toward the door, but of course—
“Wait!”
“What now!”
“Your goddamn robe.”
“I guarantee Adresin speaks to Boraleashe with far more respect,” Theodor rumbled, pausing at the double doors.
“That stiff prick probably drops to both knees and kisses the Winter Lord’s ass at each moment he gets.”
Theodor glared in warning. One of Mozraath’s aides rushed over with his laundered robe and draped it over his back, clasping the heavy bronze leaf medallions over each shoulder. Gold Reaper was the last accessory added before the house lords opened the doors to his suite, and Mozraath stepped ahead to announce him.
“Lord Theodor Cavalerie, Titan of the South Wind and King of Tir an Fhomhair.”
The esteemed guests gathered at the bottom of the grand foyer’s curved stairs gave him a respectful but brief applause. Theodor took a deep breath so he didn’t race ahead of his court toward Boraleashe’s rooms. He cleared the threshold to his quarters at the same time Adresin turned the corner, with Boraleashe following close behind.
“People of Tir an Amárach!” Adresin proclaimed with a bold, elevated voice.
Mozraath rolled his eyes.
“Your Lord of the North Wind, Boraleashe Cavalerie, Titan of the Arctic World, ruler of the Realm of Winter, and creator of the first frost.”
The applause and cheers were deafening.
“Your announcement needs work,” Theodor muttered out of the corner of his mouth, smirking when Mozraath’s eyes flashed with fire.
Boraleashe came into view in all his pristine white regalia and glory, and Theodor’s heart tried to beat out of his chest. His betrothed was stunning. His long white hair flowed down his back past his firm buttocks, as shiny and soft as the new fallen snow.
Their courts were led down each set of stairs. Mozraath preceded his men in their brown and gold tunics. Adresin led his men in white down the other side.
He and Boraleashe stood alone at the top of the stairs overlooking the delighted crowd. It was more than evident that the people of Amárach felt the wholeness of their lord, felt his contented winds weaving their way through the air.
