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Viento...nah, that one was just wishful thinking. The rat was still alive and kicking, as Mat had experienced firsthand when we’d ventured down to the Márosian palace stables this morning and he’d had his foot trodden on by the irate flaxen chestnut for not handing over the snacks quickly enough.
I saw Jiron relapse somewhere towards the end of the coronation, but to be fair, his wasn’t the only face that had gone slackly blank by then. It was a long-ass ceremony, the bishop droning on about responsibility and honour until he had me entirely convinced that I was the wrong man for the job and was about to call Mathias up here in my stead – and then the crown was deposited onto my head and I guessed it was probably a little late for that.
But the deference that followed soothed both my mood and ego: waves of people bowing and curtsying as they tried to execute the gracious movements after two hours of losing both blood flow in their legs and the general will to live. Even Valeri Velichkov dipped his head my way, and the joy I felt at realising Ifinallyoutranked the heir to Temar buoyed me through the last few minutes of the bishop’s speech. Yet it seemed he had begun to know me too well, as the bastard quietly slunk off with the rest of the guests spilling out of the throne room before I could abuse my newfound authority over him.
The hall emptied quickly, the lure of a coronation feast enticing even the most patriotic of my people out of the palace and into the gardens. Eventually there was only one man left in the room, his blue-grey eyes glittering as they gazed up at me where I was seated on the throne.
“Your Majesty?” one of my guards called from beyond the huge doorway at the far end of the hall. His voice echoed across the empty space.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” I said. I didn’t take my eyes from Mathias.
“An hour,” my lover corrected, holding my curious gaze. “Start the banquet without him.”
The guard hesitated until I nodded, and then drew the heavy doors closed to seal the two of us inside. There was silence for a moment before Mat took two steps forward until he was standing directly at the foot of the dais. It was twice as high as the one inla Cortina,the throne far grander in turn.
“As the third prince of Temar,” he murmured, “may I be the first to welcome you to the Quarehian throne, my king?”
The wicked look in his eye was making my mouth impossibly dry. I swallowed. “You…may.”
Mathias’ mouth twitched in amusement. He bowed to me, long and deep and formal.
But instead of straightening back up, he slowly dropped to one knee. Then a second.
I stopped breathing as Mat began to climbthe marble steps up to the throne on his hands and knees. He moved carefully, precisely, knowing the value of what he was gifting me.
When he reached the top, he lifted his head and prowled closer, still staying down on all fours.Dios mío, watching my boy crawl to me was as arousing as fuck, especially when he was dressed like northern royalty.
Mathias’ hands swept upwards from my ankles to my knees, his mouth following the trail a moment later as he peppered my bent leg with kisses. My bite mark on his neck, just visible beneath his shirt with its two undone buttons, quivered deliciously with the movement of his throat.
He shifted on the ground at my feet and winced.
I grinned, suddenly finding my words again. “Did that hurt your knees terribly?”
“You know it did, asshole,” he pretended to grumble. “And now you’re enjoying yourself even more, aren’t you?”
“Your sacrifice to getting me hard is much appreciated,” I told him with delight. My fingers clenched around the arms of the throne as he made me even more so by pressing his mouth to the bulge straining the seams of my trousers in a brief, almost chaste kiss. And then as I moaned for more, he climbed up to straddle my lap.
His knees brushed the seat of the throne, the first northerner to touch it in recorded history.
“You look tired, darling,” Mathias said softly, his fingertip tracing a line under my eye.
I liked his smile. It was an expression he rarely made, but when he did, it was at me. The small, secretive little twitches of his gorgeous mouth had become full grins over the months I’d known him, and I savoured each one, memorising it to recall for later. Mat was usually so serious, often filled with anger or indignation, and while he looked adorable in any mood, a happy Mathias was something I was particularly fond of.
“Hmm,” I agreed. “Someone kept me up all last night.”
He gave me another of those fond smiles. “Da. My wrist still aches.”
“Mine too.” I pretended to flex it, but really it was just so I could settle my hand back down on his hip, enjoying the weight of him astride me. We hadn’thadto write out all of the pardons by hand, but Mat had stubbornly insisted on it and it had felt strangely right that we suffer in some small way in trying to prevent the greater suffering of many more people. It had been deep in the small hours of the morning when we finally set down our quills, the hundreds of pardons ready to be issued to the various gaols holding those who had run afoul of the gender laws we were about to repeal, or wrongfully imprisoned for some other nonsense crime under my father’s or Welzes’ rules.
Mathias bent his head so he could press his lips to mine in featherlight, contented kisses. After everything that had happened, it seemed hard to believe that I got to have both him and the crown on my head, the one he was tracing reverently with his fingers as he slid his hands through my hair. But like the greedy bastard I was, I wanted more.
I wanted him as my husband.
“Nat?”
“Yes, Ren?”
“I know there’s meant to be pomp and circumstance to this,” I said awkwardly, “and asking you while I’m seated here as your king is probably not the best time to do it, but will you-”
