“I did what was necessary. I did what I wanted to do, no thanks to your damn spell. Every choice made was mine, and fuck you for thinking otherwise. Bridget likes me now and she will not hesitate to help me get my own chambers if you’re going to keep acting like a—”
“Miserable bastard?” he interrupts with a wan smile.
The tiny spark of hope nestled behind my ribs catches and I grin back. “Your words, not mine.”
“I don’t understand...” He runs a hand through his hair, but he doesn’t try to warn me off when I move closer. “How could you want this?”
“You mean an eternity fighting at the side of the man I love instead of letting my magick burn me out after a few years living in quiet desperation? You’re right. Seems like hell now that I’m thinking about it.” I turn and head for the door. “Guess I should go tell your mom I want out of the deal—”
Roark reaches out and snags hold of my elbow. “You’re such a pain,” he grumbles, but he doesn’t let go.
I’m about to ask if I’m allowed to sit down when he asks, “Finn?”
The sound of my name from his lips is heaven. “What?”
His focus rests solely on the palm of his left hand. “You love me?”
The easiest question I’ve ever had to answer. “Yeah, Roark, I do.”
He glances up, back ramrod-straight, staring at me with some undefinable expression. I shuffle my feet, still trapped by his grip, wondering how long we’re going to watch each other. When I can’t stand it any longer, I blurt out, “Do you have anything to say about that?”
He tugs on my arm. “Shut up and come to bed.”
Later, our bodies spent and relaxed, he helps me get dressed again. Over my chest plate, we argue whether he actually needs to come to the ceremony. I want him to rest. He wants to be there to defend me if I need it, even though I tell him I can shake and bake anyone who looks at me the wrong way. I’m pressing my suit when he brings my ear closer to his mouth and whispers a promise of what will happen immediately after the ceremony if he gets to go. I’m too distracted to argue further and obey him wordlessly when he walks out, leaving me nothing more than the order to finish getting dressed.
I’m tightening my greaves when he steps back into the room, impeccably dressed in a jet-black suit. I love him so much it hurts. Every time I don’t think it’s possible for that emotion to dig in deeper, it does.
“Sorry,” he apologizes. “Scrying with Mother took some time.”
“Why were you talking with her?”
“I had a few questions about tonight’s ceremony and I didn’t want to waste my energy walking to her chambers.”
“Hopefully it won’t take too long. I stand there in this tin can and say some words.”
He rolls his eyes.
“What’s that?” I ask as he comes to my side.
He looks down at the black fabric in his arms. “A present for tonight. I wanted you to know I’m glad you’re here.”
“You do want me to stay? I mean, you implied it earlier...”
He gives a tiny smile. “It could make things awkward if you were to leave now. Mother and I just finished hashing out your official title.”
He does something with the fabric and it unfolds in his hands, its length falling a bit shy of the floor. I rub the cloak between my fingers, impressed at its thick weave, before moving my gaze higher. The shoulders are covered with a cascade of raven feathers, so carefully fitted that they look more like dragon scales.
Without his glamour to hide behind, Roark’s nervousness is painfully earnest. “Bridget promised to get a new one made for you, but it means tonight you’ll have to wear mine. As the Knight, your armor must bear the Winter Court’s seal. As the Prince Consort, I had hoped you would wear proof of our allegiance as well.”
His glacial stare holds mine in the mirror while his words sink in and the armor around my chest suddenly makes it hard to breathe. “Prince Consort?”
The corners of his eyes crinkle as he fights a smile.
“Tonight?” I ask.
“Tonight,” he confirms.
This is what joy feels like. He waits for me to decide. As if it requires any thought at all.