Page 83 of Frost and Death
It has been a week since we last saw each other, and my heart picks up speed in his presence. The man is wicked, awful, yet handsome and flirtatious.
My mind and my heart fight to remain disdainful of him, trying to not swoon at the fact he is better looking than I remember.
His eyes are a brighter blue this evening, contrasting with his scar and giving his features more symmetry. The grown-out stubble I remember when I woke up is trimmed away, and his shoulder-length black hair is tied half-back, combed neatly into place.
And his scent—Sweet Makers, it is better than I remember. It waves off him along with the arrogant smirk he wears.
And I know if I keep staring, he is going to say something that will piss me off.
It still doesn’t prevent me from taking in his tall stature, dark thoughts shifting to what he would feel like hovering over me.
You should be thinking about Niko, Tove. Not this monster.
But as we stand there, hand in hand, staring at each other, I find myself wondering if he is worrying about what is going to happen after we are wed. The idea of us being alone should repulse me, and I seek the memories of my time with Niko for comfort.
But my mind drifts to when Jerrick kissed me. How soft his lips were and the tentative need behind the pressure of his touch.
Heat boils in my core, and I clench my thighs, trying to shut out the thoughts.
When the Alorian priest begins, Jerrick’s dimple makes an appearance, and I pray to the Deities I am strong enough not to be affected any more by him.
Nerves erupt throughout my entire body as I try to pay attention to everything the priest is saying, but I am too distracted by the odd comfort of Jerrick’s hand warming me, as if it will set me on fire.
I try to take in the courtyard again, observing the stars above sparkling in the deepened onyx night. The winter weather should be causing me to freeze over, but I am covered in sweat by everyone’s gazes and Jerrick’s touch.
The priest stops, guiding us to face each other before taking a step back.
Jerrick takes my hand, turning it upward as he withdraws the dagger from his belt, pointing the tip toward my palm.
Swallowing at the coldness of the blade, I brace for the pain.
“Just a little cut,” he says.
The first words I’ve heard my future husband speak in a week, and they are soft and gentle in reassurance. They pull me from my fear, beckoning me to look into his eyes.
As the blade pierces my skin, I can’t stop the cringe of pain across my features from the slash in my palm. The blood rises and Jerrick looks at the priest, waiting for his approval before speaking the vows of marriage.
When it is received, Jerrick’s eyes melt into mine as his honeyed voice drowns my ears.
“To the Makers above, I vow and pledge in this bond of marriage to protect and devote my life to my wife. This I promise to Yeva, Letum, Aiyana, Alora, Anwir, and Leander, the creators of this world and the gifters of our magics. This I promise to you, my wife, Tove Clemmensen.”
My name sounds rich and sweet coming from his mouth, better than being calledFrostbiteorSnow Queen.
I watch the blood pool in my now cupped hand as a soft cough breaks my daydream.
Offering the priest an apologetic look, I swallow down more fear as Jerrick offers me the dagger.
I take it into my shaking hands, my blood coating the hilt, ruining the glimmer reflecting off it. I bite my lip as I concentrate on his palm turned upward.
“Don’t try anything, Frostbite,” Jerrick says.
I expel my irritation; he thought I would hurt him before I even had considered it.
I make a smaller slash on his palm. Hating that I am repeating the words, I avert my gaze away from Jerrick’s.
“To the Makers above, I vow and pledge in this bond of marriage to protect and devote my life to my husband. This, I promise to Yeva, Letum, Aiyana, Alora, Anwir, and Leander,the creators of this world and the gifters of our magics. This, I promise to you, my husband, Jerrick Mikkelson.”
“Will you both join hands?” the priest asks.
