Page 67 of The Shadow Prince's Ruin
Hawk stalls and leans into my touch. “You know when I find you most presentable? Naked,” he says with a grin, then dropsthe bone remaining in his hand into a bucket, and before I can stop him, wipes his hands on the tablecloth. My first thought is that I’ll need to teach him many things once we’re back at court, but when he grins and takes a goblet of cherin for each of us, my initial embarrassment fades. He is altering his whole life for me. It’s only fair I don’t force him into conventions he doesn’t seem to care for.
“Is it wrong of me to also await our wedding night with bated breath?” I ask since the music is so loud I doubt anyone could overhear us.
My companion is satisfied with that answer and wiggles his brows before handing me my cup and knocking his against it. “Our wedding night and every other night to come,” he says and guides me to the wall, where he can so easily entrap me with his firm body. I know the others are staring at this blatant display of desire, but I don’t care enough to push him away.
Let them see that I am an object of lust for this amazing man. That I don’t need to be taller or have wider shoulders to make him wild for me.
“I want to get drunk. And dance. And act as if all those people are my personal friends. And then I’ll take you next door. You think you’ll be able to keep your voice in?” he teases, whispering in my ear.
I drink from my cup, and I have to admit that it’s some intensely potent cherin. Then again, maybe this drink always bites the tongue and the back of the throat. I wouldn’t know, since Mother forbade me from consuming liquor due to my weak constitution. But she isn’t here, and this ismywedding. Why shouldn’t I enjoy myself? I’m back from banishment, and I have a Dark Companion whose shadow is so endless it will be spoken of in legends. I can’t even begin to imagine the things we may achieve together.
“Maybe I won’t, maybe I’ll need your hand on my mouth.” I meet his gaze with my heart beating to the rhythm of the fast melody around us. “For now, let’s make your dream come true.” I say and pull him toward the dancing crowd.
A tall elf with two long dark braids and a scar on his cheek steps in our way.
“I challenge you to arm wrestling,” he says, and I know what this is about as soon as I spot two women giggling over cups of wine.
Hawk inhales, ready to agree, but he stalls and shoots me a glance, only saying yes once I give him a shallow nod. It makes me so happy to know he considers us a team. By the time he sits at the corner table and slams the challenger’s hand down, winning the weaponless duel, I cheer louder than anyone else. He wins the next four matches, and then we end up getting our ears pierced, as local tradition dictates.
The earrings are a pair of small silver tears, which might not be suitable for a royal and his Dark Companion, but they do suitus. When Hawk lifts me up as he attempts to participate in a country dance, I don’t regret the bloodstain on my shirt, nor the throbbing in my earlobe.
The rich, sweet cherin flows in my veins, making me flush when my Companion, myhusband, squeezes me tightly and twirls in the middle of the room.
I’ve never laughed this loudly, and I don’t know if it’s the alcohol, or if I’m drunk on my beloved, but it doesn’t matter. He’s so happy to be dancing and eating, and drinking after the years he spent in prison that all I want to do is indulge him.
I’m not the most accomplished dancer even when I know the steps, but I laugh even though I’m making a fool of myself, because with Hawk, it’s fun to justbe. We twirl, we drink more, not caring about time, because our vows have already been said.
I might have gotten carried away and explained my thinking in far too much detail to a man serving me a tart beer. I don’t remember that part very well. Only that as I was finishing my thought, Hawk arrived at my side to take the man’s hand off my forearm.
I think they argued. But I can’t be sure.
But what I do remember is that Hawk never left my side, that he told me about places in the human realm where men who desire the company of other man can dance and have fun. Apparently, during his first night in such a place, he ended up slipping on the slick floor and injured his head. I’m positive the ghost of a scar remaining from that occurrence is still visible at the side of his forehead, and I kiss its general location when he picks me up and moves us to a comfortable booth in the corner.
People come and go, eager to exchange a few words with one of the few humans they’ve ever met. Even those who visit the human realm to smuggle goods are interested in spending time with my tall, handsome spouse, but while Hawk enjoys the attention, he does nothing that might fuel the green fire of booze-infused jealousy inside me. He keeps including me in conversations, he always keeps at least one hand on my body, and whenever there’s an opportunity, he drags me back onto the dancefloor, proud and joyful that I’m the one in his arms.
When someone laughs that it would have been easier for him to dance with someone taller, Hawk takes such great offense I have to break up a fight. It does give me quite some satisfaction that I get to use Hawk’s shadow to do so. Though while I was intending to force the rude traveller back, I end up pushing a shield of shadow too hard at him, and he falls into the shadowild. I didn’t even know I had access to the shadow realm, as my own powers have always been far too flimsy to even attempt entering that space. But after the initial panic, we manage to pull him out and all is good again.
Hawk then shows off just how easy it is to dance with me by carrying me all the way through a whole song while whispering filth into my ear. Once he puts me down, I’m so overheated it’s as though I’m blushing all over my body, and I can’t even make myself protest when he sneaks his big, strong hand under my shirt, exploring the plains of my skin with snake-like swirls. I’m on the verge of letting him go farther and get the pesky garment off me, right here, in front of all those people, but Fenren announces another game, one that needs to be started by the newly married couple.
Ivy and one other girl drag me into a small room and shut the door, explaining I’ll need to recognize Hawk’s knock among many others. The catch? I’ll need to kiss the one I open the door for, whether I like it or not. As pleasant as the laziness brought upon me by cherin is, my drunken state is getting me worried, because if I lock lips with someone else, Hawk is bound to break a nose or two.
A part of me doesn’t mind, but I do not want any more blood on my clothes.
My mind is scrambled, and I’m not all that confident in my choices when I say ‘no’ to the first two people knocking. Relief fills me when the third person taps in the rhythm of a song we heard all too many times on the radio during our car trip to Boston.
I belt out the lyrics and open the door, laughing. What a stupid game. And yet I’m so happy to have won I climb Hawk and let him hold me up for a kiss. He tastes of wine and something sweet, smells like heaven, and I now wish to bed him sooner rather than later.
“I knew you’d recognize me,” he whispers, moving his lips to my ear as one of the musicians playing in the background slips, failing to hit the right note. Such things never happen with professional music masters at court, but it doesn’t matter,because the amateurs gave me more joy than any ball I’ve attended at the Nocturne Court. This one is celebrating me and my mate, and that makes it special.
I press my forehead to his and close my eyes as he carries me through the stormy waves of dancing bodies. His heartbeat pulses against my ear, his shadow is practically a part of me now. When I dip my fingers into the shadowild in the crevice between our bodies, the sense of absolute contentment it offers makes me fantasize about curating my own pocket dimension, just for me and Hawk. Anything is possible with a shadow like his.
Just as I kiss him to yet more hooting and clapping, the main door bursts open, kicked in by a heavy boot. I look over Hawk’s shoulder, dazed, only to meet the amber gaze of no one other than my damncousin.
Prince Tristan Bloodweed. Tall, dashing, with long hair like waterfalls of red wine, and leather boots made to emphasize his muscular thighs.
Otherwise known as Thorn In My Side.
I’m too drunk to think straight, overwhelmed by the avalanche of problems I imagine this will cause. But my mind is so thoroughly soaked in cherin I struggle to come up with a plan.
