Page 84 of Burning Ice
His father grinned. “Good. My son needs someone who doesn’t flinch.”
“Finally. They are here,” Moargan drawled. “We were starting to think you’d gotten lost in your own ceremony.” He lounged across the couch, one arm hooked lazily over the backrest, a glass half-full beside him. Helianth sprawled on the other side, long legs crossed, eyes bright with mischief. When Kylix and Mirel stepped in, both looked up.
Helianth grinned. “Or changed your mind. Would’ve been awkward to send the champagne back.”
A low chuckle moved through the room, a voice among them dry as dust. “He would never. Can you not see how whipped he is?”
Kylix ignored them all, eyes fixed on Mirel.
“Then the celebration’s here,” Moargan said. “Let’s get on to the ceremony.”
The door behind them clicked open again, and Daven hurried in, hair wind-tossed, breath short. “Am I late?”
Helianth pointed at him with mock solemnity. “You missed the emotional speeches, but you’re just in time for the good parts. Father will be here shortly.”
“Milanov?” Kylix arched a brow. “Is he back from the hospital?”
The question drew a short silence. Moargan set down his glass and cleared his throat. “Yes. He’s back. Mama didn’t wake.” The air shifted, laughter thinning into quiet respect just before the door opened.
Then Milanov stepped inside, Zimeon following him in. He looked tired as he said, “Reina, I’m glad you’re here.”
She caught his hand. “Of course, Milanov. I’m so proud of Kylix.”
His smile softened. “I know.” He squeezed her fingers once before turning to clasp her husband’s hand. “Good to see you.” Then, to the room, “It’s good to see you’re all here for this binding. Daven–”
The younger man squared his shoulders.
“You did a fantastic job yesterday. The people already love you. You are strong, handsome, and cruel. Well done.”
“Thank you, uncle,” Daven said.
“Of course. Now. Let’s move on to the ceremony.” Helianth followed him, taking out the tools as Milanov urged Kylix and Mirel to stand.
“My, my,” Moargan said with a crooked grin. “My stoic cousin finally giving in to ceremony. Mirel, you have my sympathy.” He looked at Kylix, eyes glinting with mischief. “And good luck living with yourself after this one.”
Kylix ignored him and looked up when Vandor walked back into the room, holding the package he’d made, Mirel’s black cloak, identical to his own. Black and fur, with golden thread laced into the material. He unwrapped the box and draped the garment over Mirel, putting his own on too. “My first gift to you.”
Mirel smiled. He looked striking like this, his light hair a sharp contrast to the dark velvet.
“Now I’m going to tie our wrists. Put up your palm like this.” Kylix pressed them together, using the lace to wrap their joints. “That’s it. Hold it right there.”
“When it seals,” Kylix said, tightening the lace, “you’ll feel it burn. Don’t fight it.”
Mirel looked up. “Burn?”
“The mark takes from the inside first,” Kylix said. “It finds your pulse and matches it to mine. It won’t scar, but it will stay.”
He adjusted the wrap once more, his tone low and certain. “When it’s done, you’ll feel the heat fade and settle. That’s whenthe bond starts answering. You’ll know when I breathe. I’ll know when you flinch.”
“It sounds,” Mirel’s voice was dry.
“Permanent,” Kylix finished. “That’s the point.”
The air thickened. Opium lingered in the air.
“K-Kylix.” Mirel suddenly struggled in his hold. “S-stop.”
No. He didn’t want to stop. He didn’t want this ever to end. They both watched as the lace started to curl around their wrists of its own accord.
