Chapter 21: Wedding Night

The priest kept it short, because the King stood over him with his arms folded.

I said my own vows.

I did not promise to obey, and nobody in the hall asked me to.

"I take you, Soren Hallowell, with the door open," I said. "I'll stay as long as I want to, and I want to."

"I take you," said Soren, "on those terms, and on any you set after."

The King put the circlet on his son's brow himself, and the hall roared.

I do not remember the feast.

I remember Soren's hand on my back the whole way up the tower stair.

His chamber was at the top of the keep, round and stone-walled, with a balcony open to the cold stars.

A fire was lit.

A copper tub steamed in front of it, because someone in the Lycan household had thought of everything.

He shut the door and leaned his back against it.

"Mrs. Hallowell," he said.

"I kept my name. Say it right."

"Rhiannon Stanhope," he said, low. "Queen-to-be of the Lycan. My wife."

"Better."

"Tell me what you want tonight."

"I want to be washed," I said. "And then I want to be fucked until I can't remember a hall."

His eyes went gold in the firelight.

"You do ask for things," he said, and crossed the room.

He undid my gown without hurrying, and he laid it over a chair, and he lifted me into the water.

It was hot enough to sting.

He knelt on the stones beside the tub, rolled his sleeves to the elbow and poured water down my back with a cup.

His hands followed the water.

He washed my shoulders, and the new bite mark, and the silver lines on my arms, and every place he touched, I wanted more.

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