CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Mira got married in her pants. She fretted about not having a dress for a few minutes on the morning they’d decided on, while Tarquin had watched her with an amused smirk.
“Let’s go buy one,” he said.
“That’s stupid,” she said. “No.”
“Do you actually want to wear a dress?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
“Do you still want to get married?”
She paused her pacing at that, then crossed the room to him and hugged him tightly. “Yes,” she said.
“Then come marry me,” he said, and took her by the hand and guided her out the door.
It was brief and uneventful, just the two of them and a priest, and when it was over, she felt exactly the same. They ate lunch afterward, an unhurried affair, and she sat close enough to lean against him as she ate.
They returned to their room where he told her how much he adored her, how much he’d missed her whenever she’d been away from him and how grateful he was for her patience— as she gave him chance after chance after chance. He swore this would be the last one he needed. He would get it right this time.
Then he stripped her and spread her legs and devoured her, and when she was trembling he pushed into her. As he moved inside her he told her again how much he loved her and how much he needed her, and she tried not to cry but wasn’t sure if she’d managed it. He held her to him after, and pressed sweet kisses down her neck and along her shoulders and down her spine. She melted into his touch. She was his, but more importantly, he was hers.
They spent the rest of their stay like that, wandering out occasionally for food, but spending the majority of their time adoring each other. Not just physically, though— a large portion of the days were reserved for lying together and talking about everything, and another smaller, more uncomfortable portion was devoted to Mira’s journals. He’d been patient, though, and eager to help, and she found herself improving more quickly with someone to guide her.
“Help me write a letter?” she said, one morning after she’d finished copying words down.
“To your family?” he asked.
She laughed. “I meant to Cyrus, but… I suppose I should write to them as well.”
He nodded and kissed her then, hard and sweet and perfect. When he pulled away she tucked her head under his chin.
“I’ve gotten a letter,” he said after a moment, his voice rumbling under her ear. “I’ve been ignoring it, but I’ve just gotten a second one. We need to go home.”
She nodded against him. “Is everything alright?”
“I think so, Helias is being as tight-lipped as usual.”
“Hmm,” she said, and then pulled his arms from her and stood. “Well, let’s go then.”
“We don’t have to leave this second,” he said, eyeing her skeptically and leaning back in the chair. “I know you’re not one for relaxing, but some of us are.”
“I’m not one for being bored,” she retorted, “and I’m getting restless. We’ve been here five days and done nothing.”
“We got married,” he pointed out.
“That took ten minutes.”
“We’ve done… other things.”
“Also took ten minutes.” She tossed his bag at him, shot him a playful smile and disappeared into the bathroom.
He found her a moment later gathering her things and shoving them haphazardly into her bag. He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her front, his breath hot on her neck and his lips brushing against it.
“I want to leave,” she protested, but her eyes were closed and her lips were curved upward.
“Ten minutes,” he murmured against her neck.
Tarquin wasn’t sure what to expect at the palace. Not from his brother— he always knew what to expect from Helias— but from Mira. They hadn’t discussed it, but he was fairly confident that she would be uncomfortable telling people that they’d gotten married. He thought she’d been standoffish at first, and she had, but he had learned that it was a result of her being so fiercely private. She was finally starting to let him in.
He could still scarcely believe she’d agreed to the marriage. He’d asked assuming she’d tell him to fuck off, assuming that he’d have to spend the next year or twenty wearing her down. But she’d said yes, which he’d only slightly planned for, and he was so thrilled by it that he didn’t want to wait a minute longer.
They arrived back at the palace just after lunch, and he took Mira by the hand and pulled her through the maze of hallways to the queen’s apartments. Helias answered his knock, somber faced, but he was especially surprised at the way that Ingrid launched herself at Mira and enveloped her in a hug.
“I’m so glad you’re alright,” she sobbed. “I mean, I knew that you were with Tarquin and you were probably fine but I’ve been so worried and—”
“What’s happened?” Tarquin asked Helias quietly, his eyes trained on the awkward way Mira held her hands as the queen hugged her.
“Two of the ladies are missing. They retired to their chambers, four nights ago, and just… disappeared.”
“You’re sure they didn’t leave on their own?”
“I’m sure,” said Ingrid. “Elsie would never leave without telling, and Juliette wouldn’t have left her sisters. Besides, they hardly know each other.”
“Do you know anything?” Tarquin asked. “Anything at all about what might have happened?”
Helias held out a slip of paper for him. “This came this morning from Cyrus. Cryptic as usual, but reading between the lines, he seems to think this is related to Tate’s new… lifestyle.”
“Do you need me to go?” he asked.
Helias nodded and opened his mouth to apologize.
“I’m coming too,” Mira said from across the room, where she was now seated next to Ingrid on a sofa.
“Of course you are,” he said. He turned back to Helias. “She’s coming with me.”
Helias smiled at that. “Good.”
Ingrid stood from her seat, her tears wiped from her eyes and a confident smile on her face again. “Where have you been?” she asked.
“Around,” Tarquin said tersely.
Mira laughed at that and moved to stand next to him. “We got married,” she said.
“Really?” he murmured to her. “I assumed you wanted to keep it quiet.”
She shrugged amid the hugs and congratulations aimed at them. “I’m glad you’re my husband.”
“You’re sure you want to come along?” he asked, later that night, finally back in Mira’s bed. “It might be a few weeks.”
She glared up at him. “Of course I do.”
“Good,” he said, and pulled her head against his chest. “I want you to always be with me.”
The next morning, she kissed him and clung to him and pressed her fingertips into his shoulders. He grinned against her lips, and just like that he was gone; not gone though, just shifted. She stood tall as she stared at him, ignoring the tiny primordial part of her that was terrified. It was always there when she saw him like this, but had never consumed her again, not after that first time they’d met.
She climbed up on him on unsteady legs, and clutched at him and pressed her face against the warm, hard scales of his back. A minute later they were airborne, soaring, and as she watched the palace become tiny below her, she had the distinct thought that this was home. This was happiness. This was freedom.
A note from me:
Thanks as always for reading! I love this book so much that I had a really hard time finishing it. I’ve been itching to get this down since I wrote book one, and I have pages and pages of little scenes between that that I scribbled down while I was waiting. I have SUCH a soft spot for Mira—she’s full of flaws and so self conscious and just so human; it was a pleasure to write about her.
The next book features Elsie, Ingrid’s lady-in-waiting who likes pretty dresses and styling hair. It’s about halfway done and I’m really enjoying writing it. The setting is quite different than what we’ve seen so far, and it’s fun to further explore this little world. I’m expecting it to be out in mid-late March.
If you want to be notified when it’s released, you can:
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