Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
Normally, the Absent One is an elderly, gray-haired man, the Gray God a bearded father figure, and the Golden Moon Goddess a radiant young woman. But in this triptych, they are all Fellians. Their faces are hard and angular, noses pronounced just like Nemeth’s. They have spread wings and the horns that draw back from their faces just like he does. Their legs bend backward, and they do not look like friendly, familiar gods at all.
I stare in surprise at this blasphemy, then glance over at Nemeth. “Are there two altars? Have I missed one?” Perhaps this is the altar of the Fellians (who would be used to blasphemy of this sort) and there is a different one for Liosians.
“You have been here as long as I have,” Nemeth says, snapping his fingers and creating a tiny flame to light the candle. “Have you seen another altar?”
I have not. I purse my lips, then decide to let the matter drop. What do I care? It is not as if I am particularly devout, and since I am throwing my lot in with the Fellians, should I not get married at an altar with Fellian gods? Nemeth sets an offering bowl upon the altar in front of each representation of the gods, then pulls out a cushion for my knees and places it on the floor in front of the altar. “Shall we begin?”
The sight of that cushion gives me a dozen filthy ideas, none of which have to do with religion. Pinching my arm to clear my thoughts, I kneel upon the cushion and hold my hands out to Nemeth to take. He doesn’t exactly kneel across from me as much as he crouches, thanks to his backward-bent knees, but the intent is the same—to make oneself lower than the gods.
He takes my hands in his and begins a quiet prayer to the gods. “We ask for your protection, o Great Ones. We ask for abundance. We ask for your smiling eyes to look down upon us. We ask for your favor. We ask for your joy. We ask you to see this mating between this male and this female and give us your blessing.” His gaze locks upon me. “We ask that you see this union of Nemeth of the First House of Darkfell, and Candromeda Vestalin of Lios, and grant us happiness. We seek to live our lives in the shadow of your glory, and to bring honor to your forgotten names. Be with us.”
“Be with us,” I echo appropriately, trying not to fidget. Here Nemeth is leading me through a very serious, very religious Fellian wedding ceremony and I’m focused on the fact that I’m not wearing my bloomers. Truly, I am such a disgrace.
Nemeth bows his head and then begins to speak in Fellian, switching out of common. His words are lyrical and flowing, and I understand not a bit of it. But I watch him for clues, keeping my hands in his as he continues the ceremony. Even though he’s concentrating on the prayer, I like the feel of his hands in mine. If I was a better person, like he is, I’d be thinking about prayers, or what it means to be bound before the gods in holy matrimony.
As it is, I’m just thinking about his cock…and more importantly, his knot. My pussy clenches reflexively even now.
I wonder if the gods would think I’m a vile creature if I tackled my new husband—excuse me, my mate—in front of their altar. Just grabbed him and tossed him onto his back and flipped up that kilt of his and—
“Candra?”
I blink, pulled away from my lascivious thoughts. “Hm?”
His eyes narrow. “Are you not paying attention?”
“You’re speaking another language,” I chide. “I’m paying as much attention as I can. Are we married yet?”
A reluctant smile tugs at his mouth. “Not yet. We must give our offerings to the gods and complete the prayers.”
“Of course,” I say, as if I have any clue about how our ceremony will work. I flutter my lashes and give him an expectant look. “You start and I’ll follow your lead, naturally.”
“Naturally,” he agrees, amused. He lifts our joined hands to his mouth and kisses the back of mine. “Let us give our offerings.”
He gets to his feet and helps me to mine. Nemeth stands proud in front of the altar, with my smaller, ridiculous figure at his side. I cannot imagine what the gods think of our pairing. Of a short, rounded, soft human woman in a voluminous pale blue dress with puffed sleeves and a tightly laced corset, standing next to an enormous Fellian with gray wings, glowing green eyes, and a leather kilt. We are a mismatched pair to be certain, but I like to think that he enjoys the sight of me as much as I enjoy the sight of him.