Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 140462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
“So he removed the collar off your neck, and you removed his head from his shoulders? Naughty,” he adds playfully and wags his finger at us.
I might not be the most moral of men, but even I’m freaked out by the casual way he’s discussing the death of someone he apparently worked with for so many years. I’ve met some crazy guys in prison, and an attack might come at any moment from someone like this.
“Forgive me for meeting you in my underwear, unless…” He lets the silent proposition hang in the air as he gestures at the huge bed that would easily accommodate all three of us.
“No.” Sylvan frowns and steps back, even pinker than before, but then he grabs my hand. It’s so sweet that it’s me he reaches for when uncertain, even though I’m only human and have no other ways to protect him than my strength.
Fenren throws a braid over his shoulder. “Ah! I see… You woke me up so abruptly I’m still getting my bearings, but it all makes sense now. It’s a full moon day! And this, Your Highness, will be your Dark Companion. How splendid! A wedding at The Burning Corpse! We will provide all, as I’m sure you wish to spare no expense on a day of such great importance.”
There’s that stereotype about men being coerced into marriage—the cuffed groom cake toppers, bachelor parties all about losing freedom, grooms holding up signs with the phrase save me at the altar, but while I never gave much thought to formalizing any of my relationships, the moment Fenren presents me with the idea of celebrating my blooming romance with Sylvan, I know that this is exactly what I want.
“How does that work here?” I ask, and the elf rests on a carved stool, capturing my gaze. His shirt rides up dangerously high on his bare thighs, so I hope he is wearing bottoms of some kind, or I might have to cover Sylvan’s eyes.
“Well, both here and in your world, the particulars are a matter of custom and wealth. But since you are marrying a royal of the Nocturne Court, you will have the most lavish party money can buy. We will bring out the best spirits, hire many musicians, so that the songs can flow all night without break. I will also personally see to you wearing the finest fabrics. Excuse me for being blunt,” he says and points to us both, “but neither a prince nor his Dark Companion should celebrate their union in rags.”
Sylvan hasn’t complained about my basic outfit of hoodie and sweatpants, but Fenren does have a point. Maybe I should change into their version of a suit at least.
Sylvan raises one hand while squeezing me more firmly with the other. “No, no, no need for any of that. All we need is our vows to one another.”
I stall, staring at our linked fingers. “What? But you said it would be a real wedding.”
Fenren leans against the desk and finishes his drink. “That is baffling, Your Highness. Surely, you are not trying to get all the benefit yet offer your promised no public commitment? There is no divorcing a Dark Companion. This is a once-in-a-lifetime celebration. You need the rose, the candle, the lace and frills, the spectacle. While lowborn, every guest in my tavern downstairs could be a joyful witness. Your human deserves that much at least for what he is offering.”
Sylvan’s ears twitch, which I’ve already learned is often a sign of nervousness. While I can see that he’s being prodded, it does feel kind of frustrating that he seems to want our marriage vows to be over with instead of following the customs of his own world. The choice is his at the end of the day. It’s not my money, but I do give him an expectant look. Is it really so wrong of me to want a celebration?
Sylvan clears his throat and gestures for me to put down the backpack. “Until I’m back at court, I only have select items and jewelry I can pay with,” he says, staring Fenren down like a dragon sitting on its hoard.
“Oh, let me see!” Fenren jumps to his feet and is at Sylvan’s side in an instant, eyes glistening with greed. “We will have to make the best of what’s here, and then write up a debt contract for all the other frills.”
I swallow and stroke Sylvan’s hand as our host pulls out a string of black pearls from a little velvet bag. “Yes, I can make this work. The best food The Burning Corpse can offer, the finest clothes, and guests to confirm that the prince treated his beloved Dark Companion right.”
I know what Fenren is doing, but I am marrying a prince. Do I not deserve a bit of luxury?