Page 81 of Consort's Glory
He turned to hunt for her shoes, certain that things were settled, but a small hand on his arm prompted him to face her once more.
Margot’s expression was beseeching, uncertain in ways that didn’t match her normal prim confidence. Fingers clenching on his sleeve, she said, “I know you don’t understand, but… We have a lot to talk about, and I’ll just— I’ll just feel safer if we’re married first, before I go back there. Please, Theodore.” She paused, her gaze darting around his face like she feared his reaction. As if he could truly say no to her. “Please, just do this for me.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but the soft look in her eyes halted anything he might have said. Searching her face for some hint as to the origin of her obvious fear, he let out a deep sigh. “Fine. We’ll stay the night in my apartment.”
Her eyebrows pinched together. “You have an apartment?”
They shared a look of mutual confusion. “Of course. For emergencies, or if I get caught up in meetings in the city and don’t feel like going home.”
Margot squinted at him, judgment in every line of her dear face. “You live, like… twenty minutes away.”
Stooping to retrieve his discarded glove, he huffed, “Do you want to stay there or not?”
Her answer was lightning fast. “Yes.”
Straightening, he tugged on the glove, which would never look the same to him now, and looked down his nose at her. “It’s settled, then. We’ll stay at the apartment tonight and tomorrow we’ll get married. Then we’ll go home.”
Margot wheezed. “You want to get married tomorrow?”
He smiled. “If you’re determined to keep us from my bed, darling witch, then I’m equally determined to see us married.” Sliding his clawed fingers into her hair, he gave it a gentle tug, urging her to tilt her head up to him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and breathed her in.
What a privilege it was to watch her lashes flutter against the tops of her cheeks. To feel the silk of her skin against his lips. To gaze down at her and know that she was his and he was hers and the entire godsdamned universe could look upon them in envy.
Murmuring against her skin, he said, “Apartment tonight, marriage tomorrow. Deal?”
Margot leaned into him with a low sigh. “Deal.”
* * *
Margot wasn’t sure what she expected from Theodore’s apartment, but what she got was… exactly that.
She tried in vain not to feel awkward standing in the foyer of another palatial penthouse, this one built above the throbbing heart of the Financial District. It didn’t have the Art Deco feel of the Tower, but something older, more ostentatious with its crown moldings and intricate plaster work and wallpaper stamped with flecks of gold leaf.
The Goodes were no paupers. They were ridiculously wealthy and extremely politically powerful. Her Coven created some of the most talented and sought after sigilworkers, cursebreakers, and warders in the world. The less magically talented among them went into fields of law, medicine, politics — positions that would afford them more security if ever the world decided to turn on witches again.
Much of that money went back into the Coven, which invested it on behalf of each family member. They were, to a one, extremely well off.
But they weren’t showy. Sophie went out of her way to show that the greatest investment was in the family, not in the trappings of wealth. Their homes were comfortable, their needs taken care of, but the majority of their funds lay in wait for a time when they may need them or out into programs related to the Collective.
Elves, on the other hand, loved a display.
Margot listened with half an ear as Theodore spoke into the Met by the door. He was ordering them a meal and new clothes for her, but she felt awkward listening to him take care of her, so she paced away.
Not the only thing to feel awkward about, is it?
Margot’s toes curled in her shoes. A flush heated up the skin of her neck and cheeks as she felt the satin lining of Theodore’s coat brush against her bare breasts.
Nudity was just nudity, of course, but being around his guards while wearing only their sovereign’s coat for cover? Not an experience she was eager to repeat. The rest of it could stay, though.
A heady warmth tingled in her abdomen at the thought of what the rest of it entailed, but she didn’t want to get caught up in that distracting sexual chemistry again, so Margot turned her focus back onto the palatial suite they were spending the night.
Leaving the foyer behind to explore the sitting room, Margot turned in a slow circle to take in the lavish furniture — all in rich, jewel-toned velvets and polished wood — and the large, almost gothic windows on the far side. Not too far below them, cars whizzed past on pre-planned routes, their m-enhanced engines syncing up with a perfectly timed grid to get them where they needed to go. Buildings of every shape and design, the only true San Francisco style, pressed in close; their windows winked back at her in the semi-darkness of an illuminated city.
Across the street, Margot spied the glittering opulence of the Palace Hotel. It’s iconic triple arch entrance glowed with golden light, welcoming the likes of celebrities and m-entrepreneurs and even Taevas Aždaja, Isand of the Draakonriik, who was rumored to have his own private suite on reserve. The golden light, the brilliantly lit letters declaring The Palace on the roof, and the reflection off of the crystal arches were a tantalizing hint at a world that had always been barred to her.
Until now.
Margot pulled at the lapel of her pilfered coat. Process that later. Padding across a thick rug, she sidestepped a low coffee table to take in one of the framed oil paintings hung on the wall.
