Page 112 of Consort's Glory
On the listof things Margot wanted to do in the hours immediately following her wedding, frantically urging her frustrated new husband to get into the shower and then into a fresh suit so he could meet with the second most powerful elvish family in the Protectorate, unsurprisingly, fell quite low.
Not that it mattered. Margot was a practical sort of person, and able to see the long-game even if it made her present less than ideal.
Shrugging on a soft white turtleneck over a fitted black skirt, she spared only a moment to think about the sharp ache between her legs and her longing for the huge, Theodore-scented bed. We’ll have all the time in the world after this is done, she promised herself. Once things were settled and the Summit was over, they could have a real honeymoon and plenty of time to be together.
She said as much to Theodore, but his sulky expression told her he was even less pleased by the interruption than she was.
Adjusting his collar with quick, irritated flicks of his claws, he muttered, “I’ve never given Olivier the time of day before now. I don’t see why I have to start on my damn wedding day.”
“Because,” she calmly replied, “you can’t afford to make any enemies right now. Besides, it’s just until the Summit is over. Once it’s done, maybe we can take a honeymoon somewhere, or…” She trailed off, her thoughts derailed when he turned away from the mirror to pin her with a heated look.
It’s not fair how attractive he is in a suit, she thought, a coil of heat tightening her belly.
“Honeymoon?” A slow, wicked smile curled Theodore’s lips.
Oh.The sight of his dimples made her heart clench. “I didn’t think about that when you asked me to marry you, but we are supposed to have one of those, aren’t we?”
Margot let him clasp her hips and draw her closer. Even knowing it was only delaying the inevitable, she was helpless in the face of that smile, those hands, all that naked affection in his gaze. “Do elves not have honeymoons?”
He stroked the bows of her hip bones with the pads of his thumbs. “Mm, sort of. The pull varies from couple to couple, but the rule of thumb is that an elf should be excused from public life for at least a month after courtship.”
“You can’t afford to be out of the public eye for that long.”
Theodore shook his head, the heat in his eyes fading to something softer. “No, I can’t. But we could manage a week or two.”
Looking down at the buttons of his suit jacket, Margot felt strangely shy. “Maybe… we could go to the Goodeland?”
“That’s… not the most private getaway.”
She tugged on a button. “Well, no, but we have lots of empty cabins around the lake and in the forest. We could have our own space. And when we’re ready we could have a family celebration for our wedding.” Margot risked a glance through her lashes and found him staring down at her with a heart-stopping look of tenderness.
Cupping her cheek, he promised, “Darling, I will do anything you ask me to.”
What heady power it was, to have the sovereign at her mercy. Margot tilted her head into his hand, the memory of his kisses and the weight of him pressing her into the mattress lingering on her skin.
Theodore Solbourne knelt at her feet, true, but Margot knew she would only ever use that power to love him bigger, better, with all she had.
Overwhelmed by the enormity of her feelings, Margot stretched up on her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Then let's get this over with,” she announced, darting away before he could reel her back in for more. Margot fished a tiny stub of chalk from her skirt pocket — no witch in their right mind didn’t carry something to write with in every article of clothing — and wiggled it at him. “C’mere.”
With a beleaguered sigh, Theodore bent to let Margot trace a chalk sigil high on his forehead. There was a small flash of heat before both it and their marriage sigil disappeared.
“Oh.” Margot blinked, surprised by the force of her displeasure at the sight of bare skin between his brows.
Theodore turned to glance in the floor length mirror in the center of his dressing room. His thick eyebrows first rose high, then dropped low in a deep scowl. Whirling around to face her, he growled, “I hate this.”
Avoiding the sight of his sigil-less forehead by repeating the procedure on herself before dusting off her hands, Margot forced a shrug. “It’s only for today. You get to show everyone at the opening of the Summit tomorrow, right?”
His tone was biting. “Yes, but a day is too long. Hiding it feels like an insult.”
She agreed that it sure felt wrong. Margot got an awful little shiver when she looked at him, and she had no desire to peer at her own reflection. His face looked bare, wrong. The magic infused in that sigil, unique to them in all the world, did not appreciate being hidden beneath a glamour any more than they did.
A rumbling sound of displeasure spilled from Theodore’s chest, but when he bent to press his forehead against hers, the sweet zing of pleasure-pain made them both sigh. It was a kiss of magic, of the promise they made to one another. It didn’t go away just because his sigil was momentarily hidden.
Neither of them had to like it, though.
“Go,” she urged, giving his chest a pat. “Your guest awaits.”
“You’ll be in the next room. Door cracked, so I can hear you if you need me.” Theodore didn’t move until she nodded. “Fine, then. Let’s get this over with.”
