Into His Command (26 page)

“Damn.” I longed to fist his hair so badly. The heat he’d incited in me, simply with
his tongue and teeth…holy, ever-loving
fuck
… “Whatever shall I do now?”

He settled his mouth against my neck. “I think we can work something out…as long as
you still bring the Fiddle Doodles.”

I snickered. “Do you even know what Fiddle Doodles are?”

“Does it involve you dressed in this shirt and nothing else?”

“Not…exactly.”

“Well then…fuck the Fiddle Doodles.”

*

I was damn
glad he liked the shirt so much. The village’s general store was fully stockedwith
fishing equipment and spring birdwatching books, but only restocked clothing items
for, as they’d informed Jagger, “the major seasons”: winter and summer. He’d gotten
lucky, they’d also said, finding what he did on the winter clearance shelf. As a result,
I showed up to my wedding in a pair of long underwear decorated with pink flowers,
some new socks, a pair of white ankle boots trimmed in silver fur, and a new sports
bra underneath my groom’s long blue shirt.

Thanks to Camellia, it wasn’t a complete wash of an outfit. The little bouquet of
wildflowers in my shaking grip was copied in a wreath atop my head, braided into little
pieces of my hair, to which she’d attached a “veil” made out of a cut-up fruit net
from the kitchen. Her ingenuity didn’t stop there. By pinning back the shirt, she
created a bustle, accented with another flower arrangement at the small of my back.
With the outfit itself halfway bridal, she then attacked my asymmetrical hair and
sun-starved skin. A can of hairspray from her purse helped with a few cute pin curls.
The same magic bag gave up some mascara, blush, and a swipe of lip gloss.

When she was done, she took me in with teary eyes. They persisted even as she walked
me to the castle’s back entrance, joining Evrest in hugging me. They couldn’t follow
me any further, since they were publically dead as of an hour ago, but they could
watch from the castle’s covered turret, four floors up, as I descended a flower-carpeted
hill toward a dark wood gazebo beneath the trees. Inside the structure was the village’s
spindly vicar, also retrieved during Jag’s shopping spree, waiting with Jagger and
Grahm—

Next to the man too damn gorgeous for his own good.

Or mine.

“Shit.” It spilled out as soon as I saw him. For a second, I simply wondered if I
was dreaming. Granted, none of my dreams had ever plunked him in a gazebo in the forest,
but there had to be a few I didn’t remember. Fantasies too damn good for the light
of consciousness—and too damn hot for my upright body to handle.

Unfair, was what it all was.

Unfair that even in ordinary gear of a white button-front shirt and black suit pants,
the latter donned out of “mourning” for his brother, he looked everything but ordinary—especially
when the wind plastered his shirt against that massive chest.

Unfair that I harbored such wicked thoughts about that chest, only to be thwarted
by his dark angel’s face, set in somber lines.

Unfair that he could deepen my confusion by just standing there, so solid and magnificent
and demigod-beautiful, making me forget which way was up—let alone something as silly
as how to walk.

Somehow, I got it right.

Stepped closer to him.

Closer.

And soon, stood before him. Then let Grahm take my flowers so Syn could tuck his right
hand beneath mine. Awkwardly—the sling made nothing easy, but at least the pain was
bearable—I shifted my left hand into place, palm up against my right. Syn slid his
right hand atop that.

Because of the sling, we stood close.
Really
close. I squirmed, unnerved. Fought to figure out why. Sheez, the man and I had been
much “closer” than this—but suddenly, I felt thirteen again, forced to waltz with
tall and perfect Paul Lincoln at the Premiere League cotillion. Only now, there was
a hell of a lot more at risk than a punch-stained dress and the possibility of locking
orthodontics with Paul later on.

A lot
more at risk—as in a whole damn kingdom. And saving it by marrying a prince. Not
just any prince. The man who stood so regally next to me. Pressed his hands tighter
around mine. Even shifted an inch closer, so there’d be less strain on my arm.

And ignored every syllable of my suggestion to close his eyes for this thing.

His gaze pierced down into me like blue glass, taking on a thousand facets…only miraculously,
not one of them was a stand-in for a separate thought. Right now, every inch of him
was
here
, present and focused and…

Overwhelming.

My breath stopped again. I barely blinked. But I couldn’t stop staring as sunlight
filtered through the trees, turning his gaze into light as endless as stars, as profound
as the constellations. I swayed from its force. Didn’t even try to fight it, knowing
Syn wouldn’t let me fall. He balanced me without effort, his lips spreading with the
hint of a smile…perhaps even an inward gloat about what he’d just done to me.

Cocky
bonsun.

I wound up a retaliating glare. Never got the chance to hurl it. The vicar began speaking.
Revision: began trumpeting. The man, the size of a Hobbit, had the voice of the Jolly
Green Giant. Though I joined Syn, Jag, and Grahm in repressing gawks, I was happy
knowing Evrest and Cam would get to hear everything too. Not that any of it made sense.
I knew everyday Arcadian, things like “how much for the tomatoes”, “damn it’s cold
today”, and “but my foot looks pretty on your neck, Jag”, but only recognized every
third or fourth word of the formal ceremony the little man began. Probably for the
best. This was all just for show anyway: a seal and certification we could take back
to Sancti, to prove we’d truly done it. Evrest had even insisted on rings. They were
simple gold bands, resting on a square of red velvet in the vicar’s palm—apparently,
more symbolism
there
I asked
no
questions about—that were a convenient part of the guy’s “upgraded” wedding service.

Aside from the Hobbit’s droning, this really wasn’t so bad. It was even a pretty day.
In a few minutes, Syn and I could jam the rings on, and everyone could tuck into some
lunch before we headed down the mount—

The vicar stopped shouting.

Samsyn slipped his hands free from mine.

Alllll righty, then. Even easier than I’d thought.

I pulled in a satisfied breath. Released it on a contented sigh. Looked back up to
Syn, knowing he’d smoothly cue me on what to do next—

He looked anything but smooth. And damn…he’d ditched the gloating thing too. The only
thing he appeared was…nervous. Paul Lincoln, about fifty times worse.

Ohhhh, shit.

We
weren’t
done.

When the vicar started speaking again, this time in a murmur meant just for Syn and
me, that truth invaded my nerves too. Made me glad that Syn circled an arm around
my waist, scooting me even tighter to him…making my head tilt back as his leaned over.
With our faces aligned and our breaths entwined, ancient Arcadian words again flowed
around us.

And this time, Samsyn translated.

“As the sea to the moon, the brave to the sun…we enter as two, and leave as one.”

His rough rasp vibrated through us both.

“Wind in sails, shelter in storms, rain in deserts, always a home.”

And for a moment, just one magical instant, I let myself believe he meant it.

“As tides and shore, and mountains of heather…”

All of it.

“Is our bond, the Creator’s gift, now and forever.”

Just before I forced myself not to.

Nick of time. I was on the brink of turning things into a wet, teary mess.

But it still wasn’t over.

Shit, shit, shit
.

The vicar began circling us, singing softly. My gaze must have betrayed my curiosity,
because Syn bent in a little more to whisper, “Settle in,
astremé.
He’ll circle five times. Once symbolizing me, then once you…”

I did
not
want to know why he hesitated to finish. Like a dumb shit, I did the honors instead.
“And the others for our kids?” When he smirked, looking cotillion nervous again, I
murmured, “Guess we should be glad he’s not a marathoner.”

His left brow arched suggestively. “The trying part would be…fun.”

I moaned. “You are such a guy.”

“And you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

Dammit. That shut me the hell up. Instantly joined forces with the starlight in his
eyes, continuing to do so, even as the Hobbit finished the happy-joy-joy perimeter
stroll then stopped with his hand held out, beckoning us to take the rings. As I held
Samsyn’s and he held mine, the vicar started murmuring again.
Hell.
I had a feeling, a strong one, that tethering my tears wouldn’t be so easy this time.
I already made up some blame-it-on-the pain-killers lines.

Just as softly and somberly as before, Syn spoke.

“Circle without end. Joy without finish. Love without bounds.” Then, as he slipped
the gold band onto my left ring finger, “And heart…with its completion.”

I ordered myself to ignore the heat, blooming through my hand. To push aside the electricity,
zinging up my arm.

To breathe away the love, bursting in my chest.

Much
easier said than done.

Especially because I had to say the exact same words now.

And that’s all they are. Words. Just words. Just syllables you have to say, to advance
the ordeal by one more step. To deepen the charade by one more layer.

But I couldn’t force the mask on now. Couldn’t pretend, with Syn’s heart beating so
close…with his face filling my vision…with his presence like the magic in every dappled
drop of sun that blazed through the gazebo. Every inch of my being stretched to him.
Every fear in my soul vowed courage for him.

Every ounce of my heart belonged to him.

He saw it all, imbued in every word I uttered. He stiffened as I sealed them in, putting
the ring on his hand. After I slid the band home, he stared like it’d been burned
there, a grimace wiggling at his lips. The expression remained as he raised his gaze
to mine—and unbelievably, I smiled back. The big ox probably didn’t realize it, but
he already honored me as his “beloved” wife. If we were going to survive this adventure,
honesty had to be the secret glue. And yeah, that meant
all
the time.

For now, I concentrated on surviving the rest of the ceremony: the worst part by far.
No translation needed now. The vicar’s bittersweet smile—he was mourning his old king
and celebrating his new one at once, after all—and animated gestures were enough to
go on now.

More than enough.

It was time for Samsyn to kiss me.

The tension in his fingers, raising to lift the netting from my face, conveyed we
shared the same mental boat on this one. Since the first time he’d ever kissed me,
he’d never been able to just
kiss
me. The connection of our mouths was never just that. It was the breach into our
desires. The plug into our electricity. The fusion of everything we knew about each
other…sought in each other…craved in each other.

Fate refused to give us a pass this time.

And dammit, even recruited Mother Nature for the task. As Syn tipped up my chin with
a finger, the wind kicked strands of his hair free, brushing both our cheeks. The
scent of pine and peonies swirled with his rich masculine spice, wakening the few
cells in my system that didn’t already want him. He was my magnet, my vortex, my inescapable
addiction…and in the magical moments when our gazes met, just before ours lips did,
I saw the same helpless need in his own eyes.

We were in such dangerous waters.

And jumping in deeper every time we touched.

Nothing like a morbid metaphor at just the right moment. Syn literally sucked the
air from my mouth as he kissed me. I felt him shake too, battling to hold himself
in check. Like my careening hormones would settle for that. The second my moan echoed
into his mouth, we were both lost causes. Our tongues met. Our libidos gave in.

Vaguely, I registered the vicar’s delighted gasp. Grahm’s pleasant snicker.

Jag’s impatient growl wasn’t so easy to tune out. “You two want fucking scalpels for
those tonsillectomies?”

Reluctantly—and all too quickly—we pushed apart.

Syn led the way back to the castle.

“Oh my God.” Camellia waited for us just inside the door. She embraced me then launched
at Samsyn, who grunted like a bear being attacked by a kitten. “It was beautiful,
you two. So perfect!”

I couldn’t help smiling—because I couldn’t have agreed more.

Evrest finished descending the stairs from the turret. Jerked his chin toward Grahm.
“And look who caught the bridal bouquet.”

Grahm colored as we all laughed. He shoved the spray back at me and muttered, “Should
you two not be on your way now?”

“On our way?” I returned. “You mean…back to Sancti? Now?”