Masked Prince - Nikolai Andrew Page 0,61
The darkness of our dungeon, the intensity of our love.
“Do you, Iris, take King Randal to be your husband, to have, to hold….” The bishop said the words, but they felt far away, like I was overhearing them across a meadow. It was okay—I knew them by heart already. I focused on Randal’s beautiful eyes, his scars, his confidence. His utter, breathtaking, heart-throbbing perfection.
“I do.”
“And do you, King Randal…”
The words faded away again, and I let myself get lost in his eyes, knitting my fingers into his, running my thumb over the edge of his chain-mail cuff. He had done so much, not only for me, but for the whole kingdom. He was such a magnificent man. And I was lucky to have him as mine. But more than that, I was lucky—in every single way—to be his.
Promises gave way to vows, vows gave way to rings, and I watched—mesmerized—as his huge fingers wiggled my ring onto my finger, at the way the diamonds that encrusted the band pressed into his fingertips.
More vows, more promises. I was blushing so hard I knew I must be cherry red. This was our big moment. This was it.
“…then you may kiss the bride.”
The organ music roared up into its most majestic octaves, making my whole body tremble, but as soon as his lips met mine, I hardly heard or felt the vibrations of the notes. Because the kiss, oh God, that kiss. He took my cheek in his huge hand, gripping the back of my neck with his thick, strong fingers.
I groaned into his mouth, watching him through slightly parted lashes. He was watching me, too, and I felt him smile as I smiled. This was no polite kiss, though; this was deep and long and the sort of thing I’d never done in public before. The crowd hooted their appreciation as he stepped into me and pulled me close, with one massive hand on the small of my back, lowering me down into a dizzying dip.
When the kiss finally ended, the crowd erupted in applause and delight.
Now was the part of the ceremony when we turned to walked back down to the aisle, but as I tugged on his arm to turn and go, he shook his head at me, smiling. All mischief. “I’ve got a surprise for you,” he said into my ear.
My maids of honor stepped back, as did his men. Two priests joined the bishop that had married us. The organ music built up into one chest-shaking chord and then ceased. The cheers of the crowd died down.
There was a silence, the likes of which can only happen in a full cathedral—complete, sudden, and total. The priests bowed their heads; the squeak of the pews made me turn to look behind me. Coming down the aisle before us was the royal master of jewels. And on a green velvet cushion he carried a crown.
My crown.
I looked up at Randal, astonished.
“You mean…today? Now?” As if my wedding day hadn’t been overwhelmingly joyful enough. We had barely discussed my coronation. I had been too unclear on the rules to mention it, too unsure about how to ask. No matter what gowns or jewels I wore, I felt I’d always be a simple girl a heart. Affairs of kings and queens were far beyond me. But he was always a step ahead of me. He always knew the way.
“Yeah. Now, beautiful,” he said, with a very un-kingly grab of my ass, hidden from prying eyes by the voluminous folds of my wedding dress, and doubly shielded by their lowered heads and downcast eyes.
“You are my wife,” he growled softly into my ear, “and it’s about fucking time you become my Queen as well.”
After a day of feasting and celebrating, we were finally alone in our own private quarters. He’d prepared for this. There were candles lit and fresh fruit on the bedside table, along with a bottle of wine and a glass pitcher of water. The things we did together, the way we were in private, was hard and hungry work.
As soon as he shut the door behind us, the ferocity in his eyes told me what I’d been hoping since the moment he placed my crown on me. I might be Queen out there in the world, but here, in private, with just the two of us, I was still his possession. To use and have as he desired. I pulled a grape from the bunch by the bed and slid