Page 66 of Mated to the Mad Marquess

When they were pronounced husband and wife, Malcolm touched his brow to the new marchioness, showing his great affection for her. Hrafn watched on, Solis beside her, holding her hand.

“Take care, my dear friend,” Malcolm told his bride. He and Hrafn had already packed. Dressed lightly in leathers and fitted with a bag of essentials, they planned to leave immediately accompanied by two nearly full-grown shadow babies and a demon hawk. By letter, the villager, Lindiwe, had provided Hrafn with a list of her family members who lived outside the Faelands. They were the first of the Manna-heim Hrafn intended to visit.

“Come and see me at least once before the end of time,” Elspeth told him.

“We will,” Malcolm vowed.

* * *

They had one brief stop left before they paved their way south to sleep under the stars, hunt and forage for their food, battle any dangers that got in their way, and stir up dangers when there weren’t any to entertain them.

Malcolm took his true mate to supper that evening at the home of the King of Night. Hrafn wanted to meet the legendary warrior queen she’d heard so much about, and though he was eager to chase adventures with her, he could deny his mate nothing.

They feasted in a grand dining hall with arched ceilings and glistening hardwood floors, an impossibly long dinner table between them. The meal was an intimate affair with no other guests. Rain of House Night, a Seelie witch and a bloody queen, sat at the end of the table across from Hrafn. Their physical differences were stark. Rain’s hair was as white as Malcolm’s, her face heart-shaped. Hrafn’s braids were long and black. The queen’s skin was pale where Hrafn was bronze.

They exchanged war stories while their demon familiars played a trickster game together. Beside the table, Ezra transformed into a panther. The demon cat shifted into the same form then broke into a black mist and shifted into a spider. Ezra followed suit before picking the next shape, a coal-colored wolf. They played this game until the room reeked of sulfur and their witches begged them to stop, worried they’d spoil everyone’s appetite.

The marquess and his king claimed the opposite end of the table. After they’d finished the first course, Malcolm removed a small box from his pocket and set it beside Night’s plate.

The fairy child, Clapa, played in Night’s antlers, swinging and giggling. Lumpy and Ember were all that remained of the shadow babies. After blending with the others, they’d grown to be about the size of a small dog. They rolled around Malcolm’s chair, playing a game of chase.

“What’s in the box?” Night asked.

Malcolm motioned to have his wine glass refilled. A footman was quick to oblige him. “That’s a piece of god soul and all that’s left of the monster you ordered me to end. You’re the better person to keep that safe than I. I’ll be on the move, and I don’t want it falling into the wrong hands.”

The box opened with a creak, revealing the shiny tear-shaped drop of soul that glittered like a crystal. Night examined it, hovering in close.

“Oooo,” Clapa purred. “Shine-shiny!” She dove for the dazzling treat, snatching it from the box before the king could close it.

“Clapa, no!” Night spoke too late.

The little fairy opened her mouth wide and swallowed the piece of soul whole. A lump slid down her tiny throat. She belched when she was finished. “Secuzzy,” she said apologetically, smiling her brightest and sharpest shark smile.

Malcolm watched wide-eyed as the little fairy fluttered from the room, joining the shadow toddlers in a game of chase.

“Gods,” he said. “How worried should we be right now, do you think?”

Night’s jaw had gone slack. “I . . . I have no idea . . . She’s sweet and she loves us like family, but . . .”

“She’s powerful and bloody violent,” Malcolm added.

“True. There’s a lot of that around here, though,” Night said fondly, jutting his gray chin toward his wife.

They laughed off their worries and enjoyed the second course—roast lamb, baked vegetables, and boiled eggs. Malcolm finished another glass of wine while Night tended to his tea.

“I’ve been looking at our lovely mates all evening, Lord King,” he said out of the side of his mouth, his unsteady gaze focused on the warrior women. “Now I’m wondering if you’re thinking what I’ve been thinking. Or have I simply had too much wine?”

“You’ve probably had too much wine.” Night lifted his tea to his lips and sipped, hiding his smile behind the ceramic. “But I may also be thinking the same thing.”

“It’s an extremely compelling thought. You have to admit.”

“Yes,” Night drawled, “compelling.”

“Extremelycompelling,” Malcolm stressed.

The king waved his words away. “Yes, yes.”

The marquess scratched at the grizzled scruff on his chin. He pulled off a piece of roasted lamb from his cooling plate and chewed on it a while. “I would enjoy watching it play out.”

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