Page 55 of The Winter Prince

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

He blinked at the abrupt subject change and leaned back. Perhaps he had pushed too much after all. “Not really. But if you are, I can...”

“I’m not,” she said quickly. “And I would much prefer to spend my first married night alone with my husband”—her heartbeat increased and her cheeks tinged in a blush—“than eating with my father’s soldiers.”

“Would you?” He barely dared to hope in case he was misunderstanding her words.

“Yes,” she whispered, stepping closer, closing the distance between them and brushing her fingers across his chest like she had once before in her dream.

A pleased growl rumbled through him, and Kienna’s eyes widened before she burst into a delighted laugh.

“Most of the time, indeed.” Her eyes twinkled. “Perhaps refrain from growling around my father.”

He leaned into her fingers. “I’m afraid you’ll have to refrain from touching me around him, then.”

She bit her lip again, this time to hold back a smile.

Enough. Better to be straightforward and know where he stood with her than this half-wondering, half-hoping agony.

“Kienna, my wife.” She gave a happy little hum at the title, emboldening him to continue. “This is new. I understand if you require time, so I leave it to you. Do you want me to escort you to your old room… or to ours?”

Her blush deepened at his word choice, but she barely hesitated—and it seemed more from nerves than misgivings—before she responded. “Ours, if you please.”

He didn’t bother trying to stop the delighted growl that rumbled through him again as he leaned in, gathering her up in his arms and kissing her.

She laughed against his lips, a sensation that he was instantly certain he wanted to experience every day for the rest of his life.

After he thoroughly kissed her, she leaned back, not pulling from his hold, just far enough so she could meet his eyes.

“I suppose I’ll have to accept that you’ll always be a bit feral.”

He grinned wolfishly at her and pressed a kiss to her jaw.

Another breathy laugh escaped her as she craned back to look at him again. “I think it will take far longer to get used to the idea of your age. You’re older than my grandfather.”

Revi snorted. “Yes. Though, for an Elyri, I’m quite young. It’s rare for someone my age to be handed a throne.”

The thought sobered him. Kienna seemed to sense it; she pressed her hand to rest against his chest, a gentle squeeze of understanding.

Suddenly, she frowned. “Does that mean I’m to grow old while you’re still in your prime?” Her eyes darted up to his. “Are you going to have to watch me die one day?”

Revi shook his head. “Our bond means we share everything. Including our lives, in the most literal sense. As long as my magic stays strong, my life—and yours—will extend far longer than a human’s would.” He hesitated. “Are you... comfortable with that?”

Her expression was solemn, but after a moment, she nodded. “It will be strange watching my family age without me, but...” She leaned into him, and he pressed his forehead to hers. “I chose you, not just because I wanted to save your life, but because I choseyou. I will take everything that comes with that, good and ill.”

“As will I.” His grip tightened on her. “I would die for you, and I will live for you even more than for my Court.” He shrugged. “Perhaps that makes me a terrible leader. Perhaps I should have let Enlo—” He cut off, his heart contracting at the thought of his cousin, leaving with only a message for him through Kienna. He closed his eyes against the wash of pain.

“You’re a great leader.” Kienna moved her hands to cup his face. “You’ve proven that plenty recently. Don’t start doubting yourself again now. Besides, you’ll have me to remind you.”

The thought was a balm. However imperfect he was, Kienna’s goodness would help him stay the course. He had no doubt that even if his people were uncertain of her at first, eventually she would become hope to them. Just like she had for him.

“I will.” He opened his eyes and met her gaze. “And that reminds me. I have something for you.”

Her brow knit together quizzically.

“Zenovor.” Magic threaded from him into her, but it took far less—or maybe he just felt the loss of it less with the curse broken—than it had to gift language to Zoya.

“Now,” he whispered in Elyri, brushing his thumb across her cheek, “you are ready to be the Winter Princess our people need.”

---