Page 56 of Peculiar Engagements

Charon opened his mouth, and even though Yves couldn’t hear anything over the crack of thunder and roar of the rain, he knew Charon had said his name.

Yves wasn’t certain who moved first, but he felt as though he were being propelled by a force outside of himself, striding through puddles and shedding flower petals onto the street. Charon closed the distance, and Yves swayed to a halt as Charon finally stood before him, tall and beautiful and staring down at him with a familiar fierce intensity that Yves finally knew was love.

Then, in a slow, deliberate movement, Charon fell to his knees.

Yves’ breath caught in his throat. Dominants didn’t kneel for their submissives. It simply wasn’t done. Dominants didn’t even kneel for King Adrien, the first submissive king in centuries, but there Charon was, on his knees in the rain. Yves suspected that the only thing keeping him upright as well was Charon’s eyes on his, and he could feel the gaze of the shocked crowd as they closed in around them.

“Yves,” Charon said. “I was a fool.” Yves opened his mouth to say something—yes, you were, no, you weren’t, no, I don’t care anymore—but Charon continued, his voice strong and sure. “I thought that I left because you deserved better than the man I was, but I was just a coward. I was afraid that I’d hurt you.”

“You hurt me anyway,” Yves said.

“I know.” Charon said, and he took Yves’ hands in his. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you the truth, Yves. I’ve been a soldier, a torturer, a traitor, an exile, a courtesan. But more than that,more than all the things I’ve been and what I could become, I am a man who loves you. If you still love me…” Charon squeezed Yves’ hands so tight that Yves gasped. “…then let me love you again tomorrow, and the day after, and when your vision fades and your bones ache, and when I am no longer strong enough to do anything more than say that I love you still.”

Yves got to his knees, never minding that the rainwater pooling in the street was staining his wedding suit. “You’ll never leave me like that again,” he said.

“No.”

“And you know I have a reputation. A professional brat can’t give in right away.”

A smile started to tease the corner of Charon’s mouth. “I know.”

“That means I’ll need to leave town to save my reputation after this,” Yves said. “So you might as well come with me. We’ll see Gerakia, and Thalassa, and maybe even Lukos, if you’re averygood dominant and I’m feeling charitable.”

“Yes,” Charon said, smiling truly now. “Of course.”

“Good.” Yves grabbed Charon’s face in both hands. “Then I love you, Charon. And you never have to ask me if I still love you, because I’ll never stop, and you’ll never be rid of me.” He climbed into Charon’s lap to kiss him, and Charon wrapped his arms around Yves’ waist and kissed him back.

Between the heady rush of his own heart racing and the sight of Charon smiling at him as though he were a shaft of sunlight piercing through the clouds, Yves barely noticed that the crowd surrounding them had burst into delighted applause.

Eleven

King Adrien may have beena generous man, but he likely wasn’t pleased to hear that one of the grooms in the biggest wedding of the season had fled the altar. A crowd of witnesses didn’t make an escape any easier, and Charon had to lift Yves over a fence to escape the curious spectators. They took lodgings at an inn under Sabre and Laurent’s names, and the moment they were safely inside the best room at the inn, Yves leaned against the door and laughed.

“Wehavemade a mess,” he said. “Do you think any of them will forgive us?”

“Eventually,” Charon said, collapsing on a chair. The adrenaline that had urged him forward for the past few days was gone, leaving his limbs sluggish and his mind drifting. “You look beautiful in that suit.”

“The suit is in tatters, Charon,” Yves said, with a warm smile. It faded slightly as he took in Charon’s slumped posture in the chair. “Are you all right?”

“Only a little tired,” Charon managed to say. “Went from Red Harbor to Duciel in three—no, four days.”

“You…you were in Red Harbor? But it’s on fire!”

“Parts of it.” Charon started easing out of his boots, and Yves knelt to pull them off. “You were worried about the people trapped there. I thought I would check.”

“Right. And that wasn’t you being self-destructive either.” Yves tugged on Charon’s other boot. “But it takes a week to get here from the harbor. When was the last time you ate? Or slept?”

“Must have at some point,” Charon said.

Yves stood, his sodden wedding suit sloshing a little as he moved. “Wait right here.”

Charon didn’t think he could trust himself to move even if he tried. He must have fallen asleep shortly after Yves left the room, because he had dim flickers of consciousness amid the dark, comforting warmth of sleep. He had a faint recollection of Yves in his lap with a blanket and a tray of fruit, Yves leading him to a bath that was too small for both of them, a bed covered in thick woolen blankets, and Yves wrapped around him as night fell over Duciel.

When he woke at last, the sky outside the window was still dark, and the fire had gone out in the hearth. Yves was sprawled over Charon with a golden diadem wound in his hair, and Charon reached over to ease it loose. Yves lazily swatted his hand away and opened his lovely green eyes.

“I didn’t get married today,” Yves said. He sounded inordinately pleased with himself.

“No.” Charon tipped Yves’ chin up and kissed him softly. “You did not.”

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