Page 89 of Coronation
I am a flawed man, a man who has made so many mistakes, and I cannot fathom how I could ever be worthy of something this good. However worthy or not, she is here, choosing me as fiercely as I am choosing her. As I listen to the rest of her vows and allow her to slide a ring onto my left hand—my chest so full it seems a miracle it doesn’t actually burst—I resolve to do everything in my power to ensure she never regrets it.
Time seems to be moving unevenly tonight, surging forward in great waves, then slowing to a crawl in others. When the ceremony comes to an end, and the priest declares us—finally—husband and wife, it seems to stop altogether.
Zelda’s face is warm and damp with tears as I cradle it in my hands, staring down at the awe-inspiring woman who is now my wife.
My wife.
My queen.
The mother of my child.
The love of my life.
Our kiss is soft, almost chaste, yet below the surface lies a bottomless well of meaning. I once thought I would drown in it, inher, but I know better now. Loving someone this much doesn’t make you sink; it makes you rise.
“My congratulations to you both,” the priest tells us quietly when we part, and it’s difficult to tear my eyes away from my new wife to thank the man properly.
“I very much appreciate your time and your discretion.” The subtle reminder doesn’t seem to surprise him, and he inclines his head slightly, shaking my offered hand.
At my side, Zelda offers him a watery smile. “Yes, thank you so much. It was so kind of you to agree to do this for us.”
While his motivations for signing the last-minute licenseand holding a wedding under the cover of night weren’t entirely altruistic, the priest doesn’t correct her. “It was an honor, Your Royal Highness.”
Pressed against me as she is, I feel Zelda recoil slightly at being addressed thus. It’s an effort not to laugh when I look down and see her shock. “Are you only now realizing?” I ask, lifting our intertwined hands to kiss the back of hers.
My wife seems to shake herself. “I mean,I knew, but I guess I forgot? That is so weird.”
“Let’s go home,” I suggest, unable to hold back a quiet chuckle. “We can discuss your title in the morning.”
Tonight, the only one I’m interested in ismy wife.
Thirty-Eight
Zelda
Rain is just beginning to fall over the grounds of Fernmoor House when we return. Ben doesn’t get out when I do, the deep timbre of his voice sounding from within the car as he says words I can’t make out to the driver. Closing my eyes, I allow my head to fall back, breathing in the scent of the damp earth as tiny drops of water fall over my face.
We’re married.
I haven’t managed to wrap my head around that quite yet. Probably to be expected, when only yesterday, I was so terrified of what the future would hold. There is still a lot that isn’t settled, of course. Even with all that’s to come, though, the certainty of the ring on my finger seems to tether my constantly overthinking mind to a place of stability.
People may be angry, but I’m still Ben’s wife. That isn’t something that can be undone so easily, and even if it were, I trust that the man I married would never allow it.
Behind me, the car door closes with a heavy thud, and Iturn, twining my arms around the neck of my new husband as the crunch of tires over gravel signals the driver leaving. Good. Ben’s lips meet mine in a kiss that tells me that His Royal Highness wouldnotbe down for an audience tonight.
“I have a confession to make,” he tells me, and one large hand presses to the small of my back, holding my body against his. We haven’t even stepped inside yet, and already I can feel the long, intimidating ridge of his erection pressed against my stomach.
Heat is flooding my body and loosening the muscles between my legs. My head falls back with a sigh, “What’s your confession, husband?” The new title makes his cock twitch against my belly.
With a low groan, Ben draws away from me, dark promise in his expression as he backs toward the house, my hand clutched in his. I allow myself to be pulled along, my breasts tight and wetness spreading over my lace panties.
No question about it, I’mextremelyattracted to my husband.
“I had this dream when we were first here. After the party.”
There is something in the roughness of his voice that has my core temperature rising. “A dream?”
Ben hums, reaching behind himself to open the door to Fernmoor House. Without further ado, he sweeps me off my feet and into his arms, a glint in his eye that tells me this was never going to be a tradition he would skip. “It felt so real that when I woke up, it took me a moment to understand that it wasn’t. I can’t remember ever having another like it.”
