Page 219 of Sunsplitter

No. They certainly didn’t.

His fearsome beast nuzzled a nose to his cheek, a contented purr on her lips. Antal breathed in the sweet ember scent of her hair, daring to imagine the endless things she could accomplish. The thingstheycould accomplish, together.

“Proud of you,” she said with taunting affection. “Now, shall we get to planning that wedding, Lord Daeyari?”

Fi, like any starry-eyed little girl with a less-than-healthy home life growing up, had envisioned her wedding day many ways.

A giant party perhaps, a night of dancing and food and music.

Or maybe a quiet retreat, two lovers secreting away to confess their devotion.

Whatever she’d imagined, it had never involved the entire city of Thomaskweld on the guest list. Nor a dressing room in the visitor wing of the capitol building, standing mirrors drawn into the center of the aurora-themed bedroom. Definitely, there’d been no expectation of a governor in full regalia, midnight jacket with silver buttons and a ceremonial sash across her shoulder, watching from a chair in the corner.

“We didn’t have to invite the whole city,” Fi told Kashvi, not for the first time.

“You’re marrying a Lord Daeyari. And you think thewhole citydoesn’t want to snoop? Besides, will do wonders for his public image.”

“If hispublic imagegets any softer, I’ll have to scoop him off the cobblestones—”

“Stop fidgeting!” Iliha complained. She bent at Fi’s back, slender fingers making efficient work of clothing ties.

The dress, too, was more than Fi had ever imagined.

A crimson bodice encased her torso, strapless, an overlay of black silk flowers framing her breasts and bunched at her waist. The tulle skirt blazed red to silver ombré, veiled in black gossamer and tiny white moonstones, pooling like starlight at the hem.

Fi’s hair, matching curls of Void and crimson, fell against her shoulders. Maroon painted her lips, silver dust on her lashes—bright as the silver iris glowing back in the mirror.

Since Antal’s appointment to the Dusk Council, there’d been a dizzying number of meetings to attend. Her favorite had been, of course, hearing Avroz declared guilty and dragged away in glowing red handcuffs.

A close second, the council had summonedherto stand before them and explain what, exactly, had happened to her eye. The story had been impressive enough that Fi earned a “partial-immortal” invitation to all future meetings. The grumbling among the older daeyari suggested this decision wasn’t unanimous. Qirza had silenced them with a dry, “Perhaps the dissenting councilors would like to sharetheirpersonal experiences of speaking with Veshri?”

Qirza seemed fun.

Finished with the dress, Iliha fussed with Fi’s hair, settling the curls just right on her shoulders, pinning back the front strands to display each gold-marked ear.

“You look stunning,” Kashvi said with rare solemnity. “That daeyari better realize how lucky he is.”

“Lucky to have the honor of my presence?” Fi said mildly. “Or that you haven’t shot him with a crossbow yet?”

Kashvi’s muttered, “It wouldn’t have to belethal…” made Iliha chuckle.

A knock sounded at the door.

Ixli slipped inside, dressed in a rare outfit of not-armor: dark trousers and a soft tunic trimmed in white vines that matched her hair. A wide braid topped her head, several smaller plaits around her antlers.

“Welcome,” Fi greeted airily, “esteemedneighbor.”

When Ixli and Syvr had been appointed to the neighboring territories, the daeyari had celebrated with that strange, silver-swirling liquor of theirs. Fi had finally sneaked a sip, and Void alive, theheadacheshe’d had the next morning. All worth it, to see Antal smile.

Ixli took a long look at Fi, eyes wide enough to flatter.

“You’re going to ruin him,” Ixli praised.

Fi scoffed. “I’ve already ruined him. All the rest is semantics.”

She’d not expected any more visitors. Ixli’s tail dipped, as the door opened wider.

Yme entered on wary steps, the look of a predator caught off guard, carrying a sizable metal box and a bouquet of midnight dahlias. Her purple dress hung to the floor, a silver shawl draping one shoulder. A single braid crowned her head, sides loose.