Page 101 of Kazimir

“Then I met you, and I thought perhaps the universe had developed a sense of humor. Because there you were—beautiful and severe and old enough to have opinions about everything. You frightened me. You fascinated me. You made me angry in ways that were, frankly, very inconvenient.”

That drew a fuller murmur of amusement. Beside me, Bohdan coughed in a manner suspiciously close to a laugh. I ignored him with princely discipline.

Devon’s expression gentled again.

“But beneath all of that, I felt something I had not felt since before I could remember myself. Safety. Not the safety of being hidden away or made small. The safety of being seen fully and not discarded for what was difficult. The safety of someone powerful choosing not to own me, but to stand beside me.”

The words went into me like a blade turned hilt-first. Not pain. Acknowledgment.

“I vow that I will love you as you are,” she said. “Not only the king, others bow to. Not only the strategist, the patriarch, the man who can terrify a room with a glance. I vow I will love the private man too. The lonely one you tried to bury. The tender one you thought had no place in you anymore. I see him. I will not let you disappear from yourself again.”

It was a difficult thing, being looked at so directly by the woman one loved while in front of two hundred witnesses. I managed it because I had practice being watched. I did not manage it without cost.

“I vow you honesty,” she continued, “even when honesty is awkward or inconvenient or likely to start an argument in a room full of expensive furniture. I vow that if I am afraid, I will try not to run from you. I vow that if memory returns in pieces sharp enough to cut, I will not hide those pieces away where they can poison us. I will bring them into the light with you.”

Her grip tightened around my hand.

“I vow my strength, whatever form it takes. My wings. My voice. My strange celestial instincts. My hope. My stubbornness, which you are simply going to have to live with. I will stand with you in your house, in your work, in your battles, and in your quiet. I will make a home with you, not merely occupy one.”

Then her voice softened further, and that intimacy in it somehow carried farther than volume could have.

“I did not know, when I named myself Devon Wade, that one day I would stand before kings and monsters and angels and be loved exactly as that woman. But I am. And I choose you exactly as you are, too. My dark king. My refuge. My home. For as long as time will have us.”

I forgot for a moment that anyone else existed.

Nikolay, the traitor to private feeling that he was by profession, allowed only the briefest pause before concluding. “These vows are witnessed. These hearts are joined. By the authority vested in me by ancient custom, by house and council, and by the blessing already laid upon this bond, I pronounce you husband and wife.”

His mouth curved. “You may kiss your bride.”

I did not hesitate.

My free hand came to Devon’s jaw, then slid to the back of her neck. She rose toward me at once, her bouquet already passed away without my even seeing by whom. When our mouths met, applause had not yet begun. For one precious instant there was only the warm softness of her lips, the faint tremor in her body, the bright rush of her joy pouring across the bond into me. I kissed her with care first, then more deeply when she leaned in and the room ceased to matter.

The sound that rose around us then was substantial. Applause. Cheers from less restrained quarters. A wolf whistle I suspected came from somewhere in Iron Valor’s section, though I chose not to identify the culprit publicly. Devon smiled against my mouth. I rested my forehead briefly to hers before drawing back, unwilling and dignified in equal measure.

Music rose again, lighter now, and the ceremony yielded almost seamlessly into celebration. Staff moved with polished efficiency. Drinks appeared. Soft conversation uncoiled through the hall. The transition had been planned precisely, yet what struck me most was not the execution. It was the atmosphere. Obsidian had hosted pleasures, bargains, and threats. Tonight it hosted joy without irony.

I kept Devon close as we descended from the stage.

My hand settled at the small of her back, where it remained for most of the evening unless etiquette demanded otherwise. The gesture was protective, yes, but not possessive in the old sense. It was acknowledgment. Mine, and I hers. The bond between us rested warm and lucid, no longer raw with battle or sharpened by danger, only alive and certain.

The first to approach among the ruling ranks were the wolf kings.

Bridger Hardin came with Savannah beside him. He inclined his head to Devon first, a mark not lost on anyone watching. “Your Majesty,” he said, his voice precise and controlled. “Congratulations. You honor this house.”

Devon answered with an easy grace that made my chest tighten with pride. “Thank you, King Bridger. I’m very pleased you came.”

Savannah’s smile carried warmth and steel both. “You were worth crossing territory lines for, darling. Also, I wanted to see whether anyone actually managed to get Kazimir married.”

A flicker of amusement passed through me. Devon laughed softly.

“It appears someone did,” she said.

“Miracles remain in fashion,” Savannah replied.

Rafe Mayfield greeted us next, broad hand firm when I took it, his Alabama polish carrying no strain. “You’ve done well, Kazimir,” he said quietly enough to keep the remark personal. Then to Devon, with courtly regard, “Ma’am, you look like a vision. Congratulations to you both.”

“You’re very kind,” Devon said.