Page 155 of A Cursed Son

He chuckles and kisses my cheek. “Fair. But we’ll do it right. First, I’ll kiss you a million times, hold you tight in my arms, shower you with loving touches. We’ll take a week to get there.”

I’ll die if I have to wait a week. He might be joking, but I’m not sure. I pinch his arm. “It’s not a performance, you know? And you won’t be graded. There’s no beginning or end. Just now. And us here, apart from the rest of the world. Does anything else matter?”

He caresses my face. “Not right now, no. Tell me, Astra. Tell me you’re my wife in earnest.”

“What about you?”

“I’ve been your husband from the day we got married, in case you didn’t notice.”

That doesn’t make any sense. “Kind of hard to notice when you kept telling me I was unattractive.”

He shakes his head. “You’ll never forgive me, will you?”

“I just want to understand!” And it’s true.

He sighs. “I thought you were pretending and wanted you to stop it, but it was a lie, Astra. A clumsy, absurd lie. But I’m sure you weren’t lying when you told me I was half roasted.”

Ouch. The memory still makes me cringe. “If it helps, I regretted saying it immediately. I regret it even more now.”

He runs a finger over the left side of his head, over the scars, and shrugs. “Truth is truth. Not saying what you think won’t change what happened or the way I look.”

I pull his scarred hand and kiss it. “You’re beautiful.”

“I’m glad there are still people with odd taste in this world.”

“Why do you have to be silly right now?”

“Not silly. Tell me you’re my wife, Astra,” he insists.

I sigh, but then smile and look into his mesmerizing dark eyes. “I promise to honor and protect you, love and appreciate you, cherish and respect you.” I can feel the power in the words, the energy in them, and our bond getting stronger.

He holds my face again. “From now until forever, we’re bonded in light. I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe, wife.” He leans closer and whispers in my ear. “Do you still hate that word?”

A warm, pleasant shiver runs down my spine, and I can swear he’s using some air magic. I whisper, “No.”

He unhooks my scabbard and pushes Dusklight aside, then wraps his arms around me and holds me tight, just like in the dreams. I want to feel the skin on his chest, touch him, so I push up his shirt. He pulls it above his head and tosses it to the ground. In front of me is the chest I’ve seen so many times, the star that comforted me for so many nights. I run my finger softly over his scars, where the skin feels thinner, smoother and hairless, with a few bumps.

“Your scars are brilliant in my dreams,” I tell him.

He looks at his hand and chuckles. “In real life it’s just ugly, stretched skin.”

“There’s nothing ugly about you. And it was your choice not to glamour or cover up your scars, wasn’t it?”

He huffs. “What’s the point of hiding the outer scars, when the inner ones are so much deeper? It’s who I am.”

“I like who you are.”

“I thought you preferred the dream Marlak.”

“You said it was you! And I’d rather have you here, real and solid, even if imperfect, than those intangible dreams. I mean, ideally I’d like to have both, without the confusion of awakening in a different reality.”

He moves a lock of my hair away from my face, then kisses my forehead and holds me tight, then says, “I like this reality.”

I run my hand over his star, that beautiful star, even if it’s a sign of all the unbearable pain he’s gone through. I kiss it, then kiss his stomach. With every kiss, his breath gets more ragged.

He’s still wearing the belt from where his dagger hung. I think I want to open it, undress him, but then he lifts me and lies me on the cushioned platform. It’s his turn to kiss my neck, my collarbone, then, slowly, one by one, undo the buttons of my blouse, and push it down my shoulders and off my arms. His eyes are dark, reflecting the glow of the lightstone. I could swear there’s a light dancing in his eyes, a light between us.

His fingers brush my skin softly, something about that touch making me shiver and warming me at the same time. Such a lovely touch over my stomach, above my breasts. I close my eyes, delighting in the sensation of such a simple touch, and whisper, “Make me your wife, Marlak. Now. I’m not going to wait a week.”