Page 80

But that's my job, isn't it? To keep my dragon—my fiancé—my husband—Mine Own grounded. To make sure he has the ability to do what he needs to, to the best of his ability.

His job is to serve everyone.

My job is to serve him.

And our shared job is to make the other as happy as we can.

So, that's where everyone is, and what everyone is doing.

Tah-dah.

Cue the credits, play the soppy top 40s love ballad.

Except.

Well.

There's one more part to the ending of a love story, and I'm sure you already know what I’m talking about. As Lord Byron once said: "All tragedies are finished by a death. All comedies are ended by a marriage."

The sunrise alarm clock is just begging to be smashed.

"Get up," Gem says.

"No." I roll over and smoosh my face into my pillow. I reach for Dav but he's not there. The bastard has left me to my sister's evil clutches. "Y'r not the boss o'me."

"No, the boss of you is already up and dressed," Stu says from somewhere near the door. I yank the sheets up. "Already seen your ass, bro."

"I am a valued and celebrated member of Her Majesty's Council, and a trusted consultant to Canada's Environmental and Draconic Affairs ministers," I pout. "Which means I get to sleep in if I want to."

"Not today, you don't," Gem says and runs her hand through my bedhead gently. "Come on, my lord."

"M'not a lord," I remind Gem.

"And you never will be if you don't get your ass in gear," Stu says.

" Why are you talking about my ass so much today?"

" Why are you flashing it at me?"

I groan and finally sit up. "There, happy?"

"Ecstatic," Stu deadpans. "Shower and shave. Go."

"Whyyyy?" I whine.

"Because somebody decided that it would be, and I quote, 'awesome to do the brunch thing with, like, our nearest and dearest before we have to go do the big media-frenzy royal-wedding-of-the-century bullshit'," Gem says in a scarily accurate impression of me.

"Also, because your friends are already here and they're driving me crazy," Stu says.

"Friends… why…" I say, and then my brain finally comes online.

Oh.

I'm getting married today.

"Ah, there he is," Stu says, and comes into the room to ruffle my hair, too.

"Fuck off," I mutter, batting them away.

"Such elegant language for such an elegant lord," Stu laughs, as Gem throws my bathrobe at my head.

"Come on," she says. "Things to do, people to tie your life to."

"Yes, drill sergeant," I mutter. "You both gonna stand there and watch?"

Gem rolls her eyes, but drags our brother out of the room.

Alone at last.

I seriously consider crawling back under the blankets, but I can hear voices in the house below.

I can feel Cook and Sarah's patience running thin from here, so I slump to the ensuite to start my day.

I've only got an hour before the brunch starts, so I pull on my wedding suit, knowing that someone will stop me somewhere between the bedroom and the ballroom to tie my cravat correctly.

Last night, Dav and I had taken a moonlight stroll through the vineyard and exchanged private wedding gifts.

I'd given him a lovely golden ear cuff, the same color as his freckles.

It was dripping with rubies the shade of his scales, and citrines that matched his sunflower eyes.

I'd seen a similar design on several of the dragons at court, and I wanted to proclaim my adoration of this man to everyone who saw him rock up to the noble sessions in his sexy-ass court attire.

In return, he'd gifted me with a Marchon's circlet, a headband meant to be worn across the brow the same way he wore his.

It was silver, etched with a simple stylized streams of fire, and and wreathed with hammered metal grape leaves which cradled the four pearls of a Marquisate.

Little embedded chips of emerald made the leaves shine when I tilted it to catch the light.

While the design was too masculine to be called a tiara, exactly, it still fulfilled essentially the same purpose.

I slide the circlet over my arm, which feels like a stupid way to carry it.

Unfortunately, our second, distinctly more fleshy exchange of gifts last night meant that I'd been too caught up in the afterglow, and I'd accidentally left the fancy cushioned box somewhere out among the grapes.

And I'm not supposed to wear the circlet until Dav puts it on me in the ceremony, so…

actually, I should find Hadi and make her look after it as my Best Man.

Best Lady.

Best Friend.

Ugh.

Coffee .

I'm not the only one desperate for caffeine. When I make it to the kitchen, there’s a handsome, ginger-haired dragon standing in front of the gloriously fancy espresso machine that had been gifted to us. Dav's huffing and muttering to himself, wrenching on the steamer wand like a cranky toddler.

"You'll break it," I say from the doorway, and Dav jumps, mouth sparking guiltily.

"This wretched thing… I'm sorry," he says. "I cannot make it give up anything palatable. I think Raibeart Rìgh sent it to tease us."

"It works if you do it right," I tell him, hanging my jacket and circlet over the back of one of the chairs.

"Shove over." I hip check my fiancé out of the way when he moves too slow, and he slaps my ass in retaliation.

"Careful now, you're gonna want that in pristine shape for tonight. Get some mugs."

As Dav does, I start the Americano, press the espresso, line up the wand, tap out twenty-seven seconds with the toe of my chucks as the machine hisses.

"Caffe Tobio for you, sir."

Dav takes a sip and sighs in delight as I start a caramel latte. "I'd ask for a scone to go with it, but I don't think burning down the kitchen this morning is a good idea."

"Ha fucking ha. Nice suit by the way. Clothes horse."

"Just because I come from an age when men wore high heels and actually cared about their appearance—"

By then I'm done at the machine. I set both of our mugs on the counter, and he takes my hand.

He presses five soft kisses against the dime-sized scars on my bicep.

Which becomes a kiss on the shoulder. Which becomes a sucking kiss on my neck, low enough that my collar will cover it later. Which becomes—

"Oh my god!" Gem shrills. She's in the doorway with Carys in her arms. The baby clamps her hands to the side of her head. "What are you two doing?"

"Having sex in the kitchen?" I say, at the same time Dav blurts, "Just getting coffee!"

Apparently our guests were thinking the same, because Owain shoves past Gem to wag a finger at us. "You shouldn't even be looking at him! It's bad luck!"

"Neither of us is a bride, Father," Dav snorts.

"Still bad luck," Laura tuts, following him in and heading for the cupboard to take down mugs.

"That's not fair!" I whine, gesturing at Dav's everything . "He's evolved from a Snacc-Dragon into a full-ass three-course-meal."

Hadi rolls her eyes as she elbows past me to get at the espresso machine. "Okay, who wanted what?"

The rest of my family, the rest of Dav's, and all of our friends pour into the room.

Before I know it, Mum's got my waistcoat buttoned, Paulette's got my cravat, and my throat, in her claws, and my caramel latte is so far away .

I hold out my hand and make gimmie fingers. Dav takes pity on me and hands me my coffee. He pulls us as far away from the rest of the group as possible, right into the bay window. He helps me shrug into my jacket and loosens Paulette's choke-hold knot.

"Oh my god, thank you," I tell him. He leans back against the sill and opens his arms for me to hide. "This was possibly not a good idea."

"Overwhelming?"

"Loud," I agree. "All these people . What the fuck are they even all doing here, anyway?"

"Celebrating us, more's the pity," Dav says with mock seriousness. "I'm afraid manners dictate that we're not allowed to kick them out until we've at least given them dinner, cake, and a few dances."

"Boo hiss," I sulk, sipping my latte.

God, this shit is good. Nothing will ever be better than dragon-roasted coffee. Except, maybe, the dragon-smoked chocolate he's started to experiment with. Which I can actually eat.

"If it's any consolation, it's worth it to see you all trussed up like this for me. What's this?" Dav asks, running his thumb along the edge of my new lapel pin.

It's the Tudor Rose, but instead of floating in a white field, the rose is now on a flag held aloft by the curled foreleg of a lamb—the traditional standard-bearer, I learned, of the Levesque coat of arms. It's still banded by laurels, and joined at the bottom with a lick of flame.

It signifies the joining of the Tudor and Levesque houses—equal and balanced.

I say as much.

"Your father would have been pleased," Dav says, and that little stab is back.

That one where you don’t remember, for a second, that someone you love is not here to share this moment with you. Until you do.

But it's okay.

I mean.

Obviously not okay .

But Dad is here, in a way. Here on my lapel.

Here in my heart.

Here, with his name on my husband-to-be's lips.

Nice.

"Yeah." I lean against Dav's chest, craning to meet his sunflower eyes. "But this will still be good."

"And what's 'this'?" Dav repeats, only now we're not talking about my pin. He links our pinkies. "What part of the story are we in now?"

I lean up to press my lips to that saucy corner of Dav's mouth, right at that not-quite-a-dimple. Hoarding his Peter Pan Kiss for myself, for the rest of forever.

"I thought it was obvious," I say, palming his ass.

I can feel my wedding band in his pocket. I can't wait for him to slip it on, warm from the heat of his fire and strength, the tenderness burning at the bright center of the man I love.

"Tell me anyway, Mine Own," he says softly, linking our pinkie fingers together behind him.

"This?" I bite his lower lip just once, teasing. "This is the bit of the story with the Happily Ever After."

I don't really have to tell you what happened next.

But I will, anyway.

Hey, reader?

I fucking married him.

The End