“That was cruel of you,” I whispered, “making me admit I loved you before, while you were blatantly withholding information from me.”
“I knew I had one chance, and one chance alone, to get you to admit it.”
I could have smacked him.
But I kissed him instead.
CHAPTER 57
ELLIE
I may or may not have rigged the dance cards.
But as it was my wedding, it wasn’t as if anyone would say anything about it.
Except for maybe Fin, who was holding the Queen of Naenden’s sister like one might grasp a sparkler.
And, oh, did she sparkle.
It wasn’t just her dress, golden and glimmering and highlighting the glow of her perfect cheekbones.
It was her smile, practically effervescent. Her warm brown eyes glinting with elation.
Fin’s tanned cheeks had flushed.
“Proud of yourself?” my husband asked, sidling up beside me and nudging me with his elbow.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Evander grinned, ear to ear, and it was a wonder I didn’t melt onto the floor.
Evander. My husband.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to the way that word hummed in my blood, tugged at the corners of my lips.
“You haven’t spoken to me since the ceremony,” I mused, sipping on the spiced cider Collins had brewed at my request.
Evander ran his hands through his hair, sending copper tufts sticking out in all directions.
He wore tousled like it was a style. And managed to look good in it, too. It really wasn’t fair.
Before my mind could run away with me, launching me into a vision of later tonight when I would be the reason for his disheveled hair, Evander said, “That’s because you make me nervous, looking like that. I had to work up the courage to even come over here and speak to you.”
He gestured to my gown, which I had to admit was a bit overwhelming to look at. The tailor had fashioned it of white-blue crystal, the ragged gems ranging from pebble to hand-width in size. It was both dazzling and, well, somewhat intimidating. In fact, I’d refrained from wiping my palms on my skirts for fear of slicing my hand.
I sort of loved it.
Imogen had fixed my hair, tying my curls into a simple updo, allowing the thick, shorter strands in the front to drape across my forehead and frame my face.
My heart had given a sad little lurch when she’d applied my paint, but I’d pushed it away.
It didn’t do to be morose on one’s wedding day.
It had been Evander’s idea to hold the wedding tonight, merely a month after the fiasco with Blaise, a mooncycle after he proposed.
Not because he’d wanted to rush into marriage.
No, that side of him had left me stranded in my father’s workshop that day, breathless and reeling and so, so happy.
He’d returned three hours later, his father’s written blessing in hand.
Then he’d taken my parents aside and spent another three hours convincing them to give us their blessing too.
And then, in true Evander fashion, he’d asked me to marry him.
“You already asked me that,” I reminded him.
“No, I know. I mean tonight. Marry me tonight. Even better, marry me right now.”
I’d glanced over at my parents, sure they were about to rescind any blessing Evander might have secured, but my father had only let out a bellowing laugh, and my mother, my sure and steadfast mother, looked as though she might swoon.
“What did you say to them?” I hissed.
“That, my dearly betrothed”—he tapped me on the nose, to which I scrunched it up—“is for me to know, and for you to spend the next decade hounding me about.”
“We can’t get married right now,” I whispered.
He blinked, much more innocently than was warranted. “Whysoever not?”
