Union (19 page)

“Almost there.” Ryneq’s fingers dug into the taut flesh covering Nykin’s hips—hard enough to bruise—and Nykin cried out, his release spilling over his hand to be washed away by the water. Ryneq followed soon after, burying his teeth in Nykin’s shoulder with a low groan. The hot pulse of his release hit the top of Nykin’s ass and slid down between his cheeks.

Nykin felt the warmth of Ryneq’s breath over the back of his neck as he took a moment to recover, and he wished they could stay like this—locked away from everything—for a little longer. “I don’t want to move.”

“Neither do I. But we should hurry,” Ryneq whispered, peppering kisses over where he’d marked Nykin’s skin. “Wouldn’t do to keep Ahlyria waiting.”

They quickly finished showering, using some of the soaps provided by the elves, and hurriedly toweled off before getting dressed. Both Ryneq and Nykin were in formal clothes this time, Nykin’s uniform now folded and left on the end of the bed. They wore red cloaks over the top, with the emblem of Torsere—an outline of Mount Tors and the Stone Palace—etched into the thick metal clasp. The bright red of the cloak looked vibrant against Ryneq’s dark hair and eyes, and Nykin’s heart always stuttered a little when he saw him in it. But this was the first time Nykin had dressed according to his official status as the king’s consort.

The pants he wore were similar to the ones he’d worn for the announcement ceremony, cut tight around his ass and thighs, but almost black this time instead of dark blue. He had on a crisp white shirt, open at the collar, and the matching jacket tapered in at his waist and came down to midthigh. Nykin left it open at the front and turned to catch Ryneq staring at him. His gaze lingered on the front of Nykin’s pants where the material clung to him. “What?” Nykin asked, looking down to check he’d tied the front closed.

“You look good dressed like that.” Ryneq licked his lips, and Nykin willed himself not to react. He doubted he could hide anything in these pants. “I’m just not sure I want to share you with everyone else.”

Nykin grumbled something about not being one of Ryneq’s toys, but deep down he secretly loved the way Ryneq got so possessive. He was fiery and rough, and sometimes that was exactly what Nykin needed. Now, though, was not one of those times, so he ignored the hungry expression on Ryneq’s face and sat down on the bed to pull on his boots.

“Ready?” Ryneq held out his hand for Nykin and pulled him up onto his feet when Nykin slotted their fingers together. Nykin nodded, and Ryneq kissed him softly—a promise of more when they returned to the room later—and led Nykin out of the door.

R
YNEQ
WOKE
early the next morning, the unfamiliar surroundings making him unable to fall back to sleep. Nykin was still fast asleep, sprawled out over the bed on his back, with one arm resting on the pillow up above his head.

He looked so much younger like that, relaxed and heavy with sleep, and Ryneq fleetingly wondered if he’d done the right thing in making Nykin his consort. Nykin was only three years younger than Ryneq’s twenty-five, but Ryneq had been born into this, and Nykin hadn’t. He didn’t doubt they had feelings for each other—Ryneq’s were growing deeper every day, and he knew Nykin felt the same. But he’d placed a huge responsibility on Nykin’s young shoulders, and sometimes, in quiet moments like this, Ryneq thought maybe it had been selfish of him to do it all so quickly.

Nykin stirred sleepily, his eyes blinking open, and he looked up at Ryneq and smiled. The warmth in his eyes made Ryneq’s breath catch, and he knew then, selfish or not, he wouldn’t change a thing.

“Hey.” Nykin yawned and stretched out like a cat, making the bedsheet drop low over his hips. He cast a glance over at the window, where the sun was barely up. “You’re awake early.”

Ryneq shrugged and reached out to run his fingers over the flat planes of Nykin’s belly. “Couldn’t sleep.” He grinned when Nykin shivered under his touch, and he leaned down to plant a chaste kiss on Nykin’s lips. “Besides, I have an early breakfast meeting to discuss the wedding plans.”

Nykin hummed. “Oh yes, I’d forgotten.”

The supper with the elves had been relaxing and enjoyable, and Ryneq had found himself warming to them all much more than he’d expected. Ahlyria and Nihathyl treated Nykin and Selene with the same respect as they did him and Cerylea. In fact, they treated everyone that way, even the elves who served their food, and Ryneq liked the lack of formality.

Ahlyria had suggested they have an early breakfast to discuss the details of the wedding, and both Cerylea and Ryneq had readily agreed. The ceremony itself was still a gray area for Ryneq, and he didn’t think Prince Morkryn had given Cerylea much information about what would happen. Or if he had, then she’d kept it to herself.

Ryneq also wanted to know how the magical protection worked. He knew Torsere wouldn’t be protected as soon as Cerylea and Morkryn were married—the elves had been quite clear on that point. But he didn’t know exactly how long it would take, or how the elf magic would reach all the way to the Stone Palace and its surrounding villages.

“When do you need to leave?” Nykin asked, looking much more awake than he had a moment ago.

Ryneq’s gaze dragged down the length of Nykin’s body, settling on the growing bulge now tenting the sheet. He arched an eyebrow, and Nykin smirked up at him, not even pretending it was an innocent question. “Not for a while.”

“Good.” Nykin grabbed Ryneq’s hand and tugged him roughly forward, grunting out a laugh as Ryneq landed heavily on top of him.

C
ERYLEA
WAS
already seated with Prince Morkryn and Queen Ahlyria when Ryneq arrived. Breakfast was served in the same room where they’d eaten supper the night before, but this time the huge picture windows were open, and the table was out on the wide balcony overlooking the sea. Ryneq could see both his ships from there, and the sight comforted him.

“Morning, Brother. Sleep well?” Cerylea had an amused look about her.

Ryneq knew he wasn’t late, but she just seemed to know what he and Nykin had been up to.

“Yes, thank you.” He turned to the others and bid them good morning before taking his seat opposite Ahlyria.

“Before we start, I believe I owe you and your sister an apology,” Ahlyria began. “I’m sorry we didn’t suggest you come by sea before now. I fear your troubles with Hatak and Seran could well have been avoided. The fault was mine.”

Ryneq inclined his head in acceptance of her apology. She was right, but it would do no good to dwell on the past. “Is that why you allowed Prince Morkryn to come to our aid?”

Ahlyria smirked and glanced at her son. “Prince Morkryn is headstrong. I don’t control everything he chooses to do.” She didn’t add anything further, but Ryneq doubted Morkryn would have left Alel for Torsere without the queen’s agreement.

“Well, we were very grateful for his help,” Cerylea cut in, and Morkryn smiled at her.

Ryneq relaxed in his chair and considered the issue dealt with. They had other more pressing matters to discuss, after all.

“Speaking of Seran,” Ahlyria began. “Do you believe he is in any way connected with your troubles at sea?”

“It’s possible,” Ryneq answered. The thought had crossed his mind more than once. “We’ve heard nothing from him for over a week now, and his lack of action was making me nervous. Maybe he’s managed to ally himself with a witch.”

“But if that’s true, why not attack Torsere?” Ahlyria made a good point, and Ryneq really had no answer for her. “If they knew enough to attack your ships, surely they would think Torsere to be an easier target than Alel. We are very well protected here, as you well know.”

“I have no idea,” Ryneq said. “Maybe Seran has nothing to do with it after all, but I think we should be on our guard anyway. As impenetrable as Alel appears, I fully expect Seran to try something before the wedding, whether he is allied with a witch or not.”

Ahlyria nodded her head in acknowledgement. “Noted. Now that’s out of the way, please”—she gestured to the plates of delicious-looking food on the table, and Ryneq’s mouth watered at the sight—“help yourselves.”

“Is Nihathyl not joining us?” he asked, meeting Ahlyria’s clear blue eyes as she shook her head.

“No, I’m afraid not. He’s busy organizing everything for the ceremony.”

As Ryneq filled his plate, he idly wondered where they got all their food, and Ahlyria answered as though he’d asked it out loud.

“We grow it all ourselves,” she said proudly. “There are huge greenhouses built on the outskirts of the city. I’m sure Nihathyl would be delighted to show you around after the wedding.”

“Thank you.” Ryneq smiled back at her. “I’d love to see them.” Torsere was dependent largely on the weather for their fruit and crops, and he was always looking for new ways to make things easier for his people. Ryneq wasn’t exactly sure what a greenhouse was, but he was keen to find out. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to bring along some of my men too. I think they’d appreciate getting off the ships for a few hours.”

Peros and the rest of Ryneq’s men were staying aboard the ships during their visit. Ryneq knew they were all eager to have a look around, though, and he was happy for them to join him as long as Ahlyria didn’t mind.

“Of course. I’ll have some of my guard take them on a tour of Alel in the meantime. I imagine they’re itching to stretch their legs.

“I know they’d appreciate that.” He helped himself to a generous amount of food, his rumbling stomach reminding him how hungry he was. Not surprisingly, considering all of his and Nykin’s earlier activities, he’d worked up an appetite. The food tasted as good as it looked, and soon the table was quiet as everyone ate their fill.

As soon as they’d finished and the table cleared, Ahlyria served them some sort of hot fruit tea and settled back in her chair. “As my son has no doubt informed you, the wedding ceremony is to take place the day after tomorrow.” She glanced briefly at Morkryn who nodded back at her. “All elven joining ceremonies take place in the early evening, and all royal unions are held in the Glade of Arethahl.”

Cerylea beamed next to him. “What a beautiful name.”

“It’s a beautiful place,” Ahlyria answered, her eyes shining. “The Glade of Arethahl is one of the most sacred and magical places in all of Alel.”

Morkryn leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, and smiled at Cerylea. “The elders you met last night will be the ones to perform the ceremony. Their magic is the oldest and strongest of all our people, and their connection to the forest is vital for our joining.”

“Is that because Cerylea isn’t from Alel?” Ryneq asked, mirroring Morkryn with his arms on the table.

“Yes. All elves are born with some inherent form of magic, and the ceremony itself draws on that to bind the two people together. We’re all connected to the Forest of Hervath through our magic, and we use the trees to create the magical protective border around Alel and the surrounding forest.” Morkryn paused to take a sip of his tea, and Ahlyria took over the explanation.

“Wherever an elf builds his home, the forest will automatically protect him. In order to extend that to include Torsere, the old magic of the forest will need to recognize Cerylea as one of its own. The old border will then have to be redefined to include not only your palace but the surrounding villages too.” She looked between Cerylea and Morkryn, her smile turning mischievous. “Of course, the week they spend alone in their new home will help infuse Morkryn’s magic into Cerylea—” Ryneq almost choked on his tea, and Ahlyria’s soft laughter filled the air. “—but the more magic we can draw on during the spoken words of the union, the better. That is why both elders will take part.”

Ryneq swallowed the rest of his drink, thankfully recovered from Ahlyria’s thinly veiled suggestion. Not that he was unaware how newlyweds behaved, but he’d not expected to discuss the topic over breakfast. Ryneq was almost positive it wouldn’t be the first time Cerylea and Morkryn had been intimate together, but obviously once they were bonded with magic, Cerylea would become more receptive to—Ryneq shook his head and immediately stopped that train of thought. Some things he just preferred not to dwell on. He eyed Cerylea, expecting at least to see a blush on her cheeks, but she was staring at Morkryn with what could only be described as raw desire.

He cleared his throat to get her attention, and she threw him an amused look and shrugged.

“So,” he said, wanting to break the sudden tension in the room. “How long will it be before Torsere can be brought under elven protection?”

Ahlyria looked uncertain for a moment before meeting Ryneq’s eyes. “Unfortunately, I can’t give you an exact time frame. It all depends on how readily Cerylea accepts Morkryn’s magic. We should have a better idea after their week of isolation.”

The room fell quiet once more, and Ryneq’s gaze drifted to the sea as his thoughts drifted to Nykin. Nykin and Selene were spending the day with Faelon, Avelor, and Lerran. Ryneq knew he was being ridiculous, because he trusted Nykin completely and Faelon was clearly involved with Avelor, but the idea of Nykin and Faelon spending time together still bothered him.