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It was a beautiful day for a coronation. They had a long hard road to put behind them, but all was being put to right, now. Galadriel indulged a moment of her vanity and admired herself in the long mirror within her room. The gown that had been crafted for her was created in the current popular style of Men’s courts, with a tapered waist accentuating her hips and tight bodice distinguishing her breasts. It was more tight than the garments she was accustomed to wearing, but the days of fighting were behind her now - at least for the foreseeable future.
She found she did not hate the idea.
After healing under the care of the finest healers in Eregion, Halbrand had returned their kindness by helping Celebrimbor save her people with his skills in the forge. It was humbling, to have the salvation of her people come from the hand of a Man and aid of dwarves, and it did much for the relations between the Men of Middle-earth and the Elves that had been their stewards for the last age. As a reward, and a gesture of good faith, High King Gil-galad had supplied his army to Halbrand and the survivors from the Southlands, and with their Numenorean allies, reclaimed most of the lands from the orcs.
There was nothing to be done for the fiery mountain once it had woken, but the barren land was largely empty of its vile occupants now. Galadriel had spent the last three years at the side of the uncrowned King Halbrand, day and night, on foot and on horseback, expelling evil from his lands. With one decisive stroke, the Moriondor called Adar and the entire remaining orc threat were eradicated. And the day had finally come for Halbrand to take his rightful place, a proper crown on his head, and a bright future ahead of him.
They had not discussed her place in his life. For years now, they had maintained that necessary barrier between them, never quite crossing the threshold of more . They were bonded in the way of the universe, of one soul split into two bodies. This, she knew with certainty. Riding with him in battle, waking each morning to seek his smile across camp, sitting beside him under the moon in the late evenings… all had cemented the truth she knew in her heart. Love bloomed like a crawling vine around the edges of them, never quite flowering, but spreading like fine green ivy across their hearts. There was a small part of her that ached for the past, as fraught with violence as it had been. She did not have to face a sunrise without him.
Gil-galad was calling all his forces home after the coronation. Including her. And she must go where her king bid. She did not want to go, but there was little she could do to argue, or explain away her reasons for desiring to linger. They simply did not understand what she and Halbrand carried between them. The closest her people could compare it to would be marriage, and she was already married to another.
A shuddering breath escaped her, and when her gaze once more fell upon her reflection in the mirror, she was dismayed to see the sorrow that had broken through. Brushing the tears from the corners of her eyes, she tried once more to pull a smile to her lips. After a few attempts, she felt successful enough to trust that she would not put a damper on the day. Celebrimbor had forged Halbrand’s crown himself, and it was a thing of magnificence. An heirloom for all of Halbrand’s future sons and grandsons to wear with pride. That thought put a different sort of discomfort in her stomach, one she could not acknowledge. Some things were not meant to be.
A strong, short series of knocks at her door called her attention away from her lowered mood. She opened the door and greeted one of her oldest friends with a more genuine smile.
Elrond smiled at her, more bittersweet than she had expected, but he had always been intuitive. “Are you ready? I’ve come to escort you.”
She raised an eyebrow. “How very gallant of you, Herald Peredhil,” she teased, burying her disappointment that his was not the face she had hoped to see. Until the very last, she and Halbrand both had ignored this piece of the future that awaited their success. It was a discussion she had hoped to have before the coronation, if only to not end the evening on a sour note.
Elrond extended his arm and she accepted, closing the door behind her. “You look beautiful, meldanyo ,” he complimented her, guileless but observant, eyes resting on the necklace that lay across her collarbone. “The jewels are spectacular. I have not seen their like, in clarity or unique design. Did Celebrimbor gift them to you?”
She had saved Celebrimbor in battle, and he owed her a great boon for it. But the jewelry had not been from him.
She coughed. “No. No, these were a gift from Lord - King - Halbrand. The jewels were gifts from Durin’s folk, and he fashioned the jewelry himself; the color was not to his taste, though they are exquisite. A gift to me, for all of my aid in these last years.” She attempted to downplay the worth of the gift. framing it as honest payment for services rendered.
“He’s very generous, for a human King.” Elrond said at last, letting the matter - and her lie - lie.
“He is,” she affirmed, accepting the compliment he paid to her King, though she had no right to do so.
“I am not blind, Galadriel. Nor are others. If you were to stay…” He trailed off, the possibility dangling in the air.
“I cannot.” She could not mask the heartbreak in her voice, though the smile never faded from her lips. “Gil-galad has called me home. And… he is a Man.” This was the least and last of the troubles of the situation, and they both knew it. Neither his mortality or her marriage to Celeborn could be ignored. Gil-galad had already made plain that a place for her had been set aside - lands of her own, at last. A place for her to call home, and rule over as she had desired for so long. Alone.
“You will have my support, whatever you decide.” He said at last, squeezing her hand. She squeezed it back, and if her pace slowed the closer they got to the grand hall, he did not call her out on it. It was not a hope she had dared to harbor. She had been satisfied with Halbrand’s friendship alone these last three years - and it had been enough. It could still be enough.
The hall was packed wall to wall with all the races of Middle-earth, an incredible melting pot of culture and peoples that she had not seen gathered in one place as ever before. Her false smile transitioned into one of pure joy at the realization. Whatever sorrows and partings awaited her, this could never be denied. He had united Middle-earth, and none would forget it. In ages after, in the annals of history, this moment would never be forgotten.
“My lady?” Bronwyn addressed her at her elbow, smiling beatifically, adorned in a lovely gown of sage and gold. She was resplendent, and fiercer for the threads of silver in her hair.
“Bronwyn!” She exclaimed, and released Elrond to embrace the woman. She had not seen her in almost five months, since just before the final battle. Pregnant as she had been, the battlefield was no place for her. She was forced to accept a permanent position as the official court healer, and remained behind during the final battle. Arondir had remained behind with her at Halbrand’s own insistence, unofficially naming them his heirs if something should befall him. Galadriel remembered that argument all too well.
Bronwyn offered Elrond a cursory polite greeting, too excited to adhere to the strictest of manners. “Come, Galadriel. The King has requested your presence.”
Galadriel’s feet anchored themselves to the floor. “Now?” She did not have to look at Elrond to feel his knowing gaze on her face. A quick glance from the corner of her eye confirmed his lack of surprise. What’s more, a small, infinitesimal smirk had taken root in the corners of his mouth.
Bronwyn laughed, a note of confusion ringing out. “Well, of course!”
Galadriel remained unmoving. “I believe a spot has been reserved for me among my people. Next to my High King, in fact.” Her heart began to pound. Surely, he would not do this to her now - not before they had even had an opportunity to speak.
The smile on Bronwyn’s face began to fade, and she lowered her voice below the din of chatter in the hall. “Do you not… consider yourself among King Halbrand’s people?” There was a note of hurt in her voice, and Galadriel found her tongue too thick in her mouth to even begin to properly explain. Now was neither the time nor the place for such a discussion.
Bronwyn’s eyes drifted to the jewelry adorning Galadriel’s neck and ears, pointedly coming to rest on the empty space on her forehead. It had not been lost on Galadriel, when the jewels had been delivered, that it was an incomplete set. For as beautiful as the pieces were, they all worked in tandem to create a specific vision, which could only be completed by some manner of coronet.
“She does.” Elrond answered for her at last, and gave Galadriel a gentle push in Bronwyn’s direction. “Have no fear of our High King’s anger, Galadriel. I will make your excuses to him. You deserve to be among your people, especially today.”
She had no time to protest, Bronwyn’s smile immediately reigniting, and was forced to follow the woman through the crowd of people, away from her oldest friend, and the last piece of resolve she had been clinging to. The crowds parted for them like water, and try as she might, she could not ignore the way their eyes lingered on her. The path brought her to the foot of the pair of white marble thrones in the hall, resplendent pieces of dwarven craftsmanship. They were inlaid with finely detailed golden script, a repeating passage in Elvish, Khuzdul, and common - an oath of everlasting friendship among the races.
A finely buffed pair of fine black boots entered her field of vision first, eyes fixed to the base of the thrones as they were. She hesitated to raise her eyes, and used the brief moment of reprieve to steel herself and her will.
“It is a generous gift.” The low rasp of his voice was soothing, almost musical, and kindled a warm feeling of comfort in her heart.
Summoning her courage, she let her eyes trail up his form, taking in the magnificent finery of his black and gold vestiges. The tunic was well-fitting, and finely embroidered with symbols of the Southlands, his own family crest nestled in the center. Her heart caught in her throat at the sight, remembering all too well how it had started with a small, worn pouch. She’d had fears, for a time, and some doubts. Had even sought to search their archives for his family history, to try and explain away the queer feeling growing in her heart.
Nothing had come of the search, however; the family lines of the small kingdom of the Southlands were not well documented among the Elves of the western shores, the line fracturing and splintering too often to keep track of. With nothing else to cling to, she had only been left to face her doubts and acknowledge them for what they were - fear of her growing feelings for the Man.
Halbrand greeted her gaze with a joyful, heat-filled smile. His hair was clean and combed, small curls forming at the tips of his growing hair, and rested just above the high collar of his coat. The green of his eyes seemed brighter in contrast to the dark tones of his clothing, the gold flecks within matching the golden thread and embroidery on his vestiges. He was resplendent, looking beautiful and somewhat severe, despite the gentle nature of his smile.
“You’re wearing them.” He commented, fingers reaching out to gently brush the bejeweled collar around her neck, then the earrings dangling from her lobes, and the finely crafted cuffs on the points of her ears. The tone of his voice dipped, ever so slightly, and she could detect just the barest hint of pride and possession in his voice.
She shuddered as his thumb briefly brushed against the skin of her ear. “They are beautiful, and so finely crafted… I could think of no other occasion more appropriate to wear them.”
“There is a piece missing, however,” he continued, fingers brushing the crown of her head, threading through a few strands of her hair.
She withdrew from him, casting her eyes around to the crowd to see who was watching them; none met her gaze, though she could feel their attention.
“There is not.” She denied him, an undercurrent of regret and finality in her voice.
He narrowed his eyes at her then, giving her a look of disappointment and disbelief. “There is. But we can discuss that another time.”
Her mouth opened to deny that too, to tell him then and there that this would be their last meeting, but her tongue failed to form the words. Even she did not want to admit it.
“Another time,” she demurred, tasting the lie on her tongue and finding it foul enough to choke her. She felt her fear mold into resolve in this moment, a new clarity settling into her mind. If she did not leave immediately post the coronation, she never would.
Every reason she had, every rule and ounce of propriety she still possessed, would mean nothing if they had that conversation. It was an act of great cowardice, to leave without saying anything at all, but it was necessary, for both of them. If she were to remain, she would only hinder his future, and the future of his kingdom. No crown of the Southlands could rest upon her brow, for it would surely herald the destruction of the bright future they had only just laid the foundations for.
He needed to find another to take the throne beside him, a human woman who could share his bed and give him heirs, who could solidify his place among the Kings of Men. He was called away, the ceremony about to begin, and she took the opportunity to step further away into the crowd. She remained among his confidants, standing at the base of his throne, and looked on with all due pride in her heart as he took his oaths and was crowned by Gil-galad himself, with a crown forged by Celebrimbor from jewels from Durin’s mountain.
It was only then that she realized with no small amount of sadness, that the jewels of his crown were matched to those in the collar around her neck, and the other pieces he had gifted her.
It reinforced the truth of the matter - that there was another piece to her set that she was not wearing.
She resisted the urge to flee the hall, a sick feeling bubbling in the pit of her stomach that felt all too much like loss and grief. The feeling lingered, ignored but not forgotten, all through the remainder of the ceremony, as the people and lesser lords of the southern kingdoms of men came to pledge their allegiance.
The second throne, slightly smaller but no less beautiful, remained conspicuously empty.
It was only when the feast was announced, and the guests were to be ushered to their seats, that Galadriel made her escape. She could not bear to remain. The very idea of sitting in that feasting hall, watching every eligible bride be introduced to him, waiting to take her place at his side, was too abhorrent to consider.
Friends were all they had been these last few years, kindred spirits in every way. It was suddenly no longer enough, and she did not know how to bear it. Rejection was not a familiar feeling for her. She sought to return to her room with all due haste, keeping her gaze averted from any who tried to catch her eye. The halls were blessedly empty as she made her way down the winding corridors, servants and courtiers alike all in attendance at the feast. He would be similarly occupied, bound by convention and society; he could not stop her now.
She shut the door to her room quietly, taking care not to slam it and draw anyone’s attention. Focused, she began to haphazardly pack her trunks, rolling her gowns and other clothing into balls with little care so long as they fit inside. Though all reason and logic told her she had time, an inexplicable certainty rose within her that he would not be far behind her, consequences be damned. He knew her too well, and her absence would be noticed, if it was not already.
Her things packed, there was but one thing left to do. Her hands reached around the back of her neck, seeking the clasp of the collar to remove it. She struggled, remembering how she had needed the aid of a maid to even put it on in the first place.
“It isn’t fashioned to be removed by its bearer.” A familiar voice called out, startling her. She spun around to face him, heart-pounding. Halbrand stood before her in the open doorway, still bedecked in his kingly finery, crown now resting on his brow. He looked dangerous, an unfamiliar look of resolve covering his face. He shut the door behind him, as softly as he must have opened it for her not to notice, and barred and locked it behind. Her heart rose to her throat.
“It was to be my pleasure, to remove them for you at the end of the night.” He explained, and moved further into her room, glancing at the hastily packed trunk. “I see now you had your own designs on how this evening was to end.” His jaw clenched, hurt and pain breaking across his face.
Her own resolve threatened to crumble at the sight. This was what she had been trying to prevent. “Halbrand…” She began, voice low and pleading for his understanding. “They are gifts befitting a Queen - which I can never be. I know that we have avoided discussing it… there were days when I was not certain we would both survive the night, and I kept telling myself that it could wait. But, surely you must have known that our friendship could be nothing more than this…”
“I did not know,” he countered, growing angry. “How could I? We have spent almost every waking moment these last three years together, on the field of battle and off of it. I have watched the sun break the night sky with you in my arms - many times.” He stepped closer to her still, and she felt intimidated by him for the first time, his height towering over her.
She swallowed, lowering her gaze to stare at his boots.
His fingertips caught her chin and lifted her face up to meet his eyes, refusing to let her hide. “For three years, I have pursued this grand future, not just to save my people and heal this land, but because I believed I had found the other half of my heart. That feeling, fighting by your side… I have held on to it, kindled it and nurtured it. Was I wrong to do so? Do you not feel the same?”
“I do,” she affirmed, the words slipping from her wayward tongue before she could pull them back. “We are twin-flames, you and I. I know this. But the realities of our situation being what they are… We can be nothing more than friends, than comrades. And your future here does not include me - cannot include me, if you are to forge a greater legacy.”
“Says who ?” He asked, tone dark, eyes burning her like a brand. He stepped closer to her, the tips of his boots brushing the tips of her slippers. His hand slid along her jaw, curling around the back of her neck and holding her firm, preventing any escape attempt.
“I say,” she whispered, all her reasons feeling like excuses in the face of his confrontation.
“Tell me you do not love me, then,” he commanded, leaning over and inclining his head to rub his nose against hers. “Say it out loud, here and now. And mean it. If you can do that, I will release you, and we will never speak of this again.”
Her breath caught in her throat, and she swallowed heavily. “I —” She stuttered, the words failing to form. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. “I do not love you.” She spat out, hiccupping the words as a sob threatened to break free.
“ Liar. ” He breathed, and brushed the tears from her eyes as his mouth claimed hers in a possessive kiss, hand twisting in the hair at the nape of her neck.
Her mouth parted instantly, accepting the kiss and returning it with fervor. He tasted like smoke from a fire, smelled like cedar and pine and earth; he felt like home. He lifted her from her feet and carried her further into her chambers, lowering her to the bed without breaking their kiss. His hands traveled to the back of her gown, undoing the laces of her corset until it fell away. Her own hands went to his tunic, similarly occupied with undoing the few buckles and laces that pieced his ensemble together.
“This wasn’t how this night was supposed to go,” he said, breaking their kiss to focus on aiding in their disrobement. “I had intended to have you in our chambers, anointing them properly and rounding out what has otherwise been a fantastic day. Instead I find you missing from the feast - which was noted by more than just me, by the way - and have to track you down, only to find you preparing to flee without so much as a word.” She heard the seams of her dress tear, his brute strength ripping through the fine thread with his smith’s strength. He pulled his own tunic over his head and shrugged out of his boots and breeches, never breaking eye contact.
The moment spun between them, both bare before the other, on the precipice of change. If she was going to back out of this, to deny him and the future he saw so clearly, now was her only chance to do so.
She toed the slippers off her feet.
He stepped between her thighs, hand reaching out to gently grasp her throat, thumb tracing the collar around her neck. She began to crane her head, turning to the side so he might find the latch. He guided her head forward once more, shaking his head.
“No, the jewels remain.” He ordered, voice dripping with barely restrained lust, and continued to pull her forward until she was seated at the edge of the bed. His cock hung freely between them, bouncing a little as he shifted from side to side, at her eye level. Keeping one hand firmly on her throat, he used his other to guide his cock to her lips, gently tracing their outline with the head. She remained still, frozen in the moment, and uncertain. It had been an age since she had done anything of this sort, even before Celeborn had departed and not returned.
Tentatively, she opened her mouth, instinctually pressing her tongue out to offer a gentle lick. He groaned, his fingers around her throat spasming ever so slightly. “Open wide, my Queen,” he ordered, and she felt the command heat her blood from breast to toes. She obeyed, opening her mouth wider. He pressed his cock inside her welcoming mouth, letting it rest on her tongue. “Close your lips around it, and suck.” She accepted the direction, creating a seal around the head. Adjusting to the feeling, to redirecting her breathing through her nose, she found her instincts urging her to pull more of it into her mouth, bobbing her head in an approximation of gyration.
His hand squeezed around her throat as she took him deeper in her mouth, the constriction taking her by surprise for a moment. Oxygen still flowed readily from her nose, preventing any concern or panic. She could hear the broken sounds of his pleasure rumbling in the back of his throat as he gently fucked her constricted throat. She bore it with grace, even as her eyes began to water a little, and reached out a hand to fondle his balls and massage them in her delicate palm.
He withdrew abruptly, and she coughed a little from the force of it, gasping at the sudden rush of air in her lungs. He pushed her back on the bed, hand trailing from her throat and collar down to her breast, before his mouth found purchase at the golden mound of curls at the apex of her thighs.
She cried out, legs flailing for a moment to find purchase on the bed before slinging them over his broad shoulders, heels pressing into his shoulder blades. The feeling of his tongue between her folds, teeth grazing her clit, was as foreign to her as this unwieldy passion. She and her husband had performed the acts of the marriage bed with loving grace, and with the intent to create life. These filthy, delightful measures of pleasure had never been a part of their couplings.
He licked a long stripe up to her clit, suckling there for a long moment, feeling the blood rush to the nub and swell it. “You would have denied us this,” he chastised her, feasting on her as she continued to squirm beneath him. “How could you?”
Unthinking, an apology fluttered to her tongue: “I-I’m sorry.” She felt him smile between her thighs.
His lips left their post to press hard, bruising kisses up her thighs, on her belly, under her breasts, around the collar around her neck, under her jaw, until finally pressing a branding, possessive kiss on her mouth.
She could taste herself on his tongue, filthy and sweet, and eagerly returned his kiss with a confession of her own. “I could not bear the thought of watching you choose another. Our kinds are not meant to be mated; the anguish is too great to bear. I knew that if I were to allow myself this, I would jeopardize your very reign, your legacy.”
He groaned against her lips, hands tangling in her hair and stroking her jaw. “No, Galadriel. I would never have chosen another. As soon as your absence was discovered in the morning, I would have rode out after you. There is no other for me but you; you are the other half of my soul. Do you not feel the same?”
She did. But she had not thought it mattered in the grand schemes of politics and societal rules. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“Then do not let this be an act of shame between us. For all that I would have seen you crowned beside me tonight, and that did not come to pass, it does not change how I feel. This is still our wedding night.”
“I am married already.” She reminded him, feeling the shame too keenly to let it go unsaid.
“You are widowed.” He corrected her, lavishing opened mouth kisses on her breasts, suckling at each puckered nipple.
“They never found his body. Technically, he’s still missing.” She keened as he tugged at a nipple in retaliation to her argument, the act sending small shocks of pleasure through her.
“He’s dead, Galadriel. The only one you are bound to now is me. ” A note of finality, of inexplicable surety, colored his tone, darkening it with his possession.
He pressed his hips into hers, his cock sliding between her wet folds, tantalizingly slow despite the tenseness of his shoulders. She gasped, feeling the soft head of his cock brushing against her clit.
“You’re mine, Galadriel. You know it. I know it. Our subjects, your people, they all know it. Especially now, that we’re both conspicuously absent from the feast. They all know where I am right now.”
She moaned, shame battling with pleasure, the thought sending a hot rush of desire through her. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tips just brushing the crown on his head, and pulled his head up to hers for a kiss. He complied, eagerly slipping his tongue between her lips as he rutted between her thighs, soaking his cock in her juices.
“I want to hear you say it, Galadriel.” He murmured against her lips, nipping at her bottom lip. “Tell me you’ll be with me, always. For as long as you’re able.”
The last bastion of her resolve crumbled at the vulnerable tone in his voice, just the barest hint of unworthiness coloring it and making it bleed.
“Yes, my King,” she breathed, and felt the muscles in his abdomen quiver at her words. “My King,” she said again, relishing the feeling of desire she invoked in him at the words. “I will stay.”
His lips descended on her again, not pleading and teasing as they had done before, but devouring her, breathing her in as if he could permanently affix her to him. She felt his hand glide down her hip, curling around her thigh and hiking her leg up, hips tilting until his cock found its target.
He pressed into her slowly, the act dichotomous and almost strange given the ferocity with which he kissed her, but she felt it all the more keenly for it. The feeling of him filling her, of their joining, felt like completion. Her heart seemed to pound in time with his, their gasps matching pace. He settled, fully seated within her, and broke his consumption of her mouth to press further kisses along her jaw and throat, neatly trimmed beard tickling her skin.
She basked in the feeling of it all, of the weight of him on top of her, and the soft skin of his lips on her throat. His cock, throbbing inside her, twitching but unmoving. Her fingers traced the scars and freckles along his shoulders and back, mapping the muscles beneath his skin and committing them to memory. The passion had not subsided. She could feel it, roiling in her belly, and in the tautness of his shoulders. The intimacy of the moment stretched between them, boundless in their passion and patience. Eventually, she felt him shift, pushing her further on the bed, his knees sliding under her thighs.
He withdrew from her slowly, and snapped his hips to drive his cock back in her at twice the speed. She keened at the feeling, pleasure rippling upwards from the long-awaited act. He set a steady pace at first, seeming to catalogue every whimper and whine, alternating his thrusts until he found the precise rhythm that made the music he sought. He burrowed himself inside her, leaning over her and grasping her throat in his hand again, holding her firm and applying featherlight pressure.
Her legs slid along his hips, heels digging into his ass to drive him deeper still.
“When the morning comes, we will announce our wedding. A fortnight, at the most,” he whispered into her mouth, pressing a hot kiss to her mouth, even as he applied more pressure to her throat.
She panted, meeting his gaze and expressing her affirmation through a look, unable to form words with the pressure on her throat. A cry strangled in her throat as he changed his pace once more, this time driving his cock deep enough to bottom out inside her. She could feel it all the more intensely for the pressure on her throat, too intensely. Her hand reached up to cover the one grasping her throat, and tapped twice on the back of it. He released her immediately, and she took a welcome gasp of oxygen in her lungs, instead guiding the hand to tangle in her hair.
He quickened his pace, hips stuttering and beginning to lose some of their rhythm, and she knew he was close. His other hand snaked between them to press a dedicated thumb against her clit. Quickly, she felt her own orgasm begin to climb, racing from her belly to her toes. He came first, bottoming out inside her and coming with a low cry, hips continuing to drive into her as she chased her own pleasure. Her own orgasm followed moments later, the combined sensation of his twitching cock and thumb working her clit driving her over the edge. Her legs tightened around him, holding him to her as she came, stars dotting her vision.
They lay together, basking in the afterglow, for several minutes before he rolled off of her.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, unable to stop the unexpected satisfaction she felt at seeing the crown askew on his head, his lips red and rosy. The look he offered her in return was surely a mirror of her own. For all that she bore no crown, the jewelry that she had borne through their coupling was now tangled in her hair, the earrings in particular were snarled in her curls.
“We are the same, you and I.” He said, looking at her with lifetimes swirling in his eyes. “We are made for one another.”
“Yes,” she agreed, unable and unwilling to deny him, or herself, further.
“Come, let us redress and return to the feast. We can share the good news tonight,” he ordered, and pulled himself from the bed, fetching a clean towel to clean them both.
She snorted, gesturing to her own ripped gown. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible for me, my King.”
A Cheshire smile lit his features. “Pick another. I know I’ve gifted you several since we’ve been here. If you remain as you are now, I will lose the will to return, and that will surely be noticed.”
She rose from the bed, giving him a wry look, to sort through the gowns she had packed in haste, settling on one of deep navy, almost dark enough to look black in certain lights. She pulled the gown over her head, appreciating the lack of bodice or laces in this style of dress, she felt him stand behind her, fingers detangling her hair at the back into something presentable.
The moment of quiet domesticity had almost passed when she felt the coronet placed on her head. She did not need to look in the mirror to know that it was a match to the one he wore on his own brow.
“We aren’t married yet,” she reminded him, but made no move to remove it.
“Our souls have been married far longer than any ceremony could ever dictate,” he countered, pressing a sweet kiss just below her ear, and detangling her earrings from the curls there as well. He did the same for her other ear, eventually tucking the hair behind her ears in such a way to prevent them from tangling further. “We will have this feeling between us forever. And in every lifetime hereafter, I will find you again, and again. Do not let these impermanent minds of others let you forget that.”
He turned her around to face him and pressed a final kiss to her lips.
“Now come, let us greet our people.”