by M. J. Scott
"Is it simpler for sanctii? Having a mate?" she asked, adjusting the necklace again.
He shrugged. "Different."
She wouldn't get any more than that out of him. Sanctii females were rare in the human world. Only a few had been bonded over the long centuries of Illvyan history. Which left the mages with little insight into how sanctii society functioned. And the sanctii themselves were tight-lipped on the matter. Clearly more sanctii were created somehow. And they had two sexes. But no one had learned more than that. Today wasn't the day to push for information.
"How do I look?" she asked him. Foolish, really. A sanctii didn't view human clothes and fashions in the same way.
But to her surprise, Ikarus looked her up and down. "Good," he said. "Mate be happy." One corner of his mouth turned up.
He seemed to like Jean-Paul, which made life easier. And Jean-Paul had grown used to him too.
“I hope so,” she muttered, staring into the mirror one last time. “Will you stay for the wedding?”
“Stay,” Ikarus agreed. But then he vanished again as a knock came at the door.
“Come in,” she said, thinking it would be her parents or Chloe come to tell her it was time to start. But the person who appeared behind her in the mirror was Jean-Paul. She turned faster than was sensible in the gown and overbalanced. She wobbled, then regained her footing. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you,” Jean-Paul said.
“You’re supposed to be downstairs, on display, so everyone can make bad jokes as they arrive,” Imogene said. But her nerves were melting away as she took him in. He wore a formal uniform in the du Lac colors rather than the black of the Imperial army. Deep blue, but instead of yellow, the braiding and buttons and embroidery that decorated the shoulders and cuffs and edges of the jackets were actual gold that shone almost as bright as her diamonds. How many hours had his manservant had spent polishing them yesterday?
“Everyone can wait,” Jean-Paul rumbled as he stared down at her, a smile playing over his mouth. “We will have little enough time to together today until this production comes to a close. I wanted a chance to be alone with you.”
There was a look in his eyes as he took in her dress that suggested he approved. She held up a warning hand. “You cannot muss me. There’s not enough time to fix my hair and you’ll be a widower before midnight if your mother discovers that I wrinkled this dress before I get down the aisle.”
“My arms are long,” he pointed out. “I can reach you without mussing you.”
She looked down at the skirt doubtfully. It belled out around her for several feet in every direction. “You can muss me later,” she said. “When it’s official.”
He laughed. “I seem to remember I’ve mussed you unofficially often enough.”
“Then holding off this one time won’t hurt you,” she retorted. But her resolve weakened. He was very handsome in his uniform, and the joy in his eyes as he looked at her made her melt a little, as it always did.
“One kiss,” he said, holding up a finger. “Just one. A reminder why you’re going through with this nonsense instead of running from the building as any sensible woman would do.”
“Oh, there are any number of women downstairs who’d happily take my place without fleeing,” she said.
“None of them light my days, though, my love,” he said. “So I need to be sure I light yours too.”
He did. Every overly tall, overly sure of himself, overly aristo inch of him. He was hers. She was his. And maybe he was right. The vows they would make in the temple, under all those eyes, were to make everyone else happy. What mattered was the vows they made for each other.
She reached out her hands, and he took them, inching closer so the gleaming toes of his boots just touched the edge of her hem. The feel of his fingers wrapped around hers, made her dizzy for an instant before she focused back on his storm colored eyes.
“Let’s say them now,” she said.
He looked a little confused. “Say what?”
“The vows. What we’re going to say to each other downstairs. Marry me, Jean-Paul. Just you and me.”
“Lieutenant, I like the way you think.” His grip tightened, and he cleared his throat. “But isn’t there usually a domina involved?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Not doing anything we can’t do ourselves. And anyway, if we miss something, they’ll take care of it downstairs. But I want this to be just for us. Everything else is theater and spectacle. This is the part that means something.”
“All right.” He cleared his throat again, looking charmingly nervous for just a moment. “I believe it’s the wife who starts.”
She smiled. “Jean-Paul Gerrald Henri Louis du Laq.”
“Impressive,” he murmured.
“Sssh. You have too many names, but I know them all.” She started again. “Jean-Paul Gerrald Henri Louis. Today I make this vow. To be yours body and blood. To make my heart’s home with you. To offer my strength as solace, my fidelity as fire, my—” She hesitated as a sudden rush of happiness caught the words in her throat and she had to blink back tears. “My breath as my bond. May our love grow strong as the Tree of the World, its roots as deep. And may we not be parted until the goddess grants that to the earth we return.”
Jean-Paul’s eyes were full of emotion, the storms threaded with silver light, like the sun breaking through. His tone was steady and certain, rumbling with a sound that lit her heart as he began. “Imogene Sera Carvelle. Today I make this vow. To be yours body and blood. To offer my strength as shield, my fidelity as fire.”
The words seemed to ring in the air, filling her ears and her heart.
“My breath as my bond. May our love grow strong as the Tree of the World, its roots as deep. And may we not be parted until the goddess grants that to the earth we return.”
They stared at each other, lost in the moment.
“So, do you feel married now?” Jean-Paul asked.
“Do you?”
One side of his mouth lifted. “I do, wife.”
“So do I.” Strange, how a few short sentences could change her world all over again.
Then she started to laugh, too happy to do anything else.
Jean-Paul laughed too. Then shook his head. “So, can I kiss you now, wife?”
“Just once,” she said. “Then we have to go downstairs and put on a show.”
Jean-Paul leaned closer, one hand cupping her cheek. His lips on hers were soft but fierce, and she felt heat flare as it always did. What he did to her, this man. What he was. It was worth all the nonsense. She was almost about to throw caution to the winds and tug him closer when he pulled back, expression regretful.
“My mother will absolutely murder us both if I crush your dress.” He sighed. “Do we really have to bother with the official part? As pretty as that dress is, I’d much rather see you out of it.”
She laughed. “I’m afraid so, my lord. So you should go take your place. The sooner we start, the sooner it will be over.”
He nodded, grinning foolishly. “True enough. So, wife. I will see you soon. To marry you. Again.”
THE END
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If you enjoyed Imogene and Jean-Paul and haven’t yet read the Four Arts series in which they appear again…then start with The Shattered Court.
Acknowledgments
Writing a book during a pandemic is odd. I feel like I should be thanking Zoom, Wifi and streaming services for keeping us all semi-sane. But thank you to the Fantasy Realms gang for inviting me to be part of the anthology that resulted in this novella, thank you to Robyn and Sarah for story wrangling, my awesome crit gals for support and shenanigans, my Mum who is always there for me and the Diva Kitty for general good catting and keeping me company.
About the Author
M.J Scott is an unrepentant bookworm. Luckily she grew up in a family that fed her a properly varied diet of books and these days is surrounded by people who are understanding of her stor
y addiction. Her other distractions include yarn, cat butlering, dark chocolate and watercolour. When not wrestling one of her own stories to the ground, she can generally be found reading someone else’s. To keep in touch, find out about new releases and other news, plus get a free sneak peek at some deleted scenes from her Half-Light City series, sign up to her newsletter. She has also written contemporary romance as Melanie Scott and Emma Douglas.
You can email her at
[email protected]
A note from M.J.
I hope you loved reading COURTING THE WITCH. I had so much fun writing my Four Arts series that I had to write a prequel. (If you’ve picked up this novella and haven’t read the Four Arts, then THE SHATTERED COURT is where all the fun begins. And who knows, maybe I’ll be back for more!
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As an indie author, it really helps me when readers get the word out about my books, so if you enjoyed the book, please consider leaving a review at the store where you purchased it and tell your friends!
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If you want to stay up to date with all my news, find out about new releases and sales, then please sign up to my newsletter.
Also by M.J. Scott
Dark romantic fantasy
The Four Arts series
The Shattered Court
The Forbidden Heir
The Unbound Queen
The Half-Light City series
Shadow Kin
Blood Kin
Iron Kin
Fire Kin
Urban fantasy
The Techwitch series
Wicked Games
Wicked Words
The Wild Side series
The Day You Went Away*
The Wolf Within
The Dark Side
*A free short story that’s a prequel to The Wolf Within
About the Author
M.J Scott is an unrepentant bookworm. Luckily she grew up in a family that fed her a properly varied diet of books and these days is surrounded by people who are understanding of her story addiction. When not wrestling one of her own stories to the ground, she can generally be found reading someone else’s. To keep in touch, find out about new releases and other news (and receive an exclusive freebie) sign up to her newsletter. She also writes contemporary romance as Melanie Scott and Emma Douglas.
* * *
You can email her at
[email protected]