Page 209 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

No.

She didn’t have to settle for a part or temporary. Not in secret or for only one night. She was claiming him.

Roremar the Reckless.

Her Fatesworn.

The thought had her rocking her hips faster, their ragged breaths and desperate moans filling the air between the crackling starfire.

“Tell the stars,” Roremar gritted out. His grip on her hip tightened, and he punctuated each of his next words with another thrust. “You. Are. Mine.”

And Emmeline shattered.

She cried his name and he hers, spilling inside her as she fell apart, the two of them in ruin together, a fated story rewritten.

Roremar collapsed against her, holding most of his weight up, but his ring pressed between them. He brushed her hair from her face, kissing her forehead and taking her in. She was sure her cheeks were flushed, her eyes dazed with⁠—

“Stars,” Roremar breathed.

“What?”

He brushed his thumb beneath her eye. “There are silver flecks in your eyes that I’ve never seen before. Like stars.”

Emmeline wasn’t sure how to respond, but Roremar pressed his lips to hers, kissing her long and slow and with an echo of I love you in every touch.

She winced as he pulled out of her, but he repositioned them so they were both on his cloak and ripped the hem to clean them up. Then, he spread her dress atop them, tucked his arm around her, and pulled her into his side, as if they were truly watching the stars, not the continuation of the cosmic event their combined prophetic magic caused.

And for once, they only had to exist.

“Are you okay?” Roremar whispered as he brushed his fingers up and down her arm.

Emmeline tangled her legs with his, relishing the peace she hadn’t dared wish for. “More than. But I’m”—she glanced at the sky—“confused,” she finished, though she wasn’t sure it encompassed everything she felt right now. Worry crept into her chest again.

“It’s so rare,” she whispered to the same stars she’d promised she’d let Roremar go.

But if those stars had written this bond, maybe that was enough approval to keep him.

Roremar cupped her cheek and turned her face to his, brushing his lips against hers. “We both attract rare magic.” He kissed her leisurely, as if they had all the time in the world. As if there weren’t people in this very manor who would kill them for being here together.

When he pulled back they were both panting, desperation tightening all the lines of his body against hers. He dragged his hand over her thigh, up her spine, fingers scorching a path across every place they met. “I love you, Emmeline, and I want to make it known. No more thinking you’ll be bonded to another man. We’ll find a way out of this together.”

“Yes,” she breathed, pulling him back to her.

And that kiss was a promise from both of them. Her heart beat along with it, the Fatesworn bond stitching between them humming the tune of one word.

Belong.

Belong.

Belong.

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Roremar

Yes, Emmeline had breathed into him, and it was every vow Roremar never knew he needed.

And when he kissed her, slow and indulgently like he would for eternity, he swore the Fatesworn bond sealed more with every brush of their lips.