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The rain did not merely fall with the elegance of a sweet spring; it hammered.
It pelted the curved wooden roof of the carriage with the relentless, deafening percussion of a bag of coins. Outside, the world had been swallowed entirely by the midnight gale—a desolate country stretch where the mud threatened to swallow the wheels whole, and the promise of reaching the estate unscathed felt like a cruel myth whispered by an optimistic cartographer who had never witnessed a single storm in his life.
This was not the most auspicious start to a marriage that was supposedly blessed by the Church of England. Eris Vanserra, son of Earl Beron Vanserra, didn't consider himself a superstitious man, but he was sure the rain beating down on them were the tears of a disappointed deity.
Inside, the space was suffocatingly small. It was a velvet-lined box of shadows, smelling faintly of cedarwood, wet leather, and expensive pomade.
Eris sat—or rather, half-sat, half-hovered—on the indigo velvet bench, his pristine tailcoat feeling suddenly about three sizes too restrictive. He shifted his weight, coughed loudly, and clicked his boot sharply against the polished floorboard for the third time in twenty minutes—time passing so achingly slowly, he was sure this moment was another punishment doled out by the gods.
An irritated sigh escaped the figure sitting across from Eris. If Eris was being honest, he was doing less sitting and more brooding.
The Duke of Norfolk's brother—and now, much to their mutual horror, Eris's husband—was a monument to stoic misery. Azriel Night hadn't removed his gloves and sat perfectly upright, his broad shoulders filling the narrow space, staring at Eris with an expression that could curdle milk.
Eris theatrically heaved, letting his head fall back. "Stunning. Simply sublime! If you wanted to murder me, Azriel, you could have spared the expense of the license and just pushed me out of the window three miles back."
Azriel didn't blink and replied in an even tone. "If I wanted to murder you, Eris, we wouldn't be stuck in a ditch. You'd be sleeping peacefully, and I'd have an airtight alibi."
Eris guffawed in mock offence and narrowed his amber eyes, leaning forward. "We have been married only fourteen hours. Fourteen! And already I'm questioning the sanity of every elder who forced us into this room-and-board arrangement. You haven't spoken twenty words since the priest pronounced us married. Is your tongue made of lead, or are you just saving it for speaking to your shadow like a lunatic?"
"I was waiting," Azriel said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that vibrated right through the floorboards and sent a shiver up Eris's spine, "for you to run out of breath. It is a far fetched fantasy, but hope springs eternal."
Eris let out an incredulous laugh, pressing a hand to his chest. "You arrogant bastard. You stood at that altar looking like a gothic cathedral carved out of marble, and now you have the absolute gall to mock my conversational skills? I'm sure it's a foreign concept to you, but the ton tends to call it social pleasantries."
"I stood at the altar because my family threatened to cut off my allowance if I didn't secure an alliance, and it so happened it was to the most notorious gossip of the ton," Azriel replied smoothly, finally leaning forwards and shifting his gaze to meet Eris's. "And you stood at the altar because your father was about to auction you off to a gout-ridden Marquess with three chins and a gambling addiction. We are both victims of circumstance, Eris. Let us not pretend this is a romance from one of those frilly books you giggle about."
"Who is pretending?" Eris snapped, though a faint, hot flush crept up his neck—either because of embarrassment or annoyance, Eris did not know and he sure as hell wasn't planning on finding out. He shifted in his seat. "I expected a quiet and reserved husband, considering all the whispers that circulate in the ton about you. I did not expect a husband who glowers so intensely; you could light the London Bridge on fire."
Azriel didn't retreat. In fact, as the carriage tilted dangerously to the left, his musky and manly scent invaded Eris's nostrils as he leaned into Eris's personal space with a sudden, fluid grace. Eris felt his pulse quicken to a staccato pace at the assault of pine and cedar—suddenly feeling overwhelmed and hot in this four-walled cabin.
"At least all I do is glower," Azriel sneered, "whereas you spent the entire wedding breakfast criticising the frosting, insulted my brother's cravat, and flirted with my other brother, the Duke just to see if my jaw would tick."
"His cravat was an atrocity," Eris shot back as he sniffled at the memory. "And as for the Duke… you can't blame me for trying to ascertain if you could feel any emotion besides a statue-like countenance. And also it didn't hurt to ensure I hadn't lost my charming touch."
At the subtle mention of Eris's rakish past, Azriel's eyes hardened as he clenched his teeth, a groan rattling through his chest at Eris's flagrance.
Eris threaded his fingers through his hair as he clicked his tongue at the resounding silence that met him in response from his husband. "Are we to be stuck in this glorified coffin for hours while the driver sorts out the broken axle in the middle of a storm? I would rather throw myself out the door and walk."
Azriel assumed his previous position and sat upright in his seat, no longer assaulting all of Eris's senses. "Be my guest," Azriel drawled, gesturing lazily to the heavy door handle. "The mud looks exceptionally welcoming tonight. Plenty of room to lie down. If I'm lucky, you could get frost bite or the flu."
Eris shot him a glare that could have melted iron and huffed, letting the minutes bleed away into the rhythmic pounding of the storm as the jagged edge of the bickering began to fray, fading away into something quieter, heavier, and far more dangerous.
Eris averted his gaze from the two depthless pools of hazel boring into him with a sincerity and intensity that caused a feeling of warmth to simmer low in his stomach—staring out the small window carved into the wood, basking in the slanting rays of the moonlight.
A sudden, violent shudder racked his frame. The damp chill of the carriage had finally seeped through the thick velvet panels and settled into his bones.
Without a single word, Eris noticed Azriel move in his periphery.
He didn't ask for permission. He simply unclasped his heavy, fur-lined riding cloak and shrugged it off his shoulders and leaned across the narrow gap between the benches. Before Eris could protest, the warm wool—still carrying the lingering and intoxicating heat of Azriel's body—enveloped him.
Eris gasped softly as the chill retreated, swallowed up by the warmth of the cloak and the sudden, breathtaking proximity of Azriel's face.
Azriel didn't move back. He remained leaning forward, his hands resting on the cushions on either side of Eris's hips, effectively trapping him against the wall of the carriage. The space between them shrank until there was barely a breath of air left to divide them.
Eris's heart hammered frantically against his ribs. He looked up with slightly parted lips, his amber eyes wide, tracing the sharp line of Azriel's jaw and the bob of his throat in the shadows.
"Azriel…" Eris whispered, his voice trembling at the edges—not from the cold anymore, but from the unbearable and exquisite tension alighting his nerves like a shower of sparks.
"Shut up, Eris," Azriel murmured, his pupils now so wide in the dark; there was only a thin rim of brown and green surrounding the orbs of black as his gaze flitted to Eris's parted lips—rosy pink from the biting chill.
The intimate spell woven into the air of the carriage interior shattered with a loud, ominous crack.
The entire vehicle lurched violently to the left, veering so precariously, it sent Eris tumbling into Azriel's hard and muscular chest. Outside, the driver was shouting a string of colourful curses, followed by the panicked whiny of horses struggling against the slick mud.
Azriel cursed under his breath, immediately steadying Eris with a hand clamped firmly around his waist—holding him against his chest as he wrenched the carriage door open. A wall of freezing, torrential rain immediately greeted them with a ferocious howl of thunder, instantly soaking the plush interiors.
"The front axle has snapped clean through," Azriel shouted over the roar of the downpour, squinting out into the murky darkness where the driver was desperately trying to calm the horses. "We're not going another yard tonight. We have to get out before the carriage tips completely into the ditch."
Eris wiped a stray strand of wet hair out of his eyes, his tailcoat already plastered to his skin by the onslaught of mist. "Get out? Into that? You didn't actually believe me when I said we would rather walk, right? Are you completely insane? I would rather drown right here!"
"Unless you want to slide into a swamp of horse manure, I suggest you move," Azriel retorted brusquely, already jumping down into the ankle-deep mud. He turned back, holding out a hand through the sheets of rain. "Come on, stubborn. Give me your hand."
Eris grimaced at the outstretched hand as if it were a venomous snake, but another lurch of the carriage made up his mind for him. With an indignant huff, he grabbed Azriel's wrist, and hoisted himself out of the carriage door. The moment his polished boots hovered a few centimetres above the puddle of mud they were trapped in, Azriel effortlessly hauled Eris away with a fluid grace, like Eris wasn't an adult man himself.
"Azriel!" Eris squealed at the jerky movement.
"Shut up, Eris." Azriel exasperatedly repeated, his warm breath tickling Eris's ear.
Alarm bells were ringing in Eris's head at the full-fledged contact he was having with Azriel. They were touching all over. Azriel's arms had slithered around Eris's waist in a possessive grip, and Eris could feel the throbbing of Azriel's pulse at his neck.
Fuck.
"Happy now?" Eris yelled over the storm, shivering violently as the freezing water ran in rivulets down his neck. He tried to pull Azriel's cloak tighter around himself as he was carried in the air, but the wool was already growing waterlogged.
"Ecstatic," Azriel yelled back, though a rare, genuine smile broke through his expression.
"Ah!" Eris exclaimed. "The bat feels, at long last. Thought it would never happen in my lifetime."
Azriel set Eris down on the cobblestone path of the country road safely away from the muck, and grabbed him by the elbow, dragging him away from the listing carriage towards the shelter of a massive oak tree standing at the edge of the road.
"They'll send a carriage from the estate; don't worry. We just have to wait a while." Azriel reassured Eris.
They stood pressed against the rough bark of the tree trunk, the grass at their feet squelching loudly. The rain was so thick it was nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. Yet, standing there in the freezing deluge, soaked to the bone and shivering uncontrollably, Eris suddenly felt an absurd, wild burst of laughter bubble up in his throat.
"This is," Eris shouted, gesturing towards their ruined clothes and the upturned carriage across, "the absolute worst wedding night in the history of the British civilisation!"
Azriel chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that got lost in the wind. Eris hated that he couldn't listen to it forever. He wanted to bottle up that magical sound and listen to it every day and night. He wanted to dream of it for the rest of his days.
Azriel reached out, his fingers catching Eris by the wet lapels of his ruined tailcoat, pulling him closer despite the freezing rain soaking through both of them. Eris felt a flicker of shame crawl up his throat. He probably looked like a drowned ferret, right now.
"Shut up, Eris," Azriel murmured softly.
Eris stopped laughing—the heat in his belly tightening like a coiled spring. The dark intensity in Azriel's eyes drew him in, Eris's heart fluttering in his chest as Azriel tightened his grip and the fingers of his left hand travelled south towards Eris's waist. There was no escape here—no velvet walls to hide behind, no clever quips left to deploy. Just the two of them, stripped of pretence, standing in the middle of a muddy wasteland at the end of the world.
Azriel shook his head—raindrops flying off his curly midnight-black hair, as a sharp exhale escaped his lips. "I cannot believe you flirted with my brother, you stubborn fox."
Eris grinned impishly at his husband's mock frustration. "I told you, I wanted to make certain I hadn't lost my touch."
"Your touch is lethal," Azriel said. He was standing so close; Eris could feel the warmth of their mingling breaths clouding in front of him and the fleeting moment where Azriel licked his lips as his gaze darted to Eris's parted lips, once again. "And entirely mine, according to the state of England and the king, and a very expensive piece of parchment."
Eris's breath hitched at the possessive term. He swallowed hard, his bravado stuttering. "You… you're taking this forced proximity situation rather well for someone forced into this marriage."
"I am practising restraint," Azriel whispered over the din of the storm, angling his face such that the moonlight reflected off the side of Azriel's face, lighting up a fire beneath Eris's skin. "And you are testing the absolute limits of it."
"I'm testing the limits?!"
"Yes," Azriel ground out, like he was trying his hardest to control himself from feeling. "All you do is saunter about the streets of London, peacocking in your tailored and brightly coloured suits, and running your mouth around the ton."
Eris's mouth dried up, his tongue finally leashing itself in this untimely moment. "Running my mouth?" Eris asked dumbly, all the fire of banter having dissolved into the rain.
"Yes. Your mouth. Which also belongs to me, now." Azriel replied smugly.
"Is that a threat, husband?" Eris asked with a huff, his fingers inching towards Azriel's back—defiance sparking in his voice once again.
"It's a promise, stubborn."
And before Eris could get the last word in with a sarcastic and brilliant retort to save his pride, Azriel closed the remaining distance, catching his mouth in a kiss that tasted like rain, danger, and a long-overdue surrender. It wasn't gentle; it was fierce and demanding, a collision of two stubborn souls finally dropping their weapons. Eris let out a surprised gasp that was swallowed by Azriel's tongue, as Eris finally clutched Azriel's back with a fierce grip, pulling him closer, anchoring himself to the only real thing in a spinning world. The kiss deepened, hot and dizzying, tasting of unspoken admissions and wordless vows.
Eris reluctantly parted from his husband, though Azriel didn't stray too far away, as if he couldn't bear to now that he had tasted Eris, ensuring their foreheads met in the middle—a genuine smile curled over Azriel's lips as his eyes twinkled so brightly, they eclipsed the night sky.
"You're still freezing," Azriel said, his thumb brushing away a wet lock of hair from Eris's forehead with an ardent tenderness.
"I'm fine," Eris lied through chattering teeth, though his hands immediately crept up to Azriel's nape, carding his fingers through the warmth of his soft locks and pulling him closer still to siphon whatever body heat remained between them.
"You're stubborn to a fault," Azriel said, rolling his eyes, as he allowed himself to serve as a human radiator for his shivering husband.
"So you'll punish me then when we get back to the estate?" Eris cooed, a mischievous glint gleaming in his amber eyes—turning it into molten gold.
"What would serve as a fitting punishment, my Lord?" Azriel teased back, the smile transforming into a toothy grin.
"You could kiss me again, because the first time was so dreadful; I wouldn't want a repeat of it."
A booming laugh rumbled through Azriel's chest, sending vibrations down Eris's spine, collecting low between his thighs.
"Shut up, Eris," Azriel said fondly, closing the remaining inch between their mouths.
When their lips met this time, it was soft and tender, like they knew they had all the time in the world to explore each other. Because they did. They had an expensive piece of paper signed with their names to show for it. Eris let out a moan against Azriel's lips, parting them eagerly, as Azriel growled low in his throat, pulling his husband flush against his chest, completely ignoring the mud, the rain, and the ruined clothes.
The storm raged around them, lightning flashing across the inky sky and thunder rolling over the hills, but neither of them pulled away.
It seemed the gods hadn't been upset after all.