Sheeva attempted to exercise as much patience as possible as the hairdresser messed with her sleek black hair, tutting to herself as a lock refused to cooperate. The woman was attempting something far too extravagant for Sheeva’s tastes, and Sheeva had wanted to suggest a simple twisted braid if only to get one of the two women assisting her out of her face. But, wanting to bask in the rare moment of being pampered, she kept her mouth shut and closed her eyes, thankful for the woman’s still delicate touch even while tugging at a stubborn spot.
The seamstress was fussing over a particular spot in what had to be the fifteenth dress Sheeva tried on, finding that many of the typical white dresses were too form-fitting. They may as well have been ridiculous corsets with extra fabric posing as wedding gowns as the damn things restricted her ribs and made her not want to risk breathing. In this, she was a little more adamant with protests, needing to talk, breath, move–essential functions.
As something better-fitting slipped up around her waist and then secured to her bosom, Sheeva sighed with relief, feeling that they’d finally found a dress better fitting for her warrior’s build rather than the dresses for twig-thin, porcelain dolls who couldn’t wield a sword or sail arrows into the broad end of a barn. When Mira fastened the buttons in place at the middle of Sheeva’s back, seeming to pay no mind to the lash scars from the behemoth, Sheeva gave another sigh of content.
Sure, the new dress was a little small, but nowhere near as restrictive as the others. Best of all, Sheeva could breathe and move decently in case she needed to.
“That’s much better. Thank you, ma’am.”
She rubbed some of the fabric between her fingers and wondered how rare the material was. Even silk seemed chalky compared to the new fabric, but, wanting to hold onto the element of surprise, Sheeva squeezed her eyes tighter and fiddled with Abraxas instead. She had shrunken him and tied her red ribbon around her neck as a part of inviting Rose to be with her on this momentous day.
“Yes. Yes! That is the perfect dress! It’s brilliant on you, darling!” Mira clapped her hands, and Sheeva could hear the contagious joy in the older woman’s voice. The meek smile stretched her lips, relieving it from its formerly frustrated frown.
“Oh! I know the perfect style for you now, yes! Here, sit, sit!” Nova beckoned, guiding Sheeva to a chair and helping her to sit down in it. Sheeva did gratefully, feet aching from standing in front of a mirror barefoot for almost the entire morning.
As Nova undid the work she’d put in and began to start over, Sheeva let her mind wander, wondering how Tazaro was faring, perhaps more accustomed to being poked and prodded at.
It didn’t seem to take long for Nova to finish styling Sheeva’s hair this time around, though she had to admit, she was mightily confused upon feeling something placed on the top of her head.
“A, a crown?” Sheeva blurted, fighting the desire to open her eyes and look.
“A tiara. Just wait; you’ll see. You’ll look radiant, dear.” Mira offered behind them, likely picking up the dresses strewn around the room.
Sheeva scoffed, smirking at the ridiculous, great pun Tazaro had made the previous night on the rooftop overlooking Raynak. Ray-diant, indeed!
She put up with more of Nova’s pestering, thankful that, now that she had the “perfect style,” the process was much more kind to her scalp and less time-consuming.
As they took her hand and helped her back to the stepstool in front of the mirrors, Sheeva made a small squeak of excitement. Had they really made a silk purse from a sow’s ear?
“Oh! Wait, wait, one more thing!” Mira called, making Sheeva groan in irritation. It felt like “one more thing” could quickly turn into ten. She felt something being tied around her waist and into a bow behind her, then something wet and sticky on her lips, causing Sheeva to freeze in case it was something necessary, rather than jerk her head back in surprise like she fiercely wanted to.
“Ok. Open your eyes, dear.”
She wasn’t sure what to take in first, overwhelmed by the instant battery on her perception of herself on multiple fronts–the tiara was appealing, resting amid a hairstyle she hadn’t thought of, with Abraxas resting in the V of her collarbone and an elegant dress she could never have dreamed of wrapped snugly around her body.
The tiara’s golden metal band shined in the light, and tiny sparkles from inlaid rubies as big and as red as her eyes made her skin tingle, tickled pink. Her sleek black hair was tied back in a half-bun, with a few locks hanging off decoratively, and that stubborn lock Nova had been fighting with since she’d started now framed the side of her face in a gentle, loose curl. The only makeup that the two women had placed on her face was enough, considering how tinted her creamy cheeks were with a light blush, the deep red lipstick accentuating her thin lips as they curled in cheer and bliss.
She hesitated to touch the exquisite fabric, worried that the sweat on her palms would mar or wrinkle the smooth-as-baby’s-skin dress. The deep auburn contrasted beautifully with the golden underlayer showing through a split where Mira tied the matching golden sash. The split edges were decorated with a feathered pattern, their tips noted by tiny, topaz gems that twinkled at her as she twisted to see what she could on the backside. A matching array of feathers, almost appearing as a pair of wings wrapping around and up along her side, were sewn into the gown, and Sheeva tittered to herself, somewhat in nerves but mainly in the irony of the situation.
“And, the final piece, which...doesn’t really match now,” Nova stated, handing Sheeva a corsage of pink, hissing drakeflowers, which she then helped to tie around her left wrist with a stiff, lacy ribbon. Sheeva clutched the trails of the bow in her hand, grateful to have something to grasp other than the expensive fabric. “But, it’s fine!” Nova huffed.
“We went with hissing drakeflowers because you two seem a fierce pair. Anyone as unorthodox as you two would be getting married to each other, I think.” She stated, explaining the particular choice.
Sheeva blinked, unsure if this was one of those “backhanded compliments” others spoke of.
“Oh. Um, thank you?”
Nova and Mira simply smiled with a small “hm” of appreciation.
Sheeva turned back to look at herself in the mirror. “As unorthodox” stuck to the grooves of her brain like slime mold, and she slowly watched her cheerful smile fade into something terrified.
“Would you two give me a moment, please?” She requested, avoiding their eyes as they looked at her in the mirror. Thankfully, they nodded and disappeared, shutting the door behind them as they left.
She held an arm across her waist in nerves, eyeing herself once more.
Unorthodox. Unusual. A nonconformist. Outlandish and abnormal.
She stepped off the pedestal, untied the corsage, and set it down on a dresser before she crushed the delicate ribbons in her hand in her moment of anxiety.
She had always been this way–odd and an outsider–but had Tazaro? Had she done him the disservice of helping others label him as strange and bizarre? Was that why he fought to cling to tradition–to hold onto a shred of the man he used to be? By going through with this, was she dragging him down a road of condemnation from society as well?
“Well, you’re glowing. Tazaro’s jaw will hit Hell, never mind the floor!” A voice behind her said, causing Sheeva to gasp and whirl around. She huffed in pity at herself, dabbing at the tears she wasn’t aware were trickling down her cheeks until they cooled by the rush of wind from her quick movement.
“Bartholomew, one of these days, you’re going to meet the end of my blade.” She half-threatened, stepping off the pedestal and towards the tissue box on the counter. Careful to not mess with the seemingly expensive lipstick, she blew her nose and cleared her throat as she collected her composure as well as she could.
“What are you–no, how did you get in?” She asked, finally turning to face the towering ta’hal.
“The front door, how else?” He replied cheekily with a cackle. Sheeva rolled her eyes at him, then wrinkled her brow in concern of something else.
“I believe you’re not supposed to be here,” She curtly reminded him, though honestly unsure, only remembering hearing about such things from Cassie in her daydreams of marriage when they were children.
He waved it off.
“Nah, that’s your groom-to-be’s bane. Nope! Best man and maid of honor can do what they want!”
“Oh? Self-appointed, I assume. Very well. I’ll allow it.” She murmured, feeling a lightness in her chest at the aspect, though it did not follow onto her face as she wished it would. Sheeva crossed her arms, finding it a little more challenging to do so in the particular dress, then quickly uncrossed them, hoping she hadn’t messed up the fabric somehow. Unsure of what to do with her hands, she folded them and set them down in her lap.
“So, it’s your happy day, and yet you’re crying.” Bartholomew struck.
“It’s Tazaro’s day too.” Sheeva countered, unwilling to discuss particularly why. She was overthinking the “what-ifs.”
“What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Had to see a guy about a debt he owed me. I was going to say hello to you two last night, but you two were busy.” He answered with a smirk. It was short-lived on his face as he stared her down, still not getting a proper answer.
“Well? You gonna tell me why you're crying, or not?”
Sheeva took a deep breath. Bartholomew wasn’t about to let it down, nor would he have, she admitted to herself.
“Is this unfair to Tazaro? Tying the knot with someone like me? I mean, did I encourage him to be so out-of-the-norm that he no longer fits in with society?” She asked, a brick of guilt solidifying itself in her gut.
“You really love him, don’t you? Gross.” He poked jokingly with a curl of fake disgust on his maw, but when it didn’t seem to have the effect he’d hoped for, Bartholomew cleared his throat to try a different approach.
“He’s always been different; outside the box thinking, progressive...A sarcastic assbag. Trust me, I know.” He promised, leaning against a windowsill to look outside. The sunlight streaming in no longer traveled through him but instead stopped on blue, fur-and-scale lined skin. He gave a purring sigh and scratched at his head and behind his ears with a claw.
“Listen, kid.” He began with the curl of a smile. “You ‘encouraging his oddities’ was one of the best things you coulda done for him. You freed a man from the pain of his past. You stood beside him when he confronted his father. Taught him how to enjoy life to its fullest again, and shoved him out of his boring comfort zone of building machines and crafting stuff out of wood.”
Boring to you, maybe. Sheeva thought in Tazaro’s defense.
Bartholomew huffed at something and turned away from the window to face Sheeva, arms crossed as his tail flicked behind him at some inner thought he likely wasn’t willing to share.
“Besides, he’s done a lot for you, too, right? You two are fit for each other.”
Hearing this eased Sheeva’s discomfort, and she boldly strode up to Bartholomew and pulled him into a hug.
“Thank you, Bartholomew. You’re right.”
He patted her back lightly as though not to mess up her hair.
Bartholomew felt warm, and Sheeva wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that he was much more tangible than he had been before.
“Is it weird that I think Belias would be proud of the both of you?” He asked, stilling for a moment in what Sheeva decided was the creeps about the situation.
“No. I like to think Rose would be, too.” Sheeva assured him with a bashful chuckle. She took a deep breath and sighed, then pulled away and headed toward the corsage she set down. She picked it up and straightened out the flyaways in it and on her person, then stared at herself in the mirror once more to memorize the view. Again, she had never anticipated seeing herself dressed in such a memorable way before meeting Tazaro. It reminded her of some things about their relationship and the simple fact that she knew him at all that she was thankful for.
“If that’s all, I’m going to check in on Tazaro too. See if he’s...doing alright.” Bartholomew stated with his old wispy cackle, suggesting he was about to say something rude. Sheeva wondered if it might have even been something about Tazaro fainting or throwing up from nerves.
"Alright. We will see you out there, then." Sheeva said her goodbyes and turned to the mirror for one last check and a deep, cleansing breath.
Bartholomew turned and left before the purr of approval could be heard as it rumbled his sternum, slinking through the doorway as carefully as he could. He practically flattened himself against the wall as two ladies cheerfully chatting between themselves about Sheeva’s outfit returned from sharing the idea with the male hairdresser and suitor for Tazaro. The last thing any of them needed was for Bartholomew to accidentally reveal himself to the public when he had little to no control over his current form. Still, he sneered as they tittered to themselves about how “handsome the young man was” and that Sheeva was a lucky woman.
His tail ached with how tense he was, hoping that they would finish passing by before his strength gave out and it fell into their path.
But of course, they would stop to fucking chat in the hallway! He thought, thankful that they wouldn’t hear the snarl tickling his throat. Perhaps he should make himself known and get them out of his way as they turn tail, scrambling and screaming in abject horror!
Finally, after hearing them ponder about how “cute and adorable” the soon-to-be-wedded couple’s children would be, the two ladies moved out of Bartholomew’s anxious way and into Sheeva’s room.
Bartholomew almost made to poke his head through the door like he had gotten used to doing over the last year but stopped himself before foolishly headbutting the damn thing and instead craned his head by the frame to listen in. It didn’t appear there was anyone with Tazaro inside, or perhaps Tazaro was already waiting at the podium for their ceremony.
The door handle felt too small for his giant paws, and he reminded himself to be delicate with the brass doorknob as he turned it. When the door opened with no resistance, he let it swing open, then slipped inside. Tazaro was still here, seeming to take a moment to himself, pouring over the pages he’d scrawled down over the week and a half travel to Raynak from Urul as he muttered their words in recital. Tazaro’s red silk shirt poked out from beneath a smooth black vest, neatly starched and buttoned, black slacks holding a nice crease that reminded him of the once-respected boss of the Vorony Bartholomew served in his youth. Even his chestnut hair was neatly combed into place, one side managing to stay tucked behind his ear and the other draping over the side of his face as he leaned on an arm to rest his sharp chin in it.
A pink drakeflower peeked out of the vest pocket, claiming the space for its own. Tucked in the cufflink holding the cuffs neatly folded up around Tazaro’s forearms were the criss-cross of Tyrj and Laerso, which Bartholomew felt they didn’t need to do; if Zakaraia even dared to show his face, Bartholomew would find a way to banish him instead.
Ever the planner, Bartholomew thought before clearing his throat.
The startling jump Tazaro gave made Bartholomew snicker, and as he watched Tazaro desperately straighten out the new wrinkles from his frightened grasp, he felt a slight twinge of apology.
“You’re never going to stop doing that, are you?” Tazaro asked, staring forlornly at his mussed-up papers, still picking at a particular spot.
“What are you frowning for? It’s a big day for you!” Bartholomew grinned, not dignifying Tazaro’s previous question with a response. He supposed, if he were to answer the question, it would be a proud, delighted, “never!”
Tazaro’s pleased smile broke through, and he finally lifted his face from the page to look at the ta’hal.
“And here I thought it would go well, but now that you’re here–
–Yes, well, I live to cause chaos and–
–It’ll be great.”
This threw him off guard, and Bartholomew was sure Tazaro witnessed the shock on his face as his scales rippled closed so quickly he was sure some of them had twisted upon themselves. It even caused his tail to flick, and to avoid fully showing his surprise, he crossed his arms in defense.
He cleared his throat, the deep-chested rumble mimicking his purr of approval and gratitude as his ears flattened against the crown of his head. At least with teal scales and fur upon his face, they couldn’t see the heat of a blush on his cheeks.
Bartholomew ignored the awkward shuffle-drag of his claws on the stone floor as he collected himself.
“You look good in that suit. Ever consider dressing it down and making it an everyday appeal?”
Tazaro smiled at Bartholomew, then turned to look himself over in the mirror, rubbing his hands together before smoothing out the creases that formed in his vest.
“I do look good, don’t I?” He agreed, pleased to see his own beaming smile, genuine in its curvature and the light it brought to his eyes.
Bartholomew cleared his throat and stepped forth, waving his hand and materializing something shiny from the air.
“Here. Wear this, will ya?” He asked, attempting to pin the small trinket to the lapel of Tazaro’s vest. As his claws clicked together in their futile efforts, Bartholomew grunted, then gave up as the piece popped out from his paws.
Tazaro caught it in his hand, then fixed the thing in place. He stared at it in confusion in the mirror–not only did it not match the aesthetic whatsoever, but he also didn’t understand the significance of the tiny, silver trinket.
“A chemical flask?” He questioned, giving Bartholomew a questioning eyebrow.
“Belias’s soul vessel was an Erlenmeyer flask. Sheeva will understand. I figure Belias would appreciate it since he cannot be here to stand in. I’d, uh, do it myself, but as you can see:” He spread his arms and wings to gesture to his visage.
A light, cheerful silence fell between the two as Tazaro stared off into a space reflected by the mirror, mildly disappointed that Tyler and his mother weren’t here to witness the events unfolding, either. He consoled himself with the idea that Tyler would be happy no matter what and that his mother was already here in spirit, and as he inhaled slowly through his nose, he sighed in content at the circumstance.
“Hey, can I shoot spitballs at the priests?” Bartholomew asked, likely mistaking Tazaro’s sigh for something unpleasant.
Tazaro scrunched his face and snickered. It seemed like something Micah would offer to do.
“That’s hilarious, but no! Please don’t.”
“Damn, I thought you’d say yes!” The ta’hal grumbled, tsking at Tazaro’s sense of proper conduct. “Alright...well, I’ll be watching from the nook of the belfry,” Bartholomew stated, waving a claw at Tazaro as he headed for the door. Tazaro nodded and picked up his journal, wanting to pick up where he had left off in recitation.
“See you there, Bartholomew.”
This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
Tazaro looked over as the clink of Bartholomew’s talons stopped sounding out on the stone slabs of the floor. The ta’hal was shaking his head at something in hesitance in the doorway.
“Something else?” He asked, putting the book down in case there really was something else.
Bartholomew gave something of an embarrassed grunt and snarl.
“Take care of Sheeva. Precious cargo.”
Tazaro smiled warmly.
“Of course. You’d rake me across the coals otherwise, right?”
Bartholomew turned his head, revealing a toothy grin.
“You’re damn right, boy!” He threatened before heading through the door and shutting it with a click.
Tazaro felt the now lessened feeling of butterflies as they fluttered around in his stomach, and as they tingled their way into his shoulders, he dabbed at the sweat forming on his forehead with a handkerchief, snorting at himself and his nerves. They’d already agreed that they didn’t need the ceremony, but it didn’t stop him from still wondering if Sheeva was at all pressured into this, or worse, that she felt she could do better somehow.
He slapped his cheeks and huffed at a well of nausea.
“Come on, stop being a chickenshit. You’ve fought beasts. You’ve fought other men. You’ve stared a twisted psychopath in the face, and you’re worried you don’t measure up? Sheeva fucking trained you! Get a hold of yourself!”
He paced the room for a moment in an attempt to collect himself, and as he felt his nerves decently exerted enough that he could dive back into the promises he’d been reciting for what felt like the tenth time, Tazaro shakily picked up his red-leather book and flipped back to the start.
He’d only gotten through the first scrawled paragraph before a knock sounded on the door, and as the man that had helped him get ready told him that it was time, Tazaro gulped and closed his book, then shrunk it to a size small enough to squeeze into his pocket but something large enough that he could still read it.
He stood off of the cushioned stool in front of the vanity mirror and straightened himself out once more, then headed for the door, grasping the handle and turning it quickly. His heart thrashed against his ribcage so violently it caused him to struggle for a breath, and as they turned toward the open space the ceremony was to be held in, his frantic heart stopped completely.
Here she waited, full of elegance and graceful splendor, with the beautiful smile he liked to think he inspired her to develop, hair pulled back in a majestic yet straightforward fashion. The auburn of her dress matched the richness of his shirt, and the contrast of gold accents in the fabric further painted her in a royal light despite the white-knuckled anxious grip of her wrist, obscured by vibrant green leaves and the bell-shaped, rose-pink, spotted drakeflower corsage that matched the one sitting in his vest pocket. The metal tiara on the crown of her head was a stunning, exciting piece of regalia, and he admired the way the candlelight twinkling from the rubies matched her eyes, which smiled back before darting to the corners in self-conscious demure at his stricken stare.
“Wow,” He managed past his suddenly dry throat as he closed the distance, aware of how starstruck and wide his eyes were and how hard he was smiling from ear to ear as his cheeks ached.
“Wow, you look incredible! I-I...Wow!” He babbled, laughing at his dumbstruck self.
Sheeva didn’t think she could feel any more flattered, but at Tazaro’s almost speechless gawking, she tipped her head and felt the full-force blush race up her chest and onto her face. Instinctively, she raised a hand to cover her grin with the back of her hand as she would when overwhelmed with shyness at something and let out a gleeful squeal.
“You’re incredibly handsome, yourself!” She squeaked. As she furtively glanced at him from head to toe, she giggled at herself, then pressed her chilly fingers to her cheek to regain her composure, eager to memorize rather than simply admire.
Surprisingly, he wore his hair down, tamed and styled with a well-done part to the left, allowing the thick chestnut locks to frame his face and pool over his shoulders, broad and shapely as he stood tall, proud, and brimming with adoration. As the glow of the candles reflected off of something silver and flashed for her attention, she lowered her eyes to the pointed lapel of his black vest, and her mouth dropped open in surprise.
“Is this-Is it what I think it is? For–
–for your father, yeah! Bartholomew gave it to me.” He blurted in excitement.
Sheeva looked around, searching for their towering friend.
“He’s roosting with the Tinker Owls.” Tazaro cued with a smirk, glancing up towards the ceiling. Sheeva looked and huffed in amusement as the ta’hal waved back at them with a toothy smile and clawed hand as he lay slouched in the curve of the windowsill. As she wondered how the thing still didn’t manage to cast a shadow on them all, Sheeva clenched her jaw tightly to keep the question back.
She ignored Atlas’s comment about how strange it was to describe someone being deceased in that manner but listened with gratitude as he offered a prayer over the both of them for “unfaltering love and eternal unity.”
As the two of them stepped towards a small stone trilithon serving as their altar, Tazaro held back a giggle and wondered if the stone thing was meant to only be about two feet tall. However, he noticed the square red cushions in front of it and realized that they were supposed to sit down for comfort while reading their promises to each other.
Suppose the temple has seen its fair share of hungover couples topple over one too many times and decided to accommodate for it, Tazaro figured.
Tazaro retrieved the red-leather notebook from his pocket while Sheeva slipped her book from the golden sash around her waist, having shrunken her book to carry it with ease as well.
“Sheeva–
“Tazaro–
They began at the same time, then stopped, chuckling at themselves.
“We didn’t rehearse this at all, did we?” He murmured apologetically.
“No, we didn’t.” She shook her head in agreement and shrugged. “But, you start.”
Tazaro nodded his acceptance and found his voice.
“Sheeva: As I stand here before you today, I want to affirm my gratitude. I owe you everything. My life, my livelihood, my place in this world. I want to thank you for supporting my oddities," Tazaro paused to snicker at the memory. "But, most of all, I want to thank you for reminding me who I am as an individual: a curious, hardworking, passionate man. We’re exceptional, you and I, and that means that we can do extraordinary things–and if that’s not something to live for, I don’t know what is.”
He squeezed her hand.
“So, I promise to give you the life that tragedy took away from you. One of learning. Of opportunity–with nothing to hold you back. A woman like you needs someone who can–” He paused to chuckle. “...Who will join you in spreading your wings. To continue to fly beyond the bounds of civility and live on your own terms. I’d be proud to be with any woman like that, but especially you, and I’m honored to be the man you chose to take with you.”
He paused to gather himself and turned the page.
“As the years pass around us, I promise to care for you and carry you if I need to.” He stated with a cheeky grin, earning a chuckle and beaming smile from Sheeva. “To care as much as I do today, whatever the future will bring. To never grow tired of you. To never forget what you’ve done for me.”
He cleared his throat, and she watched the pride glow in his citrine eyes.
“Because you’re not just my wife. You’re my partner and my dearest friend.” He intertwined their fingers together and placed a loving kiss on the back of her hand.
Sheeva bit her lip, thrilled and inspired by the sincerity in his words. Pleasantly stunned, she almost missed the cue for her to read her own promises. She retrieved a blue, leather-bound journal and turned to the bookmarked page, swallowing past her dry throat.
“Tazaro,” She began, trying to exhale out her nerves as she noted they’d started their vows in similar ways. She smiled; it just went to show how compatible they were. “As I stand here before you now, I want to offer you my gratitude. I never imagined a life beyond the shackles of revenge, let alone living long enough to fall in love, but I am thrilled to start this new chapter with you. You are someone I respect. You are someone I admire. Someone who meets me eye-to-eye.”
Her eyes softened in humility.
“But, what I really want to thank you for is what you saw in me. A woman who wasn’t just a misfit and was meant for different things. Things you found...acceptable and fascinating. When I had problems, you believed I was smart enough to work through them. When I felt helpless and useless, you proved how strong I was. And, at the same time, you showed me that it was alright to be weak. When I thought I couldn’t trust anyone, you gave me a place to fall apart.”
Sheeva raised her head to gaze into Tazaro’s eyes.
“With you, I’ll never have to face the world alone again. When things are uncertain, I know you’ll guide me through the dark, and because of that, I promise to do the same for you. To light your way. To walk beside you no matter where the road takes us. We’ll pave our own road if we have to!" She grinned.
“As days turn into months and months turn into years, I’ll be there.”
She gulped, eyes darting back and forth as she thought about something that seemed to frighten her for a short second, but as they hardened and burned with resolve, she smiled again and nodded with determination.
“I used to dread the future, but now that I have you, I cannot wait.”
Tazaro bubbled with joy and, unable to contain his excitement, pulled her close and planted a kiss on her lips. She returned it just as enthusiastically, bursting into a laugh and burying her face in his chest as the priest muttered a “you weren’t supposed to do that yet” under his breath. They glanced at Atlas and murmured a small apology, but with the tiny smile tucked in the corner of the man’s mouth, Sheeva felt he could care less about the slight against traditions.
When instructed to stand and approach Atlas, Sheeva raised the hand accentuated with the corsage, rested it in Tazaro’s outstretched one, and finally understood why the ribbons’ tailings were so long as Atlas gently tied them around their forearms in an infinite circle.
Tazaro’s sheepish smile overtook his pleased one when, when asked for the rings, he muttered a guilty: “I don’t have them yet. Crafting them. Can’t rush art, you know.”
Atlas didn’t seem to skip a beat over this hiccup and instead pulled the ribbons of the infinity knot a little tighter.
“This ceremony is most refreshing! If that matters not, then you two are most definitely a match for each other!” He whispered lightly with a spark in his eye.
"Tazaro Chorea, do you claim Sheeva Jules as your wife, to love, hold, cherish, and support–so long as you both may live?"
Tazaro's broad smile spanned his cheeks, and he gave Sheeva's hand a squeeze, citrine eyes glowing with pure pride.
"Without a doubt in my mind."
Atlas smiled, too, surprised with the answer more meaningful than simply "I do."
"Sheeva Jules, do you claim Tazaro Chorea as your husband, to love, hold, cherish, and support, so long as you both may live?"
Sheeva nodded her affirmation, adding a verbal confirmation of: "To the end of time," with just as broad a grin as Tazaro's, although her vision blurred by teary eyes.
"Then, with my blessing and through Zira's power, I declare you husband and wife!"
The overjoyed kiss they shared filled Sheeva’s heart with such overwhelming assurance and confidence it threatened to burst in her chest. Tazaro’s hands trembled to exert the nerves he’d just been battling with as they snaked across her back to hold Sheeva tightly to him, sighing with a flow of peace as he cradled her cheek in his free hand.
His nose nuzzled hers as he pulled back, careful to not get too carried away.
“I love you, Sheeva. So damn much.” He sighed happily, dipping his head to press their foreheads together as he pecked her lips.
“And I love you, Tazaro.”
A deep-welled sense of calm washed over the both of them as they settled into a sincere hug, Tazaro’s arms holding tightly around her waist and Sheeva’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, neither of them eager to let go–at least, not quite so soon.
*** [Line Break]
A blur of the next couple of days finally slowed, and as Sheeva’s naked form slept away in the silk-sheeted bed of the honeymoon suite they rented, Tazaro sat at the desk, dutifully working on their wedding rings by dim candlelight since he was, admittedly, too tired to cast his illumination spell. Frankly, he was surprised he even had enough dextral strength to chisel and scrape and shape with his tools, given how much he’d been using his hands for...other things.
He held back a snort at himself for his previous smooth talk, having muttered something like “patience is bitter, but your fruit is sweet” while sensually kissing his way down Sheeva’s body as she squirmed in anticipation for the touch of his tongue.
Sheeva had done her fair share of exertion, too, countering his suggestion for “something to eat besides each other” with a sultry pout and promise that they would get something to eat after she’d finished having her way with him.
It seemed to make the chocolate stuffed, buttery and flaky croissants they shared ever sweeter as they poured over a map of Raynak in search of even more exciting things to do, surprised that they’d managed to set aside the time. They thoroughly enjoyed making jokes or comments that no one else was privy to, snickering at the confused, mildly concerned looks on the eavesdropper's faces. He’d learned something new while rappelling off of the Arc de Raynak while Sheeva told him about her anxiousness the first time she had made a leap of faith from their favored tower at Malfa Temple. And, nothing could replace the full-of-wonder, prideful look in her eye while they enjoyed the swish of a gondola through the canals as Tazaro explained in further detail how else he had helped to restore the city.
As his favored tool slipped from his fingers in his moment of distraction, he cringed as B.A.B.E. clattered on the desk and rolled, then jerked his head back to the bed, hoping he hadn’t woken up the angelically sleeping woman.
Angelic indeed, despite the light snore, she seemed in such a deep sleep that her leg did not jerk, though she’d moved enough that she now lay on her side, the white sheet lazily draped over her waist and tangled in her legs. Even though Tazaro had seen them many times, he admired the tear-dropped breasts as they rose and fell with even, soft breaths.
A wave of tire registered behind his eyes, and he turned back to the desk to respectfully put away his tools as any proper craftsman should. With a harsh puff of air, he blew the dust and wood shavings from B.A.B.E, his personalized mallet and only named tool, then his smaller etching tool. As he returned them to their slots in his leather roll, the weathered thing seemed on its last limb. He’d known it for some time, but sentimentality kept him from replacing the lot, and while it would make sense to simply restore the leather roll itself, he’d never had the money to.
He tied off the sash that struggled to hold the girthy thing together, and set it on the corner of the desk, then returned the half-finished wedding bands to the tiny chest he had them in for safekeeping, making a mental note to attempt to search for polish in the next day or two, or at least before they continued their journey towards Cruinia. Maybe, they could even tour the seedy underground markets in the catacombs for shits and giggles since it wasn’t something he dared to do during college.
His hand brushed the jar of ink Sheeva brought with her from the temple, and as he caught it before it toppled over and spilled its rich contents, Tazaro decided that it was definitely time for bed. It was a fleeting thought that disappeared as though a mere wisp in the air as his eyes fell upon the blue, leather-bound book Sheeva had been dutifully scrawling things down in throughout their travels.
The flash of mischief made his eyes warm, and, glancing back at her sleeping figure, Tazaro reached for it and opened it up to flip through. Sheeva had insisted on drawing him a few times, and while she had shown him her work, he wanted to know what other sweet, hidden secrets she kept, insisting they were things she “wanted to remember for eternity.”
He stopped at the most recent sketch she drew, still amazed with the amount of detail presented. She drew him in a glamorous light, naked and posed the way she asked him to with that delightful blush on her face and seriousness in her eyes. It was a strange thing, seeing his own serene smile and naked form in a stance with a suggestive look on his face, but she had done it so well that the flattery outweighed his weirded-out state.
He flipped to the previous page, noticing that there appeared to be a list. Realizing he was towards the end of it, he thumbed through until he found the start of the list. It was the same list she had started while they were in Maizen. Delicate, curly handwriting with a particular right-angled slant and slight shadow of dragged ink on the page snared his attention, and he smiled at it.
Things to Remember in Eternal Servitude:
- 1. His captivating smile and the way his eyes lift and curl with each one.
- 2. His deep-chested laughter and how it rumbles your cheek when you lay next to him in bed.
- 3. The look of intense focus he gets when contemplating something heavy or the trouble-making smirk he gets when he’s thinking about pranks or jokes.
- 4. The amount of pride he has in himself.
- 5. The amount of pride he has in you.
- 6. The way he looks at you–like you’re everything to him, as he is to you.
- 7. He makes you want to be a better woman. A kind woman. A loving mother to his...your children, no matter how many you choose to have.
- 8. The colorful string of swear words he shouts when something he’s building doesn’t want to cooperate with him.
- 9. The fact that he was the first man to make you consider slacking in your search of Llyud...the first man to consider learning more about in earnest, and, after baring your well-guarded secrets, the man who changed...everything.
The following page was a rough sketch of him, working dutifully on his Stargazer, and as he studied the angle, he realized it was an aerial view of the workshop he had built it in. He chuckled and shook his head, having forgotten that she had been keeping a “bird’s eye view” on him even then.
The page after that contained a single sketch of him, illuminated from the right by firelight, smiling at the viewer.
- 10. The first man to want to kiss you, despite all the things that had gone wrong at the time.
The next page seemed a jumbled mess, but he didn’t mind, still tickled-pink about all the things she favored.
- 11. How you fought valiantly against an impossible foe for a caring man and his loving mother, who likely forgave all your vices, despite never telling you she paid them no mind.
- 12. How, when you believed yourself to be dead, found solace and comfort in the little comforts you’d received.
- 13. How he carried you, even after the death of his mother, to a safe place and even risked his life to heal your wounds.
He turned the page, surprised to find a well-drawn sketch of the portrait on his bedside table of himself, Vincent, and Micah upon their arrival in Raynak. It was something they had stopped to do during their opening week of college. The following page was three small excerpts to his friends, Perron included.
- 14. To Vincent: Thank you for treating me like any other Sferran, with little to no understanding of my abnormal state. If anything, you saw the anomaly in a curious, medical light and challenged me to question my own dark, blinding beliefs. You had a significant part to play in my pursuance of Tazaro and my own happiness, and you have my eternal thanks.
- 15. To Micah: Thank you for taking the children I cared for in. They have grown well and have excelled beyond their capability alone while in your care, and that is all that I had ever wanted for them–to live the simple life that I could not. Children are our future, and I believe that they helped shape us into even greater versions of ourselves.
- 16. Perhaps both of you will become their voice of reason and encourage them to pursue less dangerous occupations. But, again, who are we to decide what they become, for that choice is theirs, and theirs alone.
Amazed, Tazaro turned back to look at the wonderful, sleeping woman in the bed, a small smile on his lips. He highly doubted that she would ever share this list with them, but the sentiment still struck a well of cheer in his chest.
To retain some mystery aspect should Sheeva decide to share this extensive list with him, Tazaro turned the page back to where his finger held the spot. His eyes darted through points thirty-five to forty-three, and by the brusqueness of the statements, they reflected the wild, frantic, sex marathon they had shortly after the ceremony. He took time to read each one, feeling the blush break on his face.
- The way shadows shape his face and the way our lights illuminate his handsome features...especially his hair and beautiful eyes. Even when you can’t see his face, his moans of pleasure are music to your ears.
- That you love how fluidly his body moves in, on, and against you as he makes love to you. How he somehow leaves you simultaneously satisfied and spent, yet insatiable and hungry for more.
- Don’t forget how sexy you feel when you’re on top, whether for slow, sensual sex or to wildly fuck his brains out. You love how vocal and vulgar he can be and how husky his voice can get when he begs for more with that satisfied smirk and starry-eyed, pleading look of worship.
- How absolutely incredible that tongue feels when his head is buried between your legs, and how much you love to watch pleasure rapture his face as you give him head or as we become one. It truly feeds the soul, knowing how receptive he is to your touch.
- Your scars are beautiful to him even when you think they aren’t, and how he travels his hand over them or kisses your shoulders as he takes you from behind is assuring.
- His shapely butt, perfect for squeezing as we kiss, and his voluminous, soft hair, perfect for stroking as we cuddle in our blissful, naked comfort.
- Your husband’s warm skin, strong arms, and squared shoulders support and hold power to remind you that you are his.
- Tender words and actions; all the “cheesy romantic gestures” that remind you that he is yours.
This last list contained a sketch of him lying shirtless on a picnic blanket with his arms pillowed beneath his head as he smiled up at her, an open bottle of wine laying against his stomach, helping to obscure a sharply cut ‘V’ of abdominal muscle that disappeared into the fabric of his fancy, black slacks.
- You can be vulnerable to him when all else fails. He does not chide but listens, and allows you to make your own decisions, and is also not afraid to tell you when you are wrong...and you can accept that.
The last entry had two plus signs next to it, and he smiled. Whatever they meant to Sheeva, he was glad he was the one to inspire such deep thought and profound level of trust.
With his soul swollen from wholesome appreciation and with an exciting buzz in his chest, Tazaro closed the book and pushed himself out of the chair, a raging erection representing the metaphorical boner of his heart. The bathrobe slipped from his shoulders and pooled onto the floor as he slinked onto the bed, thankful that Sheeva stirred from her sleep at the feeling of movement at her side.
“Hey.” He called softly, suggesting she lay on her back when he firmly grasped her hip and pushed, silencing her gasp of surprise with an eager kiss. Unable to resist the hum that flowed from his throat as her lips melded with his, it tickled and fueled his desire for her.
“Ah, hey?” Sheeva whispered back, mildly confused, but as Tazaro kissed her again and settled his body against hers, she gave an interested “hm!” of realization. Her hands found his sides and wrapped around his torso, squeezing intently on the supporting muscles of his spine before lifting onto the trapezii.
"What's up?"
“Mmm...You like my butt, huh? And, how good my body feels against yours when I make love to you? Or, how absolutely sexy you feel when you’re on top?” He purred with a dirty grin as he pressed his erection against her waist. “Which, I can’t possibly begin to tell you how exquisite it is, by the way. I love watching you lose your mind and ride that orgasm high as you fuck my brains out.”
Sheeva’s unmistakable, bashful “oh!” sounded out as she squirmed beneath him in embarrassment, and he chuckled naughtily in the crane of her neck as he leaned down to kiss it.
“Ah, well, you weren’t supposed to see–
–Oh, but I’m glad I did. I’d love to see it all when it’s finished.” He countered. “Heh, first, allow me to give you some more things to fantasize about, you lovely, wonderful woman.”