The glow of the rooftop takes me by surprise, and I expect high winds and a smokey haze. The space is surprisingly straightforward and open to the expanse of the city. A vast open plain of glittering lights, complemented by the venue made up of veiled white curtains, guided the eye toward the centerpiece of the altar. 

I take a few slow steps, trying to find the space to breathe as I take it all in. Lit by paper lanterns, down the aisle way and around the variety of tables, I realize he'd put together a small private event for us and our close family. I wouldn't allow myself to get my hopes up that this was the actual event, though immediately I'm ashamed for thinking such a thing.

I knew this was his way of claiming me, my happiness, another one of our firsts, for himself. He touches the small of my back, almost startling me. I come back to earth as I realize everyone is watching, trying to gauge my reaction, trying to decide if this was something I was happy about. When I smile, everyone seems to breathe a sigh of relief. The event is small, and intimate, with just our close family besides the twins, Marcello and Rhea. 

"I'd like to remember this as our wedding before the whole world sees what they want to see, how it might have been if it had been more on my terms, or I suppose-" He runs a hand through his hair, and I squeeze his arm, I knew exactly what he meant. If we had actually courted, if I hadn't been a Prince who became a King, if he hadn't been a lycan turned into a slave. 

If we were peaceful people, who had met on the street or perhaps through a friend, at a rally, or in a shop. We might have shared tea, and had a couple of dinners, pretending we were good friends only to slowly become closer. We couldn't have had a wedding in our time, I could have pictured us attempting something like this.

"In truth, it was Helen's idea. Me and you, simple and easy. Though, I did toy with the idea of getting some sort of criminal to wed us, if you wanted the whole experience." 

How many more times do I have to tell him that I'd take him any way I could get him? The small venue was subtle; we would be ours before we were anyone else's.

Verando never failed to surprise me with his ability to surprise me. My first wedding had fulfilled my taste for marriage; with the stress and the spotlight, it had felt like it was for everyone else, but the couple and our current arrangement in France were much the same. 

"Of course." I breathe because my voice won't work. 

All at once, it hits me, and my heart gallops in my chest. There was no threat of a rogue in the crowd as the only ones here belonged in our close circle. With my lack of a jacket and rolled-up sleeves, I fuss with my clothes for only a moment before taking in the casual yet formal attire of the crowd. 

I remind myself this was on his terms. He preferred me without the robes, without the crown, and the presentation that came with it all. 

Helen wore a simple emerald dress, nice enough for a dinner. While the men wore various dark suits, Rhea had dawned a more revealing cocktail dress yet still kept with the understated theme. Between the two younger girls in their poofy princess gowns, Briley looked more like she'd rather be anywhere else. I allowed myself to relax. 

Offering me his arm, I note that the guests have already lined up down the aisle, with Ron at the alter. "Well? Shall we?"

Hesitantly, I grip his elbow, locking my arm in his. "You know my father's supposed to walk me down the aisle, not you."

Verando shrugs, "Historically, I'm old enough to be your father. Does that count?"

I nearly choke, managing a light chuckle. "Doesn't help the argument that I have severe daddy issues..." I murmur; somehow, each step toward Ron is easier, and I find I'm nearly pulling him along. 

"I'm sorry it isn't more spectacular. I didn't have much time. I wasn't even sure if you'd even want to do this." His voice is low, hardly audible. 

I feel his arm tighten on mine, his quiet chuckle indicating I was outpacing him. Ron appears almost misty-eyed, proud of his most stressful client. Maybe he hoped that if the man was married, it wouldn't be just him keeping the lycan in line.

"It's perfect," I respond, almost defensive of the small gathering.

The only thing that would make it better is if our friends were alive. 

Forcing myself to maintain my happiness, I push them to the back of my mind. It would be easy to wish for Tonic, to envision Tomas and Penelope with Rowan playing just as Silvia was. I pressed impossibly closer to him,  by the expression on his face, I could tell that he wished for the same thing. 

The music hums in the background, an endearing song that I can't even remember the words to. We reach the altar, and I turn to face him, swallowing back the excitement as I manage a nervous laugh, caught in remembering the dead. 

I take in the decorations, the older style alter was similar to the one that rested in the church my aunt frequented. Simplistic seemed to be the theme, nothing to distract from us and yet all complementary to the tradition and its importance. 

When my eyes finally lock on the man before me,  all I can see is him. All I can focus on is the rolled-up sleeves and disheveled hair of my warlord, who was moments away from belonging to me forever. I can see nothing but the charming, prideful grin before me. My lips move without my permission, I hold his hands so tightly that I feel my fingers going numb. 

The gentle, monotone voice of our agent-turned-priest soothes my pounding pulse as he declares for us the vows of marriage. "I wish you were dressed as my commanding officer," I whisper, catching a glimpse of my favorite look. 

"You're not supposed to be talking." He mouths back as I grin sheepishly. 

I sock it away for France, knowing exactly how I'd like him to look. 

Ron clears his throat, earning laughter from our family members. 

"May I continue?" He asks, his voice full of good humor. I nod as he gestures to Helen, our ring bearer. 

Helen produces the rings as Verando grasps mine, the thinner band. He slips the secondary band onto my finger; I'm surprised by the almost clammy nature of his hands. While I'm giddy with joy, it would appear he's been quietly melting down with nerves. 

"You are more precious to me today than yesterday, and you will be more cherished tomorrow than you are today. Please wear this ring as a symbol of my eternal love for you, which transcends all our yesterdays, all our todays, and all our tomorrows." 

It takes all of me to restrain the bubble of joyous relief mixed with a sob. I nod, hurriedly, managing to repeat it back to him as I do the same with a thicker, metallic band for him, though similar to mine in the intricately carved designs.

Before the words could leave Ron's lips, I pulled him to me and kissed him to gentle applause and a bubbly, shy giggle from Silvia. My arms fold around his neck, pulling him to my height for easier access. He slips one arm around my waist, steadying himself from being pulled over in my haste. I don't care, I wanted to memorize this moment for the rest of my life. 

Ron pronounces us wed, and I accept my title of Mr.Nicolas Mercer. 

Helen hugs me from the side as soon as I clear the stand, and it seems as if Verando is reluctant to let me leave his side as I snake away from him to hug her back. 

"I'm so glad I get to be here for this." She whispers; Tyler pats me on the back, drink in hand. 

"She's talked about it nonstop for two days, so I'm glad it's finally here."

Swatting him, she hugged my warlord as tightly as she could stand, and he grimaced at the intrusion in his personal space. 

"I don't even care." She tells him gleefully. "Thank you for letting me be involved." 

Seeing Helen happy removes my initial sorrow of missing my distant family, I can be okay with this. As she peaks at me from Verando's chest, her make up slightly smeared from tears and her short white hair curled into loose waves, she offers the tiniest smile. 

I wish Lady Ana could have seen this. She would not approve of your outfit." She laughs sadly. 

I hug her again, broken yet happy all over again because it's silent permission to grieve and celebrate. So often, I try not to remember them; it felt good to think about what could be. 

"She wouldn't." I often like to forget I gave Helen to Lady Ana, who took impeccable care of her, better than I had hoped at the time; Helen was not even invited to my first wedding. "Fillipa would have been thrilled though." 

The mention makes my new husband flinch, and he pulls me to his side. 

"We have time for a quick dance, then I want to show you something."

"Dance and cake!" Rhea demands; he rolls his eyes dramatically, and I adjust his hair in the gentle breeze. 

"Dance and cake," I command him, allowing him to pull me to the cleared section. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought up Fillipa," I mumble as he leads me around the small space, my hand in his with his other resting on the small of my back. I recognize the dance, a familiar one from our own time. "Do you remember the formal dances we would do at the castle parties?"

He makes an annoyed sound, "I remember hoping you wouldn't be murdered. I didn't quite partake as you did."

I lean my head on his chest with a sigh, breaking the rhythm to force him into a closer number, and he leads me with ease, "Shame. You're a good dancer. Where did you learn?"

"France. Anuetta taught me the formalities." 

I almost want myself to be upset, but finding nothing could spoil my good mood. Listening to his steady heartbeat, I shut my eyes and smiled at his lips brushing the top of my head. 

"Would you like me to carry you?" Verando chuckles as I lean into him.

"Mmm." I purr happily, "I'd almost prefer to stand on your feet and allow you to whisk me away."

"I need to limit your telly." He scolds, halting as the song ends. Catching my chin with his index finger, he tilts my head and kisses me, "This is what I love about you." However, I can tell by the secondary glance, that he was not impressed with the idea of cake.

I pat his chest reassuringly, hooking my arm in his. "And my love for you allows me to enjoy enough cake for both of us."

Somehow, he does not look amused as I drag him to the impressive three-tiered cake sitting off to the side. A white frosted desert with large, crafted roses draping down the side. Surprisingly, they're made from sugar, though they don't taste the best. 

I happily take a slice for myself before I'm instructed to feed it to my less-than-willing husband. As much as we might be family, I know the limitations of my warlord and opt out of smashing cake in his face, which he seems to appreciate, considering he looks quite ill at the thought of eating all that sugar. 

Finally, we get a moment to sit, and I'm happy for the court-style long table that we all crowd into in a manner we might have in our own time. Complete with a meal that, with a single glance, brings me to understand why he fed me before we came. It's a traditional Romanian dish, and he was not interested in eating it. 

Instead, he sips wine while we talk about the future of the girls and our hopes for the city. As the conversation drifts, I rest my hand on Verando's knee. 

"You are so particular." I tease. "You know, some people inconvenience themselves for others. Like eating cake and traditional dishes."

Raising a brow, he shrugs one shoulder. "Pity for them, yeah? I've inconvenienced myself for many things; food is not one of them."

 Shaking my head, I lean my cheek on his shoulder and huddle up to him for warmth in the chilly air of the rooftop.

 As much as I want to hang around with our family, it seems that everyone is all smiles and all too happy for us to get back to our room. I'm almost disappointed as he guides me back to the stairs after only a short while; we had had a long day. I could imagine he's just tired, and to be honest, so am I. 

I feel drained, physically and mentally.

"It's already over?" I can't be too upset, I suppose, we are going to have a second, much larger wedding, but it seems a waste of the decorations and good company. It was often everyone got along so well. "Are you just too eager to consummate?" 

Rolling his eyes at my vulgarity, I can't spoil his good mood or mine. While I had already had him once today, I was always ready to take seconds whenever it was offered. My back could be convinced to tolerate more abuse with the help of modern medicine.

"I have a gift for you." Verando reminds me as we descend the stairs. "Besides, you're starting to chill."

"How can you possibly give me anything else?" 

I could admit I was getting quite cold.

Holding me closer, he squeezes me with a hopeful expression. "I think you'll like it. If you don't, we can make other arrangements." 

I tilt my head, pondering this as the elevator lowers. Once we reach the door, he covers my eyes with his hands. 

"Just don't run into anything, alright?" 

I nod, chewing my lower lip as I allow him to guide me into the room. I grip his wrists, uncertain if I was being lured into some trap where he'd torment me the rest of the night.

"Hold out your hands." 

Obediently, I do so, almost trembling with anticipation.

The warm bundle is placed in my arms, and my entire body goes rigid. Instinctively, I clutch the bundle to my chest as he slides his hands from my eyes to my forearms. I can hardly stand to look, watching the gentle, heart-shaped face of the nurse in front of me. 

My body begins to shake, terrified of how it might feel to gaze upon what now belongs to us. I look over my shoulder at him, looking for reassurance. 

"You might want to name him?" He tells me gently, his voice almost a whisper. 

I shut my eyes tightly, damning myself for the excitement before I finally steal a glance at the much more substantial baby boy I now hold in my arms.

His steely gray hair was thick and soft, and his eyes had just begun to lighten to a paler blue, though they were hardly open as he nestled closely to my chest. I don't have to give him back; I don't have to hand him to anyone else, at least not tonight. The tears spill over, and I twist to face him so he can help hold me up; my legs feel as though they can hardly manage to stand.

 "Are you not happy?" He asks worriedly, catching my face with his hand.

I shake my head, sniffling as I try to get a hold of myself. "I'm the happiest I have ever been." 

Do I thank him? Is it even possible? The nurse excuses herself to retire to the guest room, and he leads me to sit on the plush couch, my eyes unable to leave the tiny boy. 

"Xavier," I tell him finally. "Just like his daddy."