Not a dream

After the thirteen kisses had been delivered, pressed carefully to the statue’s stone lips in the dark, the voice from Malav’s mouth had informed Charyic that she needed to be touching Malav or his staff to remain free of Anyk’s curse. Malav was cautioned again to guard her and then they were told to go. Charyic was still weak from the song and leaned against Malav as he helped her walk out.

She tried to keep the shirt wrapped tightly as Malav guided her out of the shrine and back to the tent. Cerik had either repaired the cot or replaced it, and Charyic went to it gratefully and sank onto it. Malav laid the staff next to her and stepped out to speak to the older man, she heard the murmurs of their voices as she fell asleep.

When she woke she was in the carriage, Malav was reclined with his feet on the opposite seat and she was curled in his lap. She drowsily kissed his shoulder and took a moment to remember that she could speak again. If it hadn’t been a dream. Charyic raised her head and looked at the smiling Prince, his black opal eyes half closed.

She decided to try, “Malav.” She grinned and he laughed softly. “It wasn’t a dream.”

“No. Twice, the first thing you’ve chosen to speak has been my name.” He looked immensely pleased.

Charyic kissed him giddily. “Didn’t you say you wanted to hear it?”

“I have wanted to make you call it out.” Malav breathed his words with ardor and shifted under her pulling her into a better position. “And we have a long journey ahead. Charyic, my wife.”

Charyic kissed him again with joy and desire that mirrored his own, and when she broke the kiss, she whispered, “Your falconet.”