It still amazed him that she would allow him to take her to wife. He, the most wretched of all humanity, would have a wife. A willing wife. One whose voice could drive jealousy into the heart of God himself. She was his. His. The hand around hers tightened again.
"I would wed you here, tonight," he said, "Were it possible. What would my bride prefer for her wedding day? I neglected your desires when I first planned the day I would take you as my own. There is still need for secrecy. But when we are free to declare ourselves to the world, I would proudly give you whatever ceremony and reception you prefer. Only tell me what you wish."
He could not stop from pulling her hand to his mouth again. The movement hurt his chest, but he did it anyway, sighing from the pain. It was frustrating, not to be able to be a man to the woman he had chosen.