Work Text:
The Arcane Legion adapted to the engagement with alarming speed – not that all of them had actually been surprised.
A few members had reacted to the public proposal with outright shock, others wore the exhausted triumph of people who had been right for months and were finally vindicated. The arguments after that supposedly went on for hours.
“How could you not know?”
“Because normal people don’t expect that!”
“They literally did the fake dating thing in Tainu!”
“Oh my god,” someone else had interrupted, “do you think they were already together back then?”
“They absolutely were not,” another voice argued.
“Then why was the Commander looking at him like that?”
“He looks at him like that all the time!”
Looking back, many privately concluded it would have been stranger if their Commander and his assistant had not ended up together. They had long since become inseparable fixtures of the Legion itself – one bright and overwhelming as the sun, the other quiet and immovable as a drawn blade. Their Commander was the face that led the Legion forward with impossible confidence and dazzling charisma. His assistant was the spirit that held it together beneath the surface, the calm certainty at its center.
If anything, the proposal had merely forced the rest of the Empire to catch up.
That did not mean the aftermath was survivable.
Their Commander had always been difficult to look at directly, but afterward he became actively hazardous. Happiness suited Kishiar La Orr with terrifying intensity. He seemed brighter somehow, as though the proposal had stripped away the final restraint on the force of his presence. The countless jeweled rings he once wore vanished almost overnight, abandoned in favor of a single band he displayed at every available opportunity. He would rest his chin against his hand so the ring caught the light, gesture dramatically with it during meetings, brush his fingers against Yuder’s shoulder solely to draw attention to the matching piece.
And if someone was foolish enough to ask about the proposal itself–
Well.
The resulting expression was considered a legitimate threat to one’s eyesight.
Their Commander would light up with such pure, boyish joy that weaker members of the Legion found themselves briefly unable to process speech. Worse, once started, he would continue talking without mercy. The speech. The rings. The exact look on Yuder’s face when he knelt. The way the hall had sounded after the kiss. Hours could disappear that way if one lacked the strength to escape.
Their demonic trainer was subtler but no less dangerous.
Yuder did not smile often to begin with, which meant the rare softness that now occasionally appeared around the Commander carried catastrophic effect. Sometimes it emerged when Kishiar spoke unexpectedly or when someone mentioned the wedding. Sometimes when the Commander simply entered a room. The expression itself remained small – barely there, really – but the fact that it existed at all struck the Legion with enough force to leave trained soldiers staring blankly into space afterward.
The ring only made things worse, really.
Yuder wore gloves as he always had, but now the engagement band rested over the black fabric rather than beneath it. It was not flashy in the same openly theatrical way as Kishiar’s constant displays, yet that quiet visibility felt even more dangerous. Their Commander’s assistant, who guarded his emotions more carefully than military secrets, had chosen to keep the symbol visible at all times.
Naturally, the Arcane Legion responded to this mortal peril with enthusiasm.
Kanna and Gakane cornered Yuder quickly after the public proposal, demanding to know why neither of them had been informed ahead of time. Kanna looked genuinely betrayed. Gakane merely folded his arms and stared with the patient disappointment of a man expecting explanations.
Yuder, entirely unmoved, answered simply: “It wasn’t for anyone else. It was for him.”
That somehow made it more romantic. Kanna had looked two seconds from screaming.
Enon proved more difficult to pacify. Upon locating Yuder afterward, he seized immediately his cheeks and began scolding him for causing nationwide emotional damage without warning.
“Do you have any idea how many calming remedies I had to make afterward?” he demanded, squeezing harder. “Half the Legion looked like they were on the verge of collapse!”
Held firmly by the face, Yuder answered with admirable calm despite the distortion to his voice. “Will you sit in my family section, big brother?”
Enon froze.
Then, with an irritated gesture that failed to disguise the pleased tightness around his mouth, he shoved Yuder away. “Who else would sit there?” he snapped. “Get out of here.”
And so the Arcane Legion settled into a new sort of normal.
The atmosphere throughout headquarters became strangely buoyant in the weeks that followed. Members caught themselves smiling for no reason. Conversations drifted toward wedding speculation with alarming frequency. Even training sessions carried a lighter edge beneath the suffering.
Not that the suffering lessened.
During one particularly hellish session, timed carefully between rounds so Yuder would be less likely to interpret conversation as laziness punishable by death, one brave Awakener finally asked: “So… how did you and the Commander get together in the first place?”
Yuder looked up quietly.
The others piled on without hesitation.
“Yeah, we never heard the story!”
“Who confessed first?”
“It had to be the Commander, right?”
“It was,” Yuder answered simply.
Several people cheered. “Ha! I knew it!”
And then, naturally, the Commander himself appeared from nowhere.
“Oh my,” Kishiar said pleasantly, as though materializing beside training grounds conversations was perfectly normal. “I seem to have stumbled onto something interesting.”
The atmosphere immediately became even more energized.
“Commander!”
“Sir, tell us everything!”
“Did you know,” Kishiar continued with obvious delight, “that he rejected me multiple times?”
The training grounds exploded.
“He didn’t!”
“Yuder!”
Yuder, unmoved by the uproar, answered before Kishiar could elaborate. “He propositioned me during our first mission together.”
Silence.
Then absolute chaos.
“COMMANDER!”
“On the first mission?!”
“That’s not even courtship anymore, that’s abuse of authority!”
Kishiar laughed outright, bright and unashamed beneath the barrage of accusations. “He was enchanting from the beginning,” he said, as though this explained everything. “What was I meant to do?”
“Have self-control!”
“Impossible,” Kishiar replied immediately.
Yuder sighed once, the expression faintly long-suffering in a way the Legion recognized well. That only encouraged them further.
“No, wait,” Finn interrupted suddenly, eyes narrowing. “Then when did you actually start dating?”
“Yeah,” Hinn added, “Was Tainu fake-fake dating or real-fake dating?”
Several people reacted with the weary intensity of soldiers hearing an old battle horn.
“Not this again.”
“It matters!”
“It absolutely matters.”
Jimmy, who had evidently missed the earlier rounds of debate, looked between them with widening eyes. “You mean they might have been secretly dating while pretending to pretend date?”
“That’s unfair,” Ever muttered, visibly distressed. “How was anyone supposed to tell the difference?”
Kanna made a noise halfway between a laugh and a choke. “Oh, that’s what finally caught everyone’s attention?”
Heads whipped toward her instantly. A dangerous silence fell.
Finn pointed in trembling outrage. “You knew.”
Kanna pressed a hand lightly against her cheek, unrepentant. “Mm. But people generally dislike it when I share things I learn without permission, don’t they?”
“That’s cheating!”
“No fair!”
“Wait, you seriously knew already?!”
Someone’s gaze darted from Kanna to Gakane, then narrowed.
“And you,” Hinn said, pointing at him next. “You’re always with Yuder. Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”
Gakane sighed, as if he had expected to be dragged in the moment Kanna opened her mouth. “I didn’t know then. Yuder told me later.”
The outrage immediately redirected.
“He told you?!”
“Traitor!”
“How many people were hiding this from us?”
Gakane scratched the back of his head lightly, “In my defense, I assumed most of you had figured it out already.”
Steiber barked out a laugh at that. “To be fair,” he admitted, “they weren’t exactly subtle.”
Ever turned toward him in disbelief. “They weren’t?”
“They wore matching accessories to court cases,” Steiber said, counting on his fingers. “They attended public events dressed like two halves of the same declaration. The Commander looked at Yuder like he was personally responsible for the sunrise, and Yuder let him stand close enough to breathe on him without threatening him even once.” His smile widened. “Also, they scandalized half the Empire every time they danced.”
Ever sputtered. “That was because they were advancing awareness and rights for second gender Awakeners!”
“Yes,” Steiber replied patiently. “And they were also very obviously obsessed with each other.”
Ever stared at him, then slowly turned toward Kishiar and Yuder as though reevaluating several years of memories at once.
Kishiar, unfortunately, only smiled. “Why,” he asked pleasantly, “couldn’t it be both?”
“That explains nothing,” Ever complained.
“It explains everything,” Hinn argued.
Throughout all of it, Kishiar looked increasingly delighted. “Oh my,” he mused, glancing toward Yuder. “It seems our relationship caused more confusion than expected.”
“The Commander has always been like this,” Yuder said, as though offering meaningful clarification.
“That somehow made it worse,” Ever muttered into her hands.
Jimmy looked between them, then blurted out with complete sincerity, “So you’ve just been in love with each other basically the whole time?”
Kishiar answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
The training grounds fell silent again. Yuder blinked once beside him but did not dispute it. Gakane made a strangled sound into his hands.
“That’s absurd,” Finn declared.
“That’s absurdly romantic,” Hinn corrected.
Someone near the back seemed to recover first. “Wait. Then why did you reject the Commander?”
“Yeah,” another voice quickly joined in. “Multiple times?”
A few people laughed at that, the sound lighter now, threaded with disbelief rather than accusation.
Yuder glanced at Kishiar, then answered as calmly as before. “I thought it was inappropriate.”
This time, several members nodded despite themselves.
“That’s fair.”
“It was the Commander.”
“And he was technically your superior.”
“And apparently propositioned you on your first mission.”
Kishiar smiled shamelessly. “A regrettable lack of patience on my part.”
“No one believes you regret it,” Ever said flatly.
“No,” Kishiar admitted easily, “but I thought it sounded proper.”
The laughter that followed loosened the tension again, allowing the next question to come more quietly than the rest.
“Then what changed your mind?”
The noise faded by degrees.
Even Kishiar turned toward Yuder now, visible curiosity softening his expression. For all his bright teasing and shameless admissions, he had gone quiet in the way he only did when he genuinely wanted an answer. To most of the Legion, Yuder’s pause merely seemed thoughtful. Kishiar, however, recognized that he was considering the question with complete seriousness.
Finally, Yuder answered: “I realized it was inevitable.”
The training grounds went dead silent.
For a second Yuder actually wondered if he’d said something wrong. Then Finn whispered weakly, “Why does that sound more romantic than an actual confession?”
“No,” Hinn corrected hoarsely, “that was a confession.”
Chaos erupted again.
“He basically just said they were fate!”
“Oh my god–”
“That’s illegal!”
Through all of it, Kishiar remained perfectly still. The bright amusement softened slowly from his expression until something warmer, almost helplessly tender, remained behind. Crimson eyes stayed fixed entirely on Yuder, as though the rest of the world had blurred into irrelevance.
“He’s never said that to me before,” Kishiar murmured softly.
Yuder looked mildly confused by the reaction surrounding him. “I thought you already knew.”
That finished them. Several Legion members collapsed right there on the training grounds. Kanna made a strangled noise suspiciously close to tears. Ever looked moments away from needing medical assistance. Gakane covered his entire face with both hands. Meanwhile, Kishiar looked dangerously close to either kissing Yuder senseless or ascending directly into the heavens.
Eventually, he managed a breathless laugh.
“Alright,” he announced, visibly failing to recover his composure, “I’m afraid our adorable assistant is being too devastating for continued productivity. Deputy Commanders, the rest is yours.”
Complaints rose immediately, but Kishiar ignored every single one.
One warm hand settled against Yuder’s back automatically, drawing him closer as though by instinct alone. Before anyone could prepare themselves, Kishiar leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss against Yuder’s cheek in full view of everyone.
The resulting screaming could reportedly be heard from three buildings away.
---
The days that followed the proposal seemed to vanish with alarming speed.
Yuder had expected planning a wedding of imperial scale to involve complicated negotiations, endless fittings, and more opinions than necessary. This proved correct. What he had not expected was how completely Kishiar threw himself into all of it, as if the public proposal had lit a fire under every part of him that delighted in ceremony, symbolism, and impossible standards. Whenever Yuder pointed out that he seemed to be handling nearly everything himself, Kishiar only smiled with shameless brightness and said, “My dear assistant stole the proposal from me so splendidly. Naturally, I must ensure the wedding is perfect enough to compete.”
There was little Yuder could say to that.
Or rather, there was much he could have said, but none of it seemed necessary when Kishiar looked so happy. He watched the man compare fabrics with the concentration of a master craftsman, discuss floral arrangements as though each bloom carried meaning that would alter the whole room, and revise seating charts with the serene persistence of someone arranging pieces in an intricate puzzle. It was excessive, certainly. It was also so transparently joyous that Yuder let him get away with all of it.
And so the day arrived.
Yuder adjusted his sleeve with precise care, watching the motion in the dressing room mirror while the palace servants completed their final checks.
Pure white fabric caught the light in a soft gleam, the cloak falling in an unbroken line down his back. Silver thread traced the cuffs and collar so subtly it appeared only when he shifted, and the fitted vest beneath the jacket carried embroidery more intricate than anything Yuder would have chosen for himself.
A servant smoothed the fabric at his shoulder. Another corrected the fall of the cloak by an amount so slight Yuder could barely see the difference. He had the distinct impression that every seam, fastening, and fold had already been corrected many times before this moment, likely under Kishiar’s exacting supervision.
The garment was formal enough for the imperial ceremony, severe enough to suit him, and carefully made so that its beauty did not obscure the person wearing it. When Yuder lifted his arm slightly, the fabric followed without pulling, the cloak settling back into place as though the motion had been accounted for from the beginning. That, more than the embroidery or polished fabric, made Kishiar’s hand unmistakable. Even in something meant to be admired, Kishiar had made certain Yuder could still move.
Gakane and Kanna stood in the doorway with complicated expressions on their faces.
“Wow,” Kanna said at last, blinking. “Yuder, you look amazing. You always cleaned up well, but… wow.”
Gakane nodded, still looking faintly dazed. “How are you so calm? You don’t seem nervous at all.”
Yuder looked at them. “Why would I be nervous?”
They laughed, half fond, half disbelieving.
“No, of course you’re not,” Gakane said, smiling helplessly.
Even when Yuder stood at the dais before the Emperor, with a massive crowd gathered behind him, he did not understand why they had assumed he would be nervous. He would never have started this if he were not certain. The scale of the ceremony did not matter. The number of witnesses did not matter. The weight of law, title, and expectation gathered in the hall could not unsettle him when the choice had only ever been for one man.
That thought lasted only until Kishiar appeared at the end of the aisle.
Yuder still was not nervous, exactly, but for a moment, he thought his heart might beat out of his chest.
He could not even see the full effect yet. Kishiar’s face remained hidden beneath the flowing veil he wore, and still the sight of him was enough to unsettle something deep and steady within Yuder’s chest.
The veil had belonged to Her Majesty, offered with shining eyes almost as soon as planning began. It was short in the front, just long enough to cover Kishiar’s face, but long in the back, trailing behind him like a glimmering cloak. His suit was white like Yuder’s, similarly made from the former Empress’s own wedding dress, but its shape was entirely different. A traditional vest clung to his broad chest, the lines precise and elegant, while the lower hem flared long with deliberate softness before giving way to straight, crisp trousers. Together with the veil, it evoked the impression of a wedding dress without ever ceasing to be unmistakably masculine.
It was something he was sure only Kishiar could have pulled off.
The quiet chatter that had filled the hall died at once. Every attendee seemed captured by him, just as Yuder was. Kishiar did not look at the crowd; even through the veil, his gaze remained fixed only on Yuder.
For Kishiar, the veil was barely an obstacle, and yet he found himself lamenting it. He wanted to see Yuder clearly. He wanted to take in every detail without gauze and light softening the view. He had seen the suit before, of course. He had designed it himself, overseen every fitting, and ensured that not a single line would sit incorrectly on this day. Even so, nothing had prepared him for the sight of Yuder waiting at the altar, hair swept back, posture composed, the barest trace of makeup at his eyes and lips – evidence, no doubt, of a battle the palace servants had barely won.
The hard lines of the suit shaped Yuder’s slim frame perfectly. The vest, made from his mother’s gown, added intricate embroidery against the severity of the structure, a quiet complexity that made Kishiar’s breath catch.
But as always, what held him most completely was Yuder’s eyes.
They caught violet in the light, fixed on Kishiar with a soft, almost imperceptible smile and a depth of devotion that struck him with the same force every time. Awe rose in him, bright and helpless.
He had planned every detail of this day.
The white-and-gold flowers arranged along the aisle had been chosen to soften the severity of the imperial hall without overwhelming it. The ribbons draped between the pillars echoed the blue and gold that would soon bind their hands, subtle enough to seem ornamental to most eyes, deliberate enough that Kishiar had argued over the exact shade twice. The seating had been arranged with equal care: Empress Rosa, Hellem, and Enon placed in the front rows reserved as family, each presence carrying its own weight of history and difficult affection. Behind them sat the Arcane Legion, barely managing the appearance of proper solemnity, and the people of Peletta, whose pride was quieter but no less fierce.
He knew where every guest had been placed. He knew which flowers would catch the light when the sun shifted, which musicians would begin after the vows, how many steps remained from the end of the aisle to the dais. He knew the order of the ceremony, the timing of the blessing, the angle at which the veil would fall.
And still, somehow, Yuder remained the one thing for which he could never properly prepare.
The walk down the aisle felt impossibly long.
Each step brought Kishiar closer to the man waiting for him, but not nearly close enough. The distance between them was ceremonial, carefully planned – and suddenly intolerable. Some reckless part of him wanted to discard every measured piece of ritual he had spent weeks perfecting and cross the remaining space at once, to gather Yuder into his arms before the eyes of the Empire and God alike.
Yuder seemed to understand.
His posture remained perfect, of course, but Kishiar could see the tension held beneath it, the precise stillness of someone exerting force against himself. Yuder’s shoulders were set with the restraint he only showed when holding back something considerable, and from the moment Kishiar appeared, his dark gaze had not moved away.
By the time Kishiar finally reached him, restraint had become an unreasonable expectation.
He caught Yuder’s hands in his own before anyone could direct him to do so, sweeping them up with a smile bright enough to make the nearest witnesses lose their breath. Somewhere beside them, Keilusa sighed.
Kishiar chose not to hear it.
“We have gathered here today,” the Emperor began, voice formal and resonant, “to witness the union of two pillars of our empire.”
His gaze moved first to Yuder.
“Baron Yuder Aile, Hero of the West and the South, Divine Archer of the North, bearer of the Sovereign’s Aegis, Hero of the Orr Empire.”
Kishiar’s smile widened with every title.
Yuder’s expression did not change, but Kishiar felt the faint discomfort in the way his fingers shifted minutely against his own. Some of the titles, Yuder clearly felt, were excessive. This only made Kishiar treasure them more.
“And Kishiar La Orr,” Keilusa continued, “Duke of Peletta, Commander of the Arcane Legion, Master of the Western Light, and Hero of the Orr Empire. You have both placed your lives on the line many times over – not only for the peace of this Empire, but for the world beyond it.”
The hall was silent.
Keilusa’s gaze rested on them both, and for a moment, beneath the imperial bearing, there was only an elder brother looking at the man who had survived enough to stand here, and the one who had chosen to stand beside him.
“Before law, throne, and God, speak now the vows you offer one another.”
Yuder had not taken his eyes from Kishiar since the moment the man had first come into view, and now, with their hands joined, he spoke with the same slow certainty he had carried into his proposal.
“Kishiar La Orr,” he said, voice calm and clear. “I once said there was no future I desired that did not have you in it.”
Kishiar’s fingers tightened around his.
“That has only become more true with time. What began as my certainty that I wished to support your vision has become something far beyond that. I cannot imagine a future where you are not beside me.” Yuder’s gaze did not waver. “Will you help me ensure such a future never comes to pass?”
A sound caught in Kishiar’s throat before he could stop it.
Yuder’s affection was often concise. A single sentence or quiet correction, a decision made without hesitation. It was no less devastating for being subtle. But this – the deliberate laying bare of what Kishiar knew lay beneath Yuder’s quiet demeanor – struck him differently. It took all the things he had treasured in silence and placed them bared between them.
“Of course,” Kishiar said, voice thick with feeling. “Of course my answer is yes.”
Nathan Zuckerman stepped forward at the exact moment he spoke, bearing the first ring. It was a plain band made to match their engagement rings, simple in shape but flawless in craft, only deepening the meaning of what it joined.
Yuder took it from him and slid it onto Kishiar’s finger with careful precision.
Kishiar looked down at it for one brief, helpless moment, the new band settling against the old in carefully planned harmony that nonetheless stole his breath.
Then he accepted the second ring from Nathan and turned back to Yuder.
“Yuder Aile,” he began, and the sound of that name in his mouth seemed to soften the air between them. “You held me upright when I had only my own faith to stand on. You gave me a faith and devotion I could not fathom then, and still cannot fully fathom now, though I am greedy enough to accept it.”
A faint stir passed through the hall.
Kishiar smiled, but there was nothing theatrical in it now.
“I asked you once to walk with me on the path ahead. Every day since, I have become more certain that there is no one else I would want beside me – no one else I would trust with my beginning, my ending, and every moment between.” His thumb brushed once over Yuder’s hand. “If eternity is something one can share, then I wish to share mine with you.”
His gaze held Yuder’s, a multitude of emotions passing between them as he continued. “So I ask you now - will you let me remain beside you, and share that eternity with me?”
Yuder’s answer came without even the space of a breath.
“Yes.” It was concise yet devastatingly certain.
Kishiar’s smile trembled.
For once, no further words seemed sufficient. Kishiar lowered his gaze to Yuder’s hand and slid the ring onto his finger with reverent care. The sight stirred him more than his own rings had, filling him again with familiar disbelief – that someone so perfect had chosen him, and that he was allowed to call him his.
Soft sniffles could be heard from somewhere in the crowd.
Even Keilusa paused for a breath longer than ceremony required. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, an action so pointedly unnecessary that it fooled no one, then reached forward and took their joined hands.
“As Emperor of the Orr Empire,” he said, recovering his formal tone, “I witness the binding of two people.”
A length of dark blue silk was laid across their clasped hands. Keilusa wound it carefully around them as he continued.
“Under the law of Orr, two shall be recognized as one.”
The Pope stepped forward beside him, golden ribbon in hand. His voice carried the solemn resonance of ritual.
“Under the eyes of the Sun God, I recognize these two souls as one.”
Gold joined blue, ribbons binding their hands together in layered color, imperial authority and divine witness crossing over glove, ring, and vow.
By tradition, they would remain that way until the wedding night ended. It was said to be ill luck if the binding came undone too soon, a superstition old enough that even those who claimed not to believe in such things treated it with care. Most couples found the custom inconvenient. Kishiar, judging by the curve of his smile, found it delightful.
Keilusa stepped back.
“You may now seal your union before all witnesses present.”
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Yuder lifted his unbound hand. His fingers rose slowly to the edge of Kishiar’s veil, the motion careful, almost reverent. When he drew the fabric back, the face revealed beneath struck him with a force he had not prepared for.
Kishiar looked like joy made flesh.
His face was lightly flushed, eyes glossy with unshed tears, lips curved in a smile so achingly gentle that Yuder forgot, for one suspended breath, the hall, the witnesses, even the ribbons around their hands.
Behind him, someone made a faint, helpless sound. Another voice whispered, “Oh my god,” with the reverence of someone witnessing something divine.
Yuder did not look away. He could not.
Kishiar allowed the stare for a single indulgent moment, similarly gazing at Yuder now unobscured. With the veil no longer between them, he drank in the sight of Yuder in full – the dark eyes steady and deep, the faint flush dusting his cheeks despite his composure, the stillness that was not emptiness but feeling held with exquisite control.
Then Kishiar’s impatience won.
He caught Yuder’s raised wrist gently, supporting the hand that held the veil aside, and bent toward him.
Their lips met without hesitation.
They had kissed many times before. More fiercely, more desperately, and in ways that would have scandalized every witness present, but this was different. This was a gentle press of warmth against warmth, lips fitting together with a profound sense of unity. The feeling echoed deep and clear – through their joined hands, through the quiet pulse of their bond – two paths, long separate and bloodied, finally named aloud as one.
When Kishiar drew back, he did so slowly, as though even that much distance required effort. His smile remained, soft and luminous, one hand bound to Yuder’s and the other still wrapped gently around his wrist.
This time it was Yuder who broke the silence, and Kishiar’s self-control, “Does this mean I should call you ‘Husband’ instead of ‘Commander’ now?”
Kishiar laughed brightly, releasing Yuder’s wrist only to sweep that arm around his waist, drawing him in closer before tilting the smaller man back with a flourish that sent the veil spilling forward around them both. The white fabric fluttered down like a sudden curtain, hiding their faces from the hall just as Kishiar bent and kissed him again.
This kiss was deeper.
Still restrained by the weight of ceremony, perhaps, but only barely. It carried laughter, relief, disbelief, and a joy so full it threatened to overflow. Yuder returned it with equal passion, bound hand tightening around Kishiar’s as though the ribbon between them were not tight enough.
Behind them, someone gasped. Someone else made a sound suspiciously close to a sob.
Keilusa cleared his throat.
Neither of them stopped.
The Emperor cleared it again, this time with enough imperial weight to remind the gathered hall that the ceremony had not, technically, concluded.
Kishiar finally drew back, though only far enough for the veil to sway between them, their breath mingling in the small, private space it had made. His smile was no longer merely radiant. It was helpless.
“Husband,” he murmured, as if tasting the word properly for the first time.
Yuder’s gaze did not waver. “Yes.”
A tremor passed through Kishiar’s smile.
“Oh, this is dangerous,” he whispered.
Only then did the veil lift, revealing them again to the hall – Yuder composed despite the faint color at his cheeks, Kishiar glowing with an expression no artist present would ever successfully capture no matter how many attempts were made.
Keilusa looked at them over the top of his glasses, dry enough to restore several people’s ability to breathe. “If the two of you have finished confirming the matter, the ceremony may continue.”
“I’m afraid I cannot promise that,” Kishiar said, still holding Yuder much too close.
“Try.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Yuder answered, perfectly solemn.
That, somehow, made it worse.
Kishiar’s shoulders shook with silent laughter as he straightened them both. The ribbons remained looped around their hands, blue and gold lying over their joined fingers, rings gleaming beneath the silk, as they raised them. It was only then, with the kiss sealed and the witnesses still recovering, that the Pope completed the final blessing.
His words passed through the hall in solemn cadence, invoking the Sun God’s light, the endurance of vows, the sanctity of two paths joined as he blessed their raised hands with divine power.
Yuder heard them clearly, but distantly. Kishiar’s hand was warm in his. The word husband lingered in the air between them, absurdly simple for something that had changed the shape of their world.
The hall erupted properly then.
Applause rose like a storm. The Arcane Legion’s cheers cut through it first, loud enough to scandalize half the nobility and encourage the other half. Somewhere in the crowd, Kanna was almost certainly screaming. Gakane’s voice could be heard beneath the chaos, laughing in a way Yuder had rarely heard before. Even the more restrained guests seemed unable to keep from smiling.
Yuder stood through it all with his usual composure. Or nearly.
His hand remained tied to Kishiar’s, and when Kishiar leaned slightly closer, unable to resist even now, Yuder did not move away. Instead, his thumb brushed once over the ring on Kishiar’s finger, the motion half-hidden beneath the silk binding them together.
A small gesture. And absolutely devastating.
Kishiar looked down at it, then back at him, and for a moment the noise of the hall blurred around the edges again.
The rest of the wedding passed in a hazy brilliance after that.
They received blessings from the Pope and dry congratulations from the Emperor, whose attempts at sternness failed each time his gaze landed on his brother’s face. The Empress embraced them both with shining eyes, lingering over Kishiar a little longer than protocol allowed and whispering something that made his smile soften beyond teasing. Nathan bowed with perfect form, but the warmth in his expression made the gesture feel less like service and more like family.
Guests came and went in endless waves.
There were titles spoken, congratulations accepted, formalities observed, signatures witnessed, and ceremonial words that had been rehearsed and checked with exhausting precision. Both performed their roles flawlessly despite the constant necessity of moving as one. It should have been inconvenient – instead, it became a quiet rhythm, filling his chest with overwhelming feelings, too vast to be described in mere words.
Beneath every moment ran the same impossible current: Yuder’s hand was tied to his. Yuder had called him husband.
Kishiar found himself returning to it again and again, even as he smiled for guests and thanked nobles and accepted greetings from allies. Husband. His husband. The man beside him bound to him by ribbon, law, God, and choice.
When the time came for Kishiar to say it in return, during one of the formal acknowledgments, he nearly lost the thread of the sentence entirely.
“My husband and I are grateful for your presence today,” he said.
Yuder’s eyes flicked toward him once. That was all. No visible shock or dramatic reaction. Only that small, quiet attention, as if the word had settled somewhere deep and been accepted.
Kishiar almost forgot the rest of the conversation.
By the time they were finally released from the last formal obligation, the day had become a collection of impressions: white fabric, violet eyes, warm hands, laughter beneath music, the taste of Yuder’s mouth under the veil, and the silk joining them every time their fingers shifted.
Husband.
It had always been the path they were walking toward.
Now it had a name, And for the rest of the night, it sat warm and heavy in his hand like it belonged there.
---
Part of Kishiar regretted the decision to return to the Arcane Legion headquarters rather than the Eternal Palace. Only part. The rest of him understood perfectly why they had chosen it; this room had witnessed too much of them to be excluded from this night. Understanding did little to help his restraint when the carriage door closed and the celebration finally fell behind them.
He pulled Yuder into his lap almost before the wheels began turning.
Yuder came willingly, bound hand shifting with his as the ribbons between them pulled taut for one brief moment before settling again. Their mouths met with the urgency both had been holding back all evening, no longer softened for witnesses or constrained by ceremony. Fine clothing rustled beneath wandering hands, heat pressed through layers of white fabric as Yuder’s knees settled on either side of Kishiar’s thighs.
By the time the carriage stopped, neither of them had quite managed to separate.
Yuder clung to him in the way he did when desire had stripped away his usual composure, one hand fisted tightly in Kishiar’s clothing. Kishiar had no complaint to make. He only laughed against Yuder’s mouth, breathless and low, before gathering him up properly. Long legs wrapped around his waist as though they had been waiting for permission.
Kishiar stepped down from the carriage without letting him go. The sensible thing would have been to walk through headquarters. Kishiar had never prided himself on being sensible where Yuder was concerned.
The ground shifted beneath them at his will. In the next breath, air rushed past them, cool night wind catching briefly in loosened hair and the trailing edge of white fabric as his power carried them upward. Yuder only tightened his hold, face turning instinctively into the curve of Kishiar’s neck to continue pressing warm lips against his skin as they landed lightly on the balcony outside the Commander’s room.
Only once they were safely within the familiar room did they part. Even then, it lasted barely a breath.
Yuder’s feet touched the floor, and the urgency between them softened into something no less intense for being slower. Their kisses turned deep and unhurried, heat spreading beneath the reverence of careful hands.
Yuder drew in a slow breath, steadying himself against the heat boiling under his ribs.
He wanted to be careful. It was not often that he cared what happened to clothing once Kishiar’s hands were on him, but tonight was different. Every layer held meaning. The fabric had been chosen, altered, and worn with intent. Kishiar’s suit, his veil, the embroidery made from old wedding cloth, the details that had made everyone in the hall fall silent – Yuder found himself unwilling to treat any of it carelessly.
Kishiar noticed, of course.
His smile softened first, then deepened into something bright and aching. He kissed Yuder again, gentler this time, and began to mirror him. Their free hands worked slowly while their bound hands adjusted together – sleeves loosened, fastenings opened, layers peeled away one by one and set aside with unusual care.
Yuder’s gaze lowered as Kishiar’s skin emerged beneath his hands, pale and warm over hard-earned muscle, beautiful in a way that never dulled no matter how many times he saw it. He bent to press his mouth to each place as it was uncovered – collarbone, shoulder, the firm plane of his chest – earning a hot, unsteady sigh from above him.
Kishiar’s fingers slid into his hair.
“Yuder,” he breathed, half warning, half plea.
Yuder only continued.
Clothing fell away gradually, each piece folded or draped aside before either of them surrendered fully to impatience. Bared skin met lips, teeth, and the press of breath. The ribbons remained wound around their joined hands, blue and gold against heated flesh, tugging faintly whenever one of them moved too far without the other.
By the time they stood bare before each other, only two things remained: the binding around their hands… and a thin, delicate band of lace around Kishiar’s thigh.
Yuder’s gaze lowered to it. Then lifted.
Kishiar's smile turned positively wicked. "You know," he said, voice carrying the honeyed edge of someone very pleased with himself, "there is a tradition in some regions… that the groom removes the bride's garter."
Yuder’s expression remained still, but his eyes darkened. Kishiar tightened their bound hands when Yuder shifted, preventing him from reaching too easily.
"Without using his hands." The last words fell softly. Almost demure. Kishiar then settled onto the edge of the bed with theatrical elegance and extended one long leg, his free hand rising to cover part of his face, lashes lowering like some shy maiden from a romantic painting.
The illusion would have been more convincing if not for the heat in his gaze and the obvious evidence of his desire.
Yuder looked at him for one silent moment.
Then he knelt. There was no hesitation in the motion, only that same grave certainty with which he accepted the anything Kishiar offered him. He lifted Kishiar’s extended leg and pressed a light kiss to the inside of his knee.
Kishiar’s breath caught.
Yuder’s mouth moved slowly upward, following the line of muscle with deliberate care, each kiss placed closer to the delicate lace waiting higher on his thigh. The ribbons between their hands shifted softly with him, making every movement shared.
When Yuder’s cheek brushed deliberately against the heavy length of him, Kishiar’s cock twitched hard against his skin, leaving a slick trace of heat across his face.
By the time Yuder’s lips reached the delicate band of lace, Kishiar had abandoned all pretense of maidenly modesty. He watched openly now, flushed and smiling, utterly undone.
Yuder glanced up once. Then, with maddening precision, he closed his teeth lightly around the garter.
Kishiar’s hand tightened around Yuder’s bound fingers, the other twisting hard into the bedding. The sight of his lover – his husband, the words still bright and giddy in his chest – with his cock resting against one cheek, leg draped over his shoulder without any strain despite the size, and teeth gripping the lace was nearly too much.
His breathing sped up as Yuder slid away slowly, the feeling of his soft cheek pulling away and the fabric sliding across his skin hitting him with a hot spark of desire as he kept his gaze fixed on those deep, dark eyes that approached this task with the same thoroughness he did everything else.
When the thin fabric finally slipped free, Kishiar tugged him forward by their clasped hands, desperate now. He plunged his tongue into Yuder’s mouth the moment their lips met, claiming him with open hunger while the discarded lace lay forgotten between them. Yuder remained on his knees between Kishiar’s thighs as the kiss deepened.
However when Kishiar tried to pull him up, Yuder resisted, pulling back just enough to draw a confused sound from his husband.
Then he lowered his head again. His tongue traced a slow, deliberate line along the throbbing length from base to tip. Kishiar’s breath fractured.
“Yuder…” Kishiar tried to be warning, he had always declined before, too concerned about his size despite Yuder not being small himself, but the word came out far too heated, undermined completely by the way his cock twitched eagerly against pale lips.
Dark eyes met his with clear intent as those lips opened in response, sliding over heated skin without hesitation. Kishiar heard fabric rip as his fingers twisted more tightly in the bedding, straining every inch of self-control not to thrust into the wet heat.
Yuder worked his jaw open with focused care, remembering how it had felt when Kishiar had done the same for him. The heavy weight settled hot and thick against his tongue, pushing deeper until it pressed against the back of his throat. A significant amount still remained, and he wrapped his free hand around it, fingers unable to meet around that impressive thickness, and stroked in steady rhythm with the movement of his head, spreading the slick mix of saliva and precum down the rest of the length.
Kishiar looked almost angry as he stared down at him, stripped of everything but burning desire. The sight only sparked hotter satisfaction in Yuder’s chest.
The next time he sank down, Yuder shifted his jaw and swallowed, taking him even deeper. Kishiar moaned above him, low and broken. His hand left the ruined sheets to bury into Yuder’s dark hair, holding him still as his cock throbbed hard against the tight heat of his throat.
Yuder allowed it for only a moment before he continued, drawing back and sliding down again, working him deeper with every pass. His breaths came slow and steady through his nose, filled with the rich, mint-tinged scent of Kishiar’s arousal.
When he finally took him to the hilt, it felt as though Kishiar filled his entire chest. His throat and mouth stretched almost painfully full, yet the satisfaction that bloomed in him was profound. Kishiar’s grip tightened in his hair, a sharp edge of pain that only sweetened the pleasure. His crimson eyes had gone glossy and reddened, fixed on Yuder’s own pleased gaze between his spread thighs.
“Fuck, Yuder…” The words came out hoarse, almost pained. When Yuder hummed in response, the vibration drew another wrecked groan from him.
Kishiar’s control finally snapped when Yuder sucked – lightly at first, then harder when those crimson eyes blew wide. The hand buried in dark hair tightened, tugging him down as his hips jerked forward instinctively. Yuder’s throat convulsed around the intrusion, but he only relaxed further, inviting deeper claim.
Kishiar closed his eyes against the devastating sight, something vital giving way inside him. When they opened again, they burned with raw heat. He drew their bound hands upward, burying both of his own in Yuder’s hair, and began to thrust in tight, controlled strokes into that welcoming heat. The faint drag of tongue and teeth sent sparks racing up his spine, different from the slick heat of Yuder’s body but no less ruinous.
But Yuder’s eyes still held that familiar look – the one that said he had decided Kishiar was being entirely too controlled. It thrilled and worried him in equal measure.
He was proven right moments later when Yuder’s free hand slid down between his own legs, wrapping around his neglected length and stroking in perfect time with Kishiar’s thrusts. The clever minx knew exactly what he was doing: nothing unraveled Kishiar faster than Yuder’s pleasure, and by matching his pace to Kishiar’s thrusts he would force Kishiar to move with more abandon.
“Fuck,” Kishiar breathed helplessly, hips losing their careful rhythm as he gave in to his dear husband’s machinations. His thrusts grew deeper, faster, driving into Yuder’s throat even as it fluttered and gagged around him. He tilted Yuder’s head for the perfect angle, fingers twisted tight in dark strands.
It did not take long.
Kishiar’s breath fractured, his release rushing forward. He tried to pull back, but Yuder pressed forward instead, stubborn and intent. He hummed, sucking as he took him to the root. His own hand moved faster, strokes growing sloppy as he neared the edge with him.
“Yuder–”
The warning dissolved into a broken groan as he came hard, spend spilling directly down Yuder’s throat. Yuder followed seconds later with a low, muffled sound, his release splattering across the floor, his own knees, and Kishiar’s calves. He swallowed every drop, then drew back slowly, sucking one last sinful time before releasing Kishiar’s length with a soft, wet pop.
A faintly satisfied lick traced his lips.
Kishiar released his hair only to drag him upward into a bruising kiss. Yuder went willingly this time, sliding up along Kishiar’s body as he was pulled from his knees and twisted onto the bed with a soft bounce.
“Mmn.” The quiet sound slipped from Yuder when Kishiar’s fingers found him without hesitation, sliding in easily, three at once. They curled and twisted, testing, but the preparation was almost unnecessary. Yuder was more than ready.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” Kishiar whispered hotly against his ear, voice rough with lingering pleasure and fresh hunger.
He captured Yuder’s mouth again as he guided their bodies together. The slide was devastatingly smooth, aided by Yuder’s own slick and the mess of saliva coating him. Kishiar pressed forward without pause, sheathing himself to the hilt in one long, unrelenting stroke. Yuder moaned into his mouth, arms tightening around his shoulders as his body welcomed the overwhelming stretch.
After that, restraint became a distant memory.
They moved together with desperate fervor – breaking apart only to crash back into one another, hips snapping, hands grasping, mouths seeking skin wherever they could reach. Sweat slicked their bodies. Fingers dug in hard enough to leave marks. Teeth found collarbones, shoulders, the sensitive line of a throat.
They came together more than once, sometimes fierce and fast, sometimes slow and devastatingly deep, until the sky outside began to lighten and their bodies finally demanded rest.
When they at last paused, Kishiar lay on his back with Yuder sprawled across his chest, both breathing hard. Their skin was flushed and damp, marked with the evidence of passion. The ribbons between them had grown wrinkled and stained, yet they still bound their hands together.
Kishiar lifted their joined hands with care and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Yuder’s fingers.
“Husband,” he murmured, teasing warmth threading through the word as he waited for those dark eyes to lift to his. “I love you.”
The small, private smile Yuder rarely showed anyone else curved his lips – soft, quiet, and devastating in its sincerity.
“I love you too, husband.”
Kishiar’s own smile bloomed, bright and helplessly tender. Without another word, he rolled them over, pressing Yuder into the sheets once more as the first light of dawn touched the room.