5

The morning sun painted the villa in gold.

Outside, the courtyard bloomed with fresh white roses and silk banners fluttering in the wind. The ceremony had been arranged fast, but military families knew how to move quickly—efficient, clean, and polished.

Elian stood in front of the full-length mirror, heart pounding.

The ivory suit he wore hugged his form too well. His collar sat high against the bruises on his throat—Kael’s marks from last night. His lips were still a little swollen. His thighs ached deliciously.

And no one knew.

A knock came at the door. It opened before he could answer.

Kael stepped in, dressed in his military formal uniform—dark green jacket, gold detailing, black leather gloves tucked in his belt. Medals pinned to his chest. His face was hard as always… until his eyes met Elian’s.

Then he softened.

“You’re beautiful,” Kael said, voice low. “You make ivory jealous.”

Elian turned, biting back a smile. “You’re not supposed to see me before the ceremony.”

Kael locked the door behind him. “What I did to you last night breaks about a dozen traditions. This? I think we can handle it.”

Elian blushed, looking away. Kael walked up slowly, one hand sliding to Elian’s hip, the other cupping his face.

“Still sore?”

Elian gave a shaky nod.

Kael’s thumb brushed across his jaw. “Good.”

Elian laughed softly, leaning into him. “You’re dangerous.”

Kael leaned down, brushing his lips against Elian’s ear. “And you married me anyway.”

They stayed like that for a moment—foreheads touching, their breaths calm.

Then a knock startled them both.

“It’s time,” said a voice outside.

Kael kissed Elian’s forehead, then stepped back. “I’ll be waiting at the altar.”

---

The music started.

Everyone stood.

Elian's heart nearly stopped as he stepped out onto the aisle, arm linked with his father’s. But the moment his eyes found Kael at the far end—standing tall, proud, eyes locked only on him—everything else vanished.

No whispers, no stares. No past. No lies.

Just them.

Elian walked slowly, each step heavy with meaning. Every move reminded him of how Kael had touched him, kissed him, ruined him in the best way. And Kael’s eyes—dark, stormy—told him the man was thinking the same thing.

By the time Elian reached the altar, his pulse was wild.

Kael took his hand, fingers firm, grounding.

“Breathe, darling,” he whispered.

Elian did.

The ceremony began. Words about family, union, honor. But Elian barely heard them. Kael’s thumb was tracing circles on the back of his hand. Their eyes were locked. There was a fire between them no vow could match.

When the officiant finally said, “Do you, General Kael Vaerin, take Elian Miraz as your lawfully wedded spouse?”—

Kael didn’t hesitate.

“I do.”

His voice rang with certainty. Power. Possession.

Elian’s chest tightened.

“And do you, Elian Miraz, take Kael Vaerin as your lawfully wedded husband?”

He looked up into those storm-grey eyes. His knees nearly gave out.

“I do.”

God, he meant it.

Rings were exchanged—Kael sliding a cold silver band onto Elian’s shaking hand, then lifting Elian’s fingers to his lips and kissing the ring gently.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, too low for anyone else to hear.

“Forever,” Elian whispered back.

“You may kiss the groom.”

Kael didn’t rush.

He stepped forward slowly, both hands rising to cradle Elian’s face like something fragile. His thumb brushed over Elian’s lower lip, then his mouth descended—soft but full of hunger, possession sealed by a kiss that made Elian melt against him.

The guests clapped.

But Elian barely heard them.

All he felt was Kael’s mouth on his, the warmth of his body, the silent promise in that touch: I’ll ruin you every night—and hold you every morning.

---

The reception was elegant and tense.

Elian sat beside Kael at the long head table, surrounded by generals, politicians, and family. He smiled, nodded, accepted congratulations—but his body kept remembering last night. Every brush of Kael’s hand under the table sent shivers through him.

He leaned over once to whisper, “You’re not being subtle.”

Kael smirked. “I’m not trying to be.”

Later, Kael stood to give a short, powerful toast. His voice was sharp, his gaze unwavering—but when he turned to Elian at the end, it softened again.

“I’ve led armies, fought battles, commanded nations,” he said. “But nothing has ever meant more to me than the boy sitting beside me. He wasn’t given to me. He chose me. And I will spend the rest of my life proving that he chose right.”

Elian’s throat clenched.

God. He was going to cry.

Kael reached out, took his hand, and squeezed.

---

The sun dipped below the horizon.

The party shifted to soft music and candlelight. Elian found himself in Kael’s arms for the first dance—one hand on his waist, the other holding his palm gently.

“You’re still trembling,” Kael murmured.

“I’m not used to all this,” Elian admitted.

“You better get used to being the center of attention,” Kael said with a possessive glint. “You’re married to a general now.”

Elian laughed. “You’re married to a college student.”

Kael leaned in, voice low and wicked. “One who begs so sweetly when I touch him.”

Elian gasped, cheeks burning. “Kael—”

“I’m going to make you beg again tonight,” Kael promised. “On your hands and knees in our wedding bed.”

Elian’s breath hitched. “You’re evil.”

Kael’s mouth brushed his ear. “And you love it.”

---

Hours passed.

The guests slowly began to leave. The moon was high. Elian was exhausted—but every inch of his body buzzed with anticipation.