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“ME? Your superior wants to meet me?” Sophie asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes. He won’t stop pestering me about it—‘Bring her, bring her, bring her,’ every day, like it’s the only thing that matters anymore.”
It was some time after their earlier episode—long enough for hearts to settle and mischief to mellow. They sat side by side on the salon sofa, Kurt’s hand clasped warmly over Sophie’s. Now and then, he idly traced his fingers along hers, tickling terribly.
“Won’t he be present at the ceremony anyway?” Sophie asked.
“By all rights, yes. But his presence is…immensely disagreeable. I was thinking of not inviting him.”
“Ooh…”
The all-important wedding ceremony. In this country, ceremonies took many forms, shaped by the faith and background of the couple. What Sophie and Kurt were planning was known as a “wedding feast.”
This would be held here, in town, separate from the official rites that would take place later in the capital. The formal ceremony, as performed according to the tradition of the royal healers, was, according to Kurt, “a more solemn affair than the average funeral wake.” There was no feast, no music, no revelry. Just a quiet room, a few witnesses, and a solemn exchange of vows.
Since that would also be the day they received their marriage certificate, the “wedding night” would also fall on that day. That event, which Kurt had been anticipating with mounting, barely restrained impatience.
That part, of course, would also just be shared between the two of them.
So, it had been decided they would celebrate beforehand, here in town. It would be a grand send-off: a proper public gathering in one of the city squares. They’d rent out the space, set up pavilions, and open the celebration to all—anyone passing by could join in. It was a long-standing custom among wealthier families: food, drink, and music—all freely offered in a grand display of generosity. And not incidentally, a show of status.
Johann was particularly thrilled. Naturally. He’d leapt at the opportunity to parade his beloved daughter before the entire town at her most triumphant.
“He wants to meet you before the feast,” Kurt continued, circling back to his superior. “Why, I’ve no idea. But would you mind coming along? Just to spare me the trouble of hearing him go on about it?”
“I don’t mind,” Sophie said. “But won’t I just be in the way?”
“He’s more in the way than you could ever be.” Kurt sighed. “I know I’m asking a lot.”
“Not at all. I’d be happy to come.”
The thought of meeting Kurt’s colleagues—of being introduced as his fiancée—made her cheeks warm. It was silly, really. And yet there it was: a quiet thrill, a sort of fluttering she hadn’t expected. Her lips curled before she could help it.
Suddenly, she felt a tug on her hand. She looked up. Kurt brought her hand to his lips and pressed the faintest kiss against her knuckles. When he looked back at her, something soft flickered in those dark, midnight eyes.
“What is it?” she asked.
“That smile. It was too lovely to ignore.” His voice was quiet. “That I only kissed you on the hand is exemplary, should I say so myself. You should commend my restraint.”
“Oh, from you? The man who once said we’re all just tubes of flesh and bone? I thought beauty didn’t register.”
“It still doesn’t,” he said. “Except when it comes to you.”
“You’re an odd, odd man, Kurt Ozhorn.”
She smiled again. And so, naturally, he kissed her hand once more.
“I’ll stop smiling,” she warned.
“Don’t,” he said at once. “That would be…disastrous.” A beat. “The wedding night is still—?”
“Still the day we agreed. Steady on.”
He exhaled. “You do like to test a man.”
“I do try,” she said, pleased with herself.
With some reluctance, Kurt pulled out his identification tag, breaking it cleanly in two once more. “I want you to have this. For good, this time. Show it at the infirmary gates—they’ll recognize you as either my spouse or fiancée, and you’ll be allowed through without question.”
“I’ll gladly accept it.”
Sophie took hold of the tag. This time, she didn’t rush to minimize her contact with it. Instead, her fingers moved slowly over the metal—tracing its surface with care, with reverence—if only because she now could.
As she gazed at it, a warmth stirred in her chest. “I think I’ll put it on a chain. Wear it against my skin. I won’t have to worry about it getting dirty anymore. What do you think?” She glanced up. Her cheeks were softly flushed, eyes faintly gleaming.
“To have half my tag resting there,” Kurt said, “warmed by your skin every hour of every day… Nothing would make me happier.” He stared back at her. But something in his expression gave her pause. She narrowed her eyes.
“Have you always been like this?” she asked. “Or did your entire personality change the moment we got engaged?”
Kurt didn’t blink. He delivered his next line with absolute gravity. “Men,” he said, “are flesh, bone, and hormones. Not just me, but the rest of them as well. You’d do well to keep that in mind.”
Sophie gave a gracious nod. “Duly noted. Then, as my fiancé wishes, I shall keep his tag warmed…upon my breast.”
“I wish I were that tag.”
“Oh, hush, you.”
She shot him a look—one part scolding, two parts amused. He, in turn, smiled.
And she couldn’t help it. She smiled, too.
The moment stretched, soft and still. Then, something occurred to her. “Mr. Kurt. If it wouldn’t discompose you…”
“Yes.”
“I haven’t even asked yet. Would you—”
“Yes.”
“Would you tell me about your parents? And yourself as well. I want to know more about you.”
“Of course.”