Mine caught the light—a constellation of diamonds, three bands in total.
The first, my engagement ring I’d given up last night just for this moment: a round-cut stone set high, elegant and commanding.
The second, an eternity band.
And the third—the Kostas band—thin platinum, engraved with the sigil every Kostas bride wore, none without consequence.
Alaric’s ring was the inverse—square-cut and black with a single blood-red diamond at its center.
When he took my hand, his fingers brushed against my skin as the final band slipped into place. The final words being spoken faded into the thunder of my heartbeat.
"It is done," Markian announced, closing the ancient book. "Two bloodlines, one future. May your union strengthen both the Dominion and yourselves."
Alaric's palm found my cheek, warm and certain. The cathedral seemed to hold its breath. Then his mouth claimed mine, not with the chaste touch, but with the unhurried possession of a man taking what was rightfully his.
Around us, the Dominion families rose in a wave of sound—applause mingling with whispered blessings in Greek from his family members, and the soft symphony of expensive fabric.
Alaric pulled back just enough to speak.
“Ready, Mrs. Kostas?”
The words weren’t a question. They were a claim dressed as devotion.
I smiled up at him, breath unsteady but certain. “More than ready.”
He took my hand—steady, sure, his thumb brushing the Kostas band as though sealing it again—and turned toward the aisle, the bridal party mirroring us.
We walked together through the sea of flowers and light, the Dominion continuing to rise to their feet in respect and spectacle.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sunlight spilled across the marble steps as we emerged from the cathedral’s shadow. Heat radiated from the stone, mingling with the electricity in the air. A wave of sound crashed over us—applause breaking against our bodies, voices calling blessings, violin notes threading through it all like silver wire.
Alaric’s fingers remained locked with mine. Outside the waiting cars, he pulled me to him once more. This kiss belonged to no one else—unhurried and certain, as if sealing a vow deeper than the one we’d just spoken. A promise that even if everything fell to ash, he would still recognize me by touch alone.
He opened the door for me himself, brushing aside the white-gloved attendants with a subtle flick of his wrist, and I caught the small, private smirk that played at the corner of his mouth when I gathered the billowing silk of my gown and settled into the butter-soft leather of the passenger seat.
A fleet of vintage Rolls Royces trailed behind as we drove—gleaming chrome and champagne-colored chassis catching the late afternoon light like liquid metal, carrying our bridal party in staggered formation. The cobblestone streets blurred by in honey-gold sunlit streaks, while cream-colored rose petals tossed by well-wishers still floated in our wake, dancing on invisible currents.
We stopped for photographs in the Markian courtyard garden—where blood-red roses and pale pink peonies climbed the ancient white limestone walls that had witnessed a hundred Dominion weddings before ours. Cassian cracked jokes that made even the stone-faced photographer break his concentration, Derrick maneuvered through the bridal party, ensuring he posed with everyone at least twice, his diamond cufflinks catching the light with each gesture.
Penelope hovered nearby, her trembling fingers constantly adjusting my cathedral-length veil as though I might shatter like fine porcelain if left unattended for more than a heartbeat. Alaric, though, remained a constant shadow at my side, his hand never leaving the small of my back, warm through the layers of lace.
By the time our motorcade reached the reception hall, the world had softened into the amber glow of early evening, the sky painted in watercolor strokes of lavender and gold.
The twenty-foot mahogany doors swung open to reveal a space utterly transformed from when Alaric and I had come to tour it months ago—gilded light spilled through cascading layers of orchids and jasmine suspended from invisible wires, illuminating tables draped in champagne silk and adorned with centerpieces of ivory roses and crystal candelabras.
At the center stood a seven-tiered cake that resembled a baroque palace more than dessert, each layer hand-painted with gold leaf and topped with sugar flowers so realistic they seemed to bloom before our eyes.
When they announced us—Mr. and Mrs. Kostas—the room rose to its feet. Applause echoed under the vaulted ceilings. He led me in, fingers laced with mine, his gaze never leaving my face as if memorizing the proof that we’d actually done it.
Our first dance began before I could catch my breath.
The opening notes of “Until I Found You” by Stephen Sanchez filled the room, delicate and haunting. The song drifted around us like smoke, soft and low, our steps barely a whisper against the floor.
Alaric’s eyes didn’t leave mine.
“You’re so gorgeous,” he murmured, and it wasn’t the kind of compliment meant to be heard by anyone else.
