Wow. This night’s off to agreatstart!
Dressed in a black ceremonial robe trimmed in red and gold, the High Priest spreads his hands before me and smiles—a gesture that might be welcoming if not for the cold steel in his eyes.
“Is there a problem, Miss Avery?” he asks.
“No, sir.” I hold my breath, stifling another sneeze.
“If you’d like to greet your groom before we begin,” he says quietly, never breaking that smile, “now would be a good time.”
The sneeze escapes, but I manage to contain it to the flowers and not, thankfully, the priest’s face.
“My what?” I ask, sniffling.
He jerks his head toward the man standing next to me. “Your groom?”
“Oh! Right.”Goddess, I’m about to pledge myself to the man till death do us part, and I haven’t even looked him in the eyes. “Sorry, I’m a little foggy. These flowers are… You know what, let me just…” I lean forward and set the bouquet on the stone altar behind the priest, careful not to knock over the tall black candles flaming on either side of it.
When I step back, the air immediately clears, the scent of candle wax and stone and old things coming to life around me.
Feeling marginally more human, I finally turn to my groom. My future husband. The mage I’ll be honoring and obeying for the rest of my life.
I take in his appearance—shaggy brown hair, a bit on the oily side, desperately in need of a trim. Bland face with no real defining features. A patchy beard he hasn’t quite committed to. An expensive custom-made tux and crisp white shirt that seem completely wasted on such an otherwise shabby man.
Again, I try to draw on my deep capacity for self-delusion and convince myself that he’s kind. That he’s not just doing this as a political maneuver. That he’ll put in the effort to get to know me just like I’ll get to know him, and together we’ll find a way to be happy. Or at least notunhappy.
“Hello, Hunter.” I smile politely, searching his eyes for a spark of warmth, but they’re as flat and lifeless as they were on the other two occasions we met—a Samhain feast a couple of years back and a family dinner last month after my father and Eloise accepted Lennon’s offer for the marriage. We barely spoke at either event.
“Westin,” he says, his tone bored.
“Lyn,” I say, forcing my smile to stay in place. “Westlyn.”
Hunter nods a brief acknowledgment, but his return smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Shall we begin?” the priest asks.
Hunter’s bored gaze skims down the front of my dress and back up, and I swear he bites back a snort before turning his attention to the priest. “Let’s get it over with.”
Get it over with? Really?
Anger heats my cheeks. Does he find me lacking? Does he think this sham of a marriage was my idea? That he’s doing me a favor? That he’s such a fucking catch he can scoff at his bride-to-be and forget her name and still have me worshipping at his feet like all the other sycophants in this cathedral?
I may not have magic or an investment portfolio, but I haveplentyof other good qualities. Qualities another man would be tripping over himself for a chance to experience.
I open my mouth to tell him just that, but then I remember Eloise’s warning.
If you can’t manage that simple task after all we’ve done for you, the only deeper digging you’ll need to worry about tonight is your grave…
I glance over my shoulder, finding my father and Eloise seated in the front pew, right where she said they’d be. My father’s watching me, but the moment our eyes meet, his gaze drops into his lap.
Ignoring the sting of tears behind my eyes, I turn my attention back to the priest and nod. “Yes, let’s get it over with. Please.”
Chapter Nine
WESTLYN
For the next half hour, I shove my feelings way down deep, do my best to avoid Hunter’s dead eyes, and focus on the monotonous recitation of the ceremony. It’s an ancient one witches and mages have used for millennia, no different from any I’ve attended with my father over the years. Probably not even that much different from the Christian ceremonies once held in this very cathedral before Blackmoor Capital Group bought it and turned it into a private architectural marvel.
But thereisone thing that sets tonight’s ritual apart. A big one. And after the High Priest sets aside his ritual grimoire and the organ plays another appropriately macabre tune, that one thing—the moment I’ve been dreading even more than the post-ceremony wedding night in Hunter’s bed—is finally upon us.
