Page 111 of The Lost Prophecy

“We have not forgotten you.” Elizabeth turned to it. “Behave.”

It produced a faint metallic sound which Miss Bingley received as a personal insult.

“The object has never demonstrated patience. It has demonstrated persistence, violence, and a deplorable preference for Miss Elizabeth.”

Mr Collins cleared his throat and took his place before the altar. Charlotte joined him, carrying the paper on which Mr Darcy had translated the inscription. Jane stood at Elizabeth’s side, while Mr Bennet was close enough to intervene should ancient vampire law attempt any innovation which had not been disclosed in his study.

Fletcher set the punch bowl on a table before the altar. It appeared inert until Elizabeth approached; then the writing around its rim began to glow.

The change passed through the vampires.

Mr Bingley withdrew half a pace from Jane. Mr Hurst turned his face towards the nearest window, Mrs Hurst folded her hands tightly, and Miss Bingley’s fingers closed around the edge of the pew. Mr Darcy remained next to Elizabeth, but every line of his body hardened. The True Blood still moved safely inside her, yet the knowledge that it would soon be released had reached them before the knife touched her skin.

Mr Bennet surveyed the five rigid figures. “I trust we are not about to discover that this ceremony should have been conducted from behind iron bars.”

“No one will approach her.” Mr Darcy kept his eyes on Elizabeth’s face. “They gave their word.”

“So did you,” Mr Bennet reminded him.

“I will not touch the blood.”

“That may make the marital portion of the afternoon difficult.”

Elizabeth pressed Mr Darcy’s fingers. “Papa means that you will be expected to touch me eventually.”

“I understood him, thank you.”

“Your expression suggested murder.”

“My expression has always suffered under interpretation.”

Charlotte handed the paper to Mr Collins. “The original language first, followed by the English translation. Nothing else.”

“But I had composed a brief introduction!”

Charlotte shook her head.

Mr Collins examined the page, evidently mourning several paragraphs which would never be delivered. He then raised his eyes, and the absurdity fell away. What was left was the man who had returned to a room commanded by terror because Elizabeth had needed him.

“We are assembled before blood, law, and time to witness a binding which no command may compel, and no master may impose.” His voice carried through the chapel without effort. “The True Blood stands here of her own will. The immortal master stands here having renounced all claim to her life, power, or obedience. If either enters through fear, deception, or coercion, the vessel will refuse the offering, and judge the offender.”

The bowl glowed more brightly, confirming that it had retained judicial ambitions.

Mr Collins turned to Mr Darcy. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, do you enter this binding freely, knowing that the life you possess will end and that mortality, once accepted, cannot be surrendered?”

Mr Darcy faced Elizabeth. “I do.”

“Do you accept Elizabeth Bennet as your equal before blood and law, with no power to command her mind, her body, or her will?”

“I do.”

“Do you accept the limits of mortal life without claim against the woman whose freely given blood restores it?”

Mr Darcy’s hand tightened around Elizabeth’s. “I do.”

Mr Collins shifted to her. “Elizabeth Bennet, do you enter this binding freely, without command, fear, or obligation?”

“I do.”