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My knees quiver and shudder, and I almost fall the moment I turn to behold her. Ready to shrink before her otherworldly, dark beauty and the fact that she reminds me so much of…him. The same silver mist hair, but it spills to her waist in a rippling waterfall. Starless ebony skin that looks as soft as satin. Eyes of pure silver song. Exalted thrones of cheekbones accentuate the illustriousness of her long horns curling from her head like twisting dark sides of crescent moons.
I don’t bother to ask who she is because I know, I know, Iknow! She is my ally. More than that, my heart has swollen to infinity times infinity for her. And I did not open my heart to her. She tugged on my heartstrings like they were doorknockers, and my heart had no choice but to bow before her.
“How do you—”
She sweeps to Quillion’s side, propping her elbow on his shoulder, and interrupts me, “All will be revealed in time, sweet angel. I am Nita. For now, simply consider usallies.”
Yes, I smile at her words. Then, I glance at Uncle Heath, at Jesula, seeking their eyes for confirmation. All it takes is one nod from each of them for me to purse my lips, to sigh, and accept the alliance.
I remember Quillion’s kindness, I remember how he escorted me the first time to my wedding, how he protested to Neoptolemus once he recognized who I was beyond the Princess he respected. Everything about the ascot-wearing vampire screams trust. Everything about him reminds me of my father.
That’s when I notice the momentary roaming gander of my Uncle’s, how he locks eyes with Quillion, how their eyes roam across each other’s garb as if assessing. And the subtle upward curl of their approving lips when their eyes meet engulfs me with such sweet relief. I knew it! If there is one vampire on this earth for Uncle Heath, it would be Quillion.
With a flustered twirl but a full heart, I face Thanatos and prepare to walk down that aisle.
The Prince is no longer behind me. Instead, he is at the end. My allies take their positions. The horned one, Nita, and Quillion station themselves to the side of the Prince with Uncle Heath and Jesula awaiting me.
Open your hands, my love,Thanatos prompts through our bond.
I do as he requests and gush at the feeling of the crystallized stems—the bouquet of frost roses that he creates. Exhaling a deep gasp, I slowly embark forward. As soon as my bare foot touches the mirror of clouds, chilled by the fog, the familiar melody ofSwan Lakedrifts into my ears. Undone by a vision, I close my eyes to the vision of a great lake of ice, of my naked soul like an orb of gleaming topaz—and Death observing me from the balcony of his ice palace.
Catching my breath, I pause, treading on the eternity of a moment as I angle my neck, curls eclipsing one shoulder. I study him. But all that gazes back at me is not gold that doth glitter but that nebulous haze because Death will keep his secrets. Even now, all he wears are those fitted robes that suffocate his neck and sweep to the floor, revealing absolutelynothing.
And yet, my hand greets his, welcoming him when he draws me to take my place before him. This time, there is no priest, for Death answers to none. He will officiate his own ceremony because all we need is to say our vows to one another.
The Halo is my inner compass. Its angel presence grants me peace, courage, and light. Despite Thanatos’ frost patterning the walls on all sides, patterning his black robes, and forming the entirety of my bridal gown, I do not allow myself to numb. I grow the Halo currents to flickering ripples like flames erupting all over the curves of my body.
When Thanatos produces the ring, a silver band bearing a teardrop bud of a rose, it takes all my strength to not crumble to my knees. As if prepared, he has already bound it around a black strand of his hair, lined with frost, to join the other at my neck. A cold promise. Except, I recognize I will nevereverbrand him. Or maybe I already did?
“Elysia Elisabeth Rose.” Oh, Saints! My heart somersaults in my chest. He knows my middle name. His eyes become golden keys. And they don’t have to ask, they don’t have to seek, they don’t have to knock. My windows are already flung wide open. “I grant you my solemn blood oath: you may trust me with your secrets, with the curse inside of you.” He lowers his chin until he presses his forehead to mine.
Thanatos’ one hand grips the back of my neck, berthing upon his mark, bearing me in place. Frost blossoms there, cold tassels that numb my skin. Like a cold tourniquet to my soul but does not inhibit blood flow.
I hold my breath and smile through tears as he finishes his groom’s vow, “I grant you my solemn blood oath that I will touch your past tonight and return it whenever you desire. I grant you my solemn blood oath tounderstandyour darkness.”
Understand…not love. I close my eyes. I shudder. I sigh. Thanatos opens his palm, already cut. And I touch my trembling fingertips to his skin, leaning in to the trickling of blood because he’s already killed the skin to release that blood, requiring no fang.
The greatest form of love is the ability tounderstand.
Thanatos whispers, feather-light, hovering just above my mouth, “I grant you my solemn blood oath to be your Ezer.”
My hand sinks to accept, to nod my acceptance for him to kill my skin, to unite our blood.Thank you,thank you, thank you.Oh, Saints, yes!
And I recite my original bridal oath to Neoptolemus. No bindings from Quillion. No arms raised in an arch. Only our palms touch. Only our eyes meet as equals. Prince and Princess. Bride and groom. Husband and wife. Death and life.
Thanatos kisses me. Opens my mouth beneath his. I will never escape this Prince who tastes of serendipity and starlight.
* * *
Death carriesme down the hall along the wing to the threshold. Except it is no longer the Tower of Destruction. No, Thanatos has led me into the heart of the forsaken tower that belongs to him: the Tower of Death. A mirrored version with the same finery, the same Tenth Court rose designs, but all along the walls and floor on each side are whispers of ice. Enough of a chill in the air for my breath to escape in a ghostly wisp.
Thanatos’ frost pirouettes along the curves of my knuckles as I touch his chest, but I cannot feel his skin, cannot feel anything beyond his thick robes betraying his Reaper sinew, powerful muscles that thicken with every trace of my fingers. Unlike Neo’s flames, they do not woo my palm to bed down. No, when my hand skims the bare skin of his neck, the spirit-white flesh, all his silver veins awaken. Under my fingers, they hum a warning, but still, I don’t stop my pursuit. Not till my palm cradles the back of his neck, fingertips embracing the ends of his hair like dark silk and theruinedflesh—an evil brand he annihilated. Closing my eyes, I inhale a sharp gust, tempted, too tempted.
“Can you tell me?” I murmur against his neck, breathing in the lingering scent of dead roses like perfume.
“We share an oath of honesty,” Thanatos mentions as we approach the arched shadow doors, only now, they are lined with frost. “You may ask me whatever you desire, and I will reveal only what is permitted according to the laws of the Triumvirate.”
“Did you rid yourself of Satan’s mark?”
