Stoyan shouldered his way through the crowd. A fresh narrow scar crossed his neck.
“Speak of the devil,” Lamar murmured.
Stoyan ran down the aisle to them, reached into his pocket, and offered a small black box to Hugh.
“Any trouble?” Lamar asked.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
Hugh opened the box. A white gold ring lay inside, a half-eternity band of glittering pale-blue aquamarines between two rows of small diamonds. That was more or less what he’d described to Stoyan. A jeweler in Lexington had owed him a favor for over twenty years. He’d remembered it three days ago during one of his moments of clarity between trying to get his people settled, fighting with Elara, and fucking Vanessa to keep the void at bay.
A year ago, if he’d chosen a wedding ring, it would’ve been a work of art shining with diamonds, steeped in magic, and costing a fortune. This one couldn’t be worth more than three grand, but the metal was white like her hair and something about the pure fire of aquamarines and diamonds reminded him of her. It showed some thought, which women valued. An olive branch.
They hated each other’s guts, but there was no reason they couldn’t coexist, at least until the threat passed. Hugh had no desire to battle to the death with her over every little thing. And Elara would fight to the bitter end. Although if she insisted on fighting with him half-dressed again, he was reasonably sure he could tolerate it for a couple of minutes. She wasn’t the worst-looking woman in the castle, and, for a brief moment, he’d enjoyed the show.
She’d also confirmed something he’d suspected when she discussed the arrangements for the wedding. Elara didn’t want him to see her in the wedding dress. It was a stupid tradition, but she clung to it. It was her first wedding, Hugh was sure, and like most women, she likely planned it since childhood, complete with sappy music and the release of doves.
The void bit at him. He blocked it off.
The castle harpy wanted a special moment. The ring would demonstrate that he took it seriously. For all he knew, she’d throw it in his face. His gaze snagged on the videographer filming the crowd. Maybe not in front of the cameras.
Stoyan took his place on his right. Bale handed him Hugh’s sword, and Stoyan held it in front of him, point down. A long-standing tradition among the Iron Dogs, established by Voron, Roland’s previous Warlord, who’d begun the order. Another void bite. Voron who had raised him.
The ghost stared at him from his memories.
I killed you because Roland willed it.
Hugh forced the memories down, concentrating on the weapon to keep them at bay. He missed his old sword, but the one Stoyan was holding for him now wasn’t bad. Thirty-three and three quarters of an inch-long blade with a simple cross guard and a four-and-a-half-inch grip wrapped with cord. At two and a half pounds, it was meant to be used from horseback, but it was lively enough for him until he found something better.
He glanced over at Elara’s side. Johanna stood in the Maid of Honor spot in a pastel-pink gown, holding a bouquet of pretty white flowers. She smiled at him and gave him a little wave with her free hand.
He shrugged.
Johanna tucked the bouquet under her arm. Her fingers moved. “Scared?”
He mimicked laughing.
The flaps of the tent opened. Music came from the speakers. It sounded vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t the wedding march he’d expected. Hugh frowned. He’d heard it before…
Walking in My Shoes by Depeche Mode.
Lamar smiled.
“Your idea?” Hugh asked.
“It was a joint effort between me and Dugas. You said to pick something appropriate.”
Elara stepped out.
She wore a simple white gown that hugged her waist and cradled her breasts before flaring down into a wide skirt. Her white hair fell on her shoulders in loose waves. A silver circlet studded with shiny stones rode on her head.
He saw her face.
Wow.
Elara glided down the aisle, feminine and graceful. Regal. She walked alone, and he realized the significance of it. She was giving herself away of her own free will. There was no father. Nobody had the right to walk her down the aisle.
Every gaze followed her. As she moved between his people and hers, the unease vanished from the Dogs. They watched her the way they would watch a clear sunrise after a night storm. Elara smiled at them, and they smiled back.
That’s why her people followed her, Hugh realized. This was it, right here.
She walked up to the altar, beautiful like a vision. He was marrying a queen from a fairy tale.
Hugh held his hand out to her. She put her fingers into his and together they walked up three steps to the altar. She smiled at him, and something in his chest moved.
He had to break the illusion, so he made his mouth work. “Nobody to walk you down the aisle?”
Elara didn’t look at him, her eyes fixed on the pastor. “I don’t need anyone to give me away.”
He needed more. She was still too beautiful, too regal, too much.
“Aren’t you supposed to have some little kids running around throwing flowers? Or did you sacrifice them on the way?”
Her face jerked. “Yes, I did. And I devoured their souls.”
There she was. “Good to know. The photographer is snapping pictures. Say cheese, love.”
Elara gave him a brilliant happy smile. “Cheese, dickhead.”
He did his best to look the way a groom might if he was actually marrying this creature and imagining getting her out of that gown tonight. “Rabid harpy.”
“Bastard.”
The pastor, a man in his thirties with dark hair and glasses, stared at them, his mouth slack.
“Start the ceremony,” Hugh told him, putting some menace into his voice.
“Before we kill each other,” Elara said.
The pastor cleared his throat. “Dearly beloved…”
Elara turned to Hugh, her face glowing with happiness. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought it was real.
“…in matrimony commended to be honorable…”
Hugh reached deep, looked back at her with the same affection and saw a flicker of doubt in her eyes. Ha.
“…these two people decided to live their lives as one.”
Perish the thought, he mouthed.
Shut up, she mouthed back with that same dazzling smile.
“If any person knows of a just reason why these two should not be joined together, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
Silence. Good. Perhaps he would get through this without killing anyone.
“Hugh d’Ambray, do you, with your friends and family as witnesses, present yourself willingly and of your own accord to be joined in marriage?”
“I do.”
“Elara Harper, do you, with your friends and family as witnesses, present yourself willingly and of your own accord to be joined in marriage?”
There was the tiniest pause, then she said, “I do.”
“Hugh, repeat after me. I, Hugh d’Ambray, take you, Elara, to be my lawfully wedded wife. I promise to stay by your side in sickness and in health, in joy and in sorrow. I promise to love you, comfort you, and cherish you above all others.”
He repeated the words, infusing them with the same sincerity that let him convince people again and again to trust him despite their best judgement.
“With this ring, I give you my heart. From this day forward you will no longer walk alone. I will be your shelter in the storm of life.”
She held out her hand, and he slipped the ring on her finger. Her eyes widened. That’s right. Surprise was good. She was off balance now.
“Elara, repeat after me…”
He heard her swear to love him. Then he held his hand out and she slid a ring on his finger, a white band with a braid of black and silver running along its length. It suited him. She’d thought about him too. For some odd reason, he liked that.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss.”
Hugh stepped toward her. “Try to make this look good.”
“I’ll do my best not to vomit in your mouth.”
Is that so? Okay. He wrapped his hand around the back of her head, feeling the silky strands of her hair slip through his fingers, leaned forward, and kissed her. She gasped a little into his mouth, and he kissed her the way he would kiss a woman he was trying to seduce, enticing, promising, claiming her. She tasted fresh and sweet. What do you know? He had expected poison and ash.