25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

" W ith this blood," Emillie repeated the High Priestess's words, "I give unto thee…my body, soul, and heart…until my dying night and beyond."

She stood on the same dais her sister had, beside the High Priestess of Keon and across from Alek Nightingale. Blood dripped from the slash across her palm into the same obsidian basin as Ariadne's and Azriel's. Unlike the former, Emillie did not wear a veil. She had despised the feeling of it the moment Revelie tried to pin it to her head. All she wore, then, was her ivory and periwinkle gown while her soon-to-be husband donned a coat of the deepest blue and cravat the same shade as her dress. His black boots shone in the dim light and matched his neat black trousers. He looked quite handsome with his long black hair tied back elegantly with a thin ribbon.

"With this blood," Alek echoed, his clear voice just loud enough for the witnesses gathered to hear, "I give unto thee…my body, soul, and heart…until my dying night."

His onyx eyes never left her face as he spoke, blood slipping down his palm to mix with her own in the basin. At least he kept up with their ruse of love, though she doubted her father believed it to be so. Whether or not he had figured out the truth behind their engagement, Emillie did not care. All she knew was that Alek was about to take her away from the man who had turned her existence into a living nightmare over the past month.

They interlaced their fingers at the command of the wizened Caersan woman as she wrapped their cut palms together with a long white cloth, binding them as one. "These wounds, created and healed together, bind your body as one in the eyes of the gods and all who bear witness tonight. The blood you spilled comes together in harmony."

Without a veil encumbering her view of the ceremony, Emillie watched as the High Priestess dipped the tiny chalice into their combined blood. It spilled over the lip of the cup and dribbled down the sleeve of the Caersan's gray robes. Her dark, milky eyes lifted to them in a flash as though sensing Emillie's attention.

"This first taste of your life together," the woman announced, raising the chalice to show it to the temple at large, "shall bind your soul as one. As you move forth into this next stage of your shared life, do not forget: what is done to one impacts the other. From the moment this touches your lips, your bond cannot be broken."

Emillie accepted the cup first. She kept her gaze locked on her new husband as she tilted it back and let their combined blood coat her tongue. Of course she knew the sweet metallic tang of her own blood, but mixed with Alek's? It took on entirely new notes. She knew what another Caersan man's tasted like. With Nikolai as her Elit for so long, she had become accustomed to the flavor of his blood. Sharp and rich. Alek Nightingale almost tasted of dark cocoa and smoke.

Whatever he found of her own flavors, she could not tell. As the chalice returned to the basin and reached his lips, Alek's expression gave no flicker of surprise.

"We arrive now," the High Priestess said as she snatched back the cup from the Lord Governor, "at the end of our ceremony. We close with the witnessing of their first feed."

The cloth was unwound from their hands. Both their cuts had sealed, a mere scar as a reminder until it, too, faded.

Thankful for the capped sleeves of her gown, Emillie flexed her scarred hand and turned over her wrist. This was not something for which she could prepare herself. Even biting her own wrist would not measure up to what she knew to expect from Alek's larger fangs. Her heart picked up its pace at the thought.

"As you partake for the first time," the old vampire said, an echo of the words playing in Emillie's mind from Ariadne's wedding mere weeks ago, "remember this: you are now but one being, and to each vein, you shall be faithful."

"And to each vein," the Caersans around them repeated, "you shall be faithful."

Alek wrapped his fingers around her arm and guided her wrist to his mouth. For a moment, Emillie merely stared. It was not until he raised his eyebrows in question that she fumbled for his arm and mimicked the motion. Still, she did not strike. She could not take her eyes off the Lord Governor as he bared his fangs and then dug them into her wrist.

Biting one's own wrist was simple. The feeling was no more or less painful than pricking one's own finger. That it was expected helped in the matter.

Feeling a foreign pair of fangs, however, sent a jolt through her. Emillie sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening and locking with his. Perhaps she should have struck first, for now, she stood in shock, mind blank.

It was not until the High Priestess urged Alek's arm closer that Emillie bared her own fangs and sank them into his flesh. To her dismay, he did not appear as stunned by the intrusiveness of it all. In fact, the feeling appeared to be…pleasurable. If, of course, the way his eyes fluttered shut was any indication.

Alek's blood, undiluted by her own, flooded her mouth before shooting up the hollows of her fangs. Though not unsatisfying, Emillie understood the problem immediately. He tasted like dark cocoa, and she preferred the flavor of vanilla bean.

Of Kyra.

The image of the Rusan vampire swam to the forefront of her mind. The red curls cascading over her shoulders, and her wide hips swaying with the music. Her smile, and the way her eyes lit up whenever Emillie looked at her.

Gods, she wanted to know what Kyra tasted like, not Alek. And now she might have that chance. With the vampire employed by her husband—what a wretched thought—Emillie may very well have the opportunity to discover exactly how delicious Kyra tasted.

And she wanted to know about more than just her blood.

First, she needed to get through the reception. She could continue their ruse a little while longer. Then she would be able to discover just how honest Alek had been. Would she be given the freedom to pursue any woman she wished? So long as she kept up appearances, she prayed to Keon he was a man of his word—and that the rumors surrounding him were as unfounded as he claimed them to be.

When at last they pulled away and the puncture wounds were sealed with salt, the High Priestess announced, "Presenting Lord Governor Alek Nightingale and his wife, the Lady Emillie Nightingale."

And before Emillie knew what was happening, she was ushered from the dais and led outside to the waiting Nightingale carriage. Rain poured down from the dark night sky, making her instantly regret not bringing a cloak. She had seen the clouds rolling in when she woke and had been grateful she planned an indoor reception. Alek said nothing as he helped her into the carriage without a word. It was almost as though he wanted the escape as badly as she did.

"Are you alright?" Alek broke the silence after they had begun the journey to the reception hall. He glanced at her wrist. "I did not mean to hurt you."

Emillie shook herself from the daze she had fallen into and smiled. "Hurt is a strong word. I was merely surprised."

"The first time is always a shock," he agreed. "It gets easier."

She did not want it to get easier with him. If Emillie had her way, she would be indulging in Kyra's vein or, if the Rusan no longer found interest in her, she would find another woman with whom she could share those intimate moments. It was not something she looked forward to with Alek, no matter how kind he had been to her.

Rather than respond, Emillie gave him a smile before looking out the carriage window. The rain clattered on the roof and slid by on the glass pane. Though she was not superstitious, she could not shake the feeling that such weather was an ominous sign for their marriage.

As though it would have been an easy one anyway.

When they arrived at the reception hall—a conservatory filled with shrubs, flowers, and trees from across Myridia—Emillie nearly launched herself from the confined space with Alek. She remembered herself, however, and waited to take her husband's arm before entering the hall.

Warm, gently humid air wrapped around her as they stepped across the threshold. She had hoped guests would be able to meander between the conservatory and outdoors, but with the rain impeding that plan, everyone gathered inside. Though not nearly as many Caersans joined them as Ariadne's, a good many still applauded their arrival.

Traditionally, a Caersan woman would be expected to speak with her father. Emillie paused before the man who had blackened her eye just long enough to give him a brief hug before almost dragging Alek away. She would have no such heartfelt exchanges with he who had as good as forced her into a loveless marriage. Though the decision had been hers, she wished it had been for reasons other than to protect her sister's heart.

Music swirled around them, and Emillie glided onto the dance floor with Alek. Her husband swept her into his arms, moving gracefully and exchanging whispers as the guests watched. Though she responded, she did not focus on him.

With every turn, she searched for that fiery hair. She had hoped Kyra would be in attendance—hoped to, perhaps, sneak a moment with her hidden away by the towering foliage of the conservatory. To her dismay, she could not find the Rusan.

"She is not here," Alek whispered as he brought her in close. "I feared you two would be discovered in such a public setting."

Emillie whipped her gaze to him, her breath catching for a thunderous heartbeat. "What do you know of us?"

"Kyra is very excited to see you again." Alek's mouth tugged into a smirk. "She has hardly spoken of anything else."

So she did want to see her again. She had not merely taken on the position at the Nightingale Estate for the pay and prestige. It had been for Emillie.

"Truly?"

Alek frowned. "I pride myself on my honesty, Wife . Do not doubt me."

The music slowed, and as they came to a halt before everyone, Emillie could not help the smirk that tugged at her lips. "I will remember that. Husband ."

Arm in arm, Emillie and Alek spoke with their guests, thanking each one for joining their celebration. Fewer though there were than at the wedding of the Golden Rose, still well over one hundred attendees had made their way to the festivities. Nearly every Lord and Lady from around Laeton and many from the surrounding cities and provinces.

Emillie fell into a rhythm of gracious nods and small talk as Alek carried the conversation from Caersan to Caersan. Until, of course, they stood before Madan. Though Ariadne had not been able to attend, her half-brother had made his appearance. Such a thing would not help the rumors circulating around her sister's absence.

"Lord Governor Caldwell," Alek said and extended his hand. Madan grasped his forearm in greeting before Alek continued, "I am pleased to see you have made it. Did you journey alone?"

Madan did not look perturbed by the question. "After my cousin's sudden passing, I do not travel lightly. My sister-in-law is not with me, however. She will return shortly and sends her warmest regards to you both."

With a glance at Alek, Emillie shifted closer, dropping her voice so even the sharp vampire ears around them could not hear her, "Where is she?"

To Alek's credit, his expression remained neutral. A quick side-step, and he turned his back to most guests, effectively blocking off any eavesdropping Caersans. His expression remained pleasant as though they spoke of nothing out of the ordinary for the wedding of one of the most elite couples in the Society.

"Precisely where you believe her to be." Madan made a show of smiling, but the twinkle did not meet his marbled eyes. "She is safe."

The unspoken for now hit Emillie like a punch to the gut. No need for elaboration. Her sister was in Algorath, and she was in danger.

Her grip on Alek's arm tightened, and like a dutiful husband, he covered her hand with his and gave it a squeeze. The feeling, though familiar and comforting in a way, did not ease the knot forming in her chest. "Do you believe she will succeed?"

To her unending horror, Madan did not respond right away. He glanced over her head, taking note of those nearby before saying, "I don't know."

That was when she saw it. The dullness in her half-brother's eyes. He feared for them just as much as she, and his inability to lend his aid only compounded the worries. Once a formidable personal guard, someone Emillie trusted explicitly to keep her safe, could no longer protect any of his siblings. Though she doubted his injury had done much to slow him down, as Lord Governor, he had duties to attend to in Valenul. He could not galavant off into the desert to help them.

"I'll do all I can for them both," Madan said, and for the first time, his face fell. "But my focus is on getting your sister home safe."

Emillie's heart cracked. By the silver in his eyes, she knew what he thought. Azriel may not make it out alive, and he had resigned himself to that fact. The cause of his death would be on her hands.

"I am so sorry," Emillie breathed. She chewed her lip, eyes stinging despite her strained smile in a vain attempt to continue their collective ruse. "This is all my fault. I thought it would help, and I—"

" None of this is your fault." Madan took hold of her free hand with his. He blinked back the tears threatening to breach his own barricades. "He knew from the beginning how dangerous it was to be here. He knew the consequences of being discovered. Anything that happens is due to his own actions. You did everything right and gave him a fighting chance."

Literally. Emillie nodded, and while the words made sense, she could not help the despair that crept in at the thought of losing them. At the thought of having had a hand in it. Alek tightened his hold on her as though to force her splintering pieces back together. "If you hear from her…them…please tell them how sorry I am. For everything."

"You have nothing to apologize for." Madan shook his head. "Nothing. Please believe me. As your brother."

Alek stiffened at that. His brows twitched together, and his coal-dark eyes slid between them.

"Later," she promised him, not wanting to even think about later . Perhaps if they had enough to talk about, he would not expect anything from their wedding night—least of all, her promise to bear him a child. Emillie then turned back to Madan and added, "Please tell them what I said, but add…that I would do it all again to give them a chance. I do not pretend to understand who Azriel is, but I do understand that he brought my sister to life again. I will be eternally grateful, and though I am sorry, I do not regret my actions."

Madan's mouth tightened, and he inclined his head. "I will do that. Now…enjoy your celebration, Sister. And Alek," he leveled his gold and green gaze at the other Lord Governor, "take care of her."

Her husband inclined his head in return. "Until my last breath."

Loren stood at a tall table tucked between a palm tree and tall, vibrant tropical flowers he had never before seen. In the middle of the conservatory, with a storm raging outside, they felt just as out of place as he did amongst the Caersans preening after the bride and groom—something for which he had no interest. His invitation to the ceremony and reception had likely been forced by the Princeps. Ostracizing the kingdom's General could only widen the divide between the Gards and Harlows.

Where Alek Nightingale stood with all of it, he was not certain. That he had become fast friends with the traitor, Tenebra, and ultimately married Emillie, Loren remained unconvinced of the Lord Governor's ambivalence.

Remaining close to the Harlows, however, continued to be a matter of utmost importance. At least until he gained what he desired. With Ariadne's notable absence from her sister's wedding, Loren now knew without a doubt that Emillie and Markus continued to lie. And if the Princeps could lie so easily about his own daughter's disappearance, he was not fit to rule Valenul.

He counted down the nights until his missives were read aloud to all.

So Loren sipped his wine and watched the happy couple dance before making their way around the conservatory to greet their guests. He noted with whom they stopped to speak until, of course, they came before Madan Antaire —for he, like Tenebra, was no Caldwell. Though he knew well that the false Lord Governor was a Caersan as he claimed to be thanks to the liquid sunshine, Loren did not believe him to be who he claimed.

Having been so close to Azriel, there was no doubt that Antaire remained close to other dhemons. Loren just had to figure out who he communed with to find a way to expose him as well. Until then, he had to keep his head down.

When at last Emillie and Alek moved on from Madan, speaking under their breath about whatever had transpired between them, Loren set down his wine and stepped forward. The newlyweds halted, and Alek held out his hand in greeting. Loren accepted it, clasping his forearm firmly in a show of amnesty.

"Congratulations, Lord Governor," Loren said without so much as looking at Emillie. She was hiding something about Ariadne's whereabouts, and until she came clean, she did not deserve his attention. "You have long since desired a union with the Harlows."

Of course, Alek had vied for Ariadne's hand before the younger sister. Either would do, though, to win favor with the Princeps. Loren's own determination for Ariadne's hand no longer had anything to do with the power she could give him and everything to do with reclaiming what was rightfully his. That their union would have the Lords of Valenul favoring him again remained an added benefit.

"We have always been close friends," Alek said, his smooth tone laced with a sharp edge. "Such a union between our families always felt predestined."

Ice curled in Loren's gut. He strained against the downturn of his mouth in a weak attempt to remain pleasant. "Quite right you are. Careful, Lord Governor, for these sisters are quick to change their minds and forego their promises. Do not leave her alone with any of the staff , or she might wander away same as her sister."

Amusement flickered across Emillie's face before she said, "We prefer partners, not tyrants, no matter their bloodline."

Alek's lips curled at the corners. "Now, now. The General is a humble man who looks out for the well-being of all of Valenul. My apologies. She has had quite a bit of wine tonight."

From Loren's observations, he had yet to see her pick up a single glass. Nonetheless, he inclined his head and said, "No apologies necessary. Please continue your rounds and have a wonderful evening."

"We are grateful for your attendance," Alek said, inclining his own head in response. "Enjoy yourself as well."

With that, the two continued their turn about the conservatory. Loren watched them go, Emillie's words replaying in his mind again and again.

Not tyrants …

Oh, he would show her exactly how tyrannical he could be.