The gown is tailored perfectly. The white lace bodice hugs my curves before sweeping to the ground to an elegant train. The sleeves fall off the shoulder and sweep to the floor as well. My hair and neck are adorned with diamonds, formed from the bluest fires of the infernal land.
The ring is back on my finger.
I hardly recognize the woman in the mirror. When I escaped Gardenia with Ambrose, I never planned to get married. I only had 3 years before my curse would end things. But in another life, if we had choices and freedom to make them...
The man at the end of the aisle would be Ambrose.
There's no use thinking about that as I'm led to the door of the ceremonial chamber. I'm handed my bouquet of lavender, their petals matching my eyes. The veil is unfolded, the music crescendos, and the door slowly swings open. But the sight before me freezes me in place.
The black marble chamber is filled with carved stone pews. And the entire place is adorned with lavender and hanging vines and candles. It's like nothing I've ever seen in the Courts. It reminds me of Gardenia. The purple petals drift down to the aisle and I look up to see Malcolm waiting at the altar.
Dressed in an elegant military garment with black velvet details and metal chain accents, Malcolm stands with his hands clasped behind his back. His dark hair is combed back, allowing his amber eyes to shine like molten honey. A ceremonial sword is sheathed at his side.
I step forward and the orchestra begins to play. Other than the musicians, it's just him and I. The pews are empty, filled with massive candles dripping wax.
When I reach Malcolm, he offers me his hand and I take it. As we turn toward the altar, the flames suddenly burn brighter and higher into a towering silhouette.
"Today we honor this Union between Infernal Lord Malcolm Keres and Her Highness Evangeline Vlahos," a mythical voice booms from the fire. "Begin the ceremonial forging of the Union."
There are no vows to pledge, no fake promises. Malcolm unsheathes his sword and places it in the fire. I remove my ring and watch it get swallowed by the flames as they burn blue. I try to ignore the tear tricking down my cheek, unable to unsee Ambrose burning in my dream.
The metals melt into one another. "Place your hands into the fire."
I swallow hard and do as I'm told, placing my hand in the molten metal. Malcolm's finger brushes my thumb for a brief, comforting moment.
"The matrimony has been forged in flame, metal, and ash. And so it is done."
The flames suddenly extinguish and on my hand is a new ring, made of a polished silver metal. It is engraved with a word from an ancient language. Malcolm bears an identical one.
"You may now kiss. Blessed be your Union."
As lavender-scented smoke fills the chamber, Malcolm turns to me and gingerly lifts my veil from my face. When he tilts my chin up toward him, he falters. In the candlelight, I think I see his cheeks flush slightly.
I lean in and place a soft, lingering kiss on his lips. His shoulders relax beneath my hands as he brushes his thumb against my jaw and responds with a kiss of his own.
He tastes like woodsmoke and bourbon.
As we break away, court members enter and congratulate us as palace staff lead us away. I'm so disoriented that I don't realize they've led us back to our rooms. That's it? Not even cake?
"I'm not really tired, so I think I'll grab some cake from the kitchen—."
"There's no time, Your Majesty," the servant interrupts. "This is the final part of the ceremony."
"Well don't leave me in suspense," I say, turning to Malcolm. He's in mild distress, running his hand over his mouth.
"Is this really necessary? It's a marriage alliance during wartime," he asks the woman. I realize from her clothing she's not a servant, but a member of the war council.
"It's precisely because it's wartime that we must follow all ceremonial protocol," she explains.
"Stop pretending I'm not here and tell me what's going on, please," I say exasperatedly.
"The final, binding step of marriage," the woman explains, "is consummation."
My stomach plummets. "Wait, consummation as in like...like—."
"We fuck," Malcolm finishes.
"Oh."
...
Ambrose's POV:
Every night I dream of her.
Every night, when another one of my Fallen brethren is executed, I close my eyes against their anguished cries and try to remember what peace felt like.
I should be angrier that I'm rotting in a Forsythian prison with no sign from Evangeline. Instead, I'm filled with relief that she was not caught, because although they cannot kill her, the Forsythian government would torture her every second until her time ran out.
In my dreams, I seek refuge in the memory of her touch, her mortal warmth against my hollow, immortal form. I found forgiveness in her arms. In her presence, I felt holy. Unbroken. Her love was my most sacred possession.
But the memory only brings me more pain as I remain frozen in time, helplessly watching her hurtle towards death. No matter how fast I run, she remains just out of reach.
A splash of ice water jolts me from my dream. I lift my head, my arms chained above my head to the walls on either side. Queen General Amaryllis stands beside the executioner.
"Are you awake, Fallen Scum?," the executioner jeers. The general has never spoken a word to me. I'm sure if it was up to her, she'd have killed me with her own hands. The only reason I'm still alive is because they want me to watch as my brethren are stripped of their wings, and then their lives. My cell has grown cramped with the white-feathered carcasses.
I spat the water back at them in response and receive a slap that sends my skull ringing.
"Your time is up, Heathen," the executioner hisses.
"I'd gladly die in the name of Gardenia and it's true Queen," I snarl. Amaryllis suddenly laughs dryly from the shadows.
"You'd die for that traitor?," she scoffs, stepping into the cell. "You'd lay down your life for the woman who's marrying into the Infernal Courts as we speak?"
"You're lying," I whisper hoarsely. Evangeline wouldn't just hand over her right to Gardenia. Especially not to the notorious Courts.
"She proposed to Lord Malcolm the night you were imprisoned," Amaryllis says, smirking as she tosses a Forsythian headline to my knees.
A Match Made in Hell: Union of Evangeline Vlahos and Lord Malcolm Keres
The words blur and come into focus as reality floods me with dread. While I remain chained to this filthy cell, awaiting my death, another man will take her into his bed.
Malcolm will kiss her. Touch her. My hands ache behind my back.
I close my eyes and envision myself dislocating his jaw. I envision myself crushing his hands. I envision myself sweeping her off of his bed and into my arms. Because Evangeline deserves to be kissed with tenderness. She deserves to be touched with passion and reverence and pleasured until the sun rises.
But it's too late. Evangeline was my greatest sin and now I will die for it.
"I suppose it would be rude to not send them a wedding gift as a sign of goodwill," Amaryllis muses, shattering my thoughts. I open my eyes to see the executioner slip a chain from his pocket. It glints sinisterly in the murky light. The grieving, vengeful woman smiles coldly. "Ah, that will do nicely."
From the deepest depths of the dungeons, no one could hear my screams.
A/N: stay tuned for some 🥀 in the next few chapters! also poor Ambrose :(