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LUCIUS HAD CHOSEN for us to get married not in some
grand ballroom, as I’d guessed, but in a small courtyard—like
a grotto—that was bounded by stone walls smothered under
creeping vines and twisting tendrils of moonflower that
snaked all the way up to the high eaves.
The only light came from the moon and even more
candles, which were tucked into the sills of tall arched
windows that lined the walls and clustered by the dozens on
a stone table where the small silver cups waited.
The whole scene was perfect, like Lucius had promised.
Although we were at the center of a castle that he maintained
with an eye for order and precision, the courtyard had a
chaotic beauty. It sort of reminded me of my love for Lucius,
which was like this out-of-control place at the center of me—
someone who’d once insisted on rational, mathematical order,
too.
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Yes, that garden definitely caused me to draw a sharp
breath.
But it was the sight of the vampire I was about to marry—
not the amazing setting he’d created for us—that made me
break protocol and say his name. “Lucius.”
He stood waiting for me at the end of a path through the
foliage, before the stone table, and I’d never seen him look so
serious. But this wasn’t the dark side of Lucius that sometimes
came out. I knew that he, even more than I, was thinking not
only about our future together, as individuals who loved each
other, but also about history, and the fulfillment of that pact
our parents had signed to unite our clans.
Although I was aware that our guests were waiting on
rows of wooden chairs, I didn’t walk toward him right away.
We just stood for a second, sort of capturing the moment. I
knew from his expression that he’d never forget how I’d
looked when I entered the garden, just like I’d never forget
the sight of him standing with his usual confidence, his broad
shoulders drawn back and his hands clasped behind his
back—a pose that was familiar to me.
But that night, Lucius didn’t bow his head and pace. He
stood perfectly still, eyes fixed on me as we shared a very deep
happiness that I also wanted to remember for the eternity I
hoped lay ahead.
We might’ve stood like that for hours if Dad hadn’t taken
his arm from mine and kissed my cheek. I finally broke my
gaze with Lucius to turn to my father, whose eyes glistened
with tears again as he told me, “I love you, Jess.”
I wanted to tell Dad that I loved him, too, but my throat
suddenly caught. I knew he got what I wanted to say, though.
Then he stepped aside, because the tradition was for me
to walk the final few feet alone. I didn’t even carry flowers. I
was supposed to approach Lucius empty-handed, to symbolize
that from that night on, there wouldn’t be anything between
us.
I nodded to Mindy, who stepped ahead of me and began
to walk slowly down the pathway, and when she reached the
end and took her place by the table, the guests stood up and
turned, too. But I barely noticed them, or Mindy, or Raniero
standing at Lucius’s side. I was too transfixed by the sight of
my soon-to-be husband.
His black hair gleamed in the moonlight, which, together
with the candles, illuminated his features, too. The high
cheekbones, straight nose, and strong jaw that I’d first noticed
back in a Pennsylvania high school, a place that seemed a
million miles from where we stood then. He wore a tuxedo
that fit him as perfectly as the garden fit our ceremony. The
suit was understated—no tails or shiny silk lapels—but its
simplicity only emphasized Lucius’s self-assurance, as though
he didn’t need flashy clothes to prove that he was a prince.
Somehow, he managed to look like royalty in nothing more
than an impeccably fitted dark coat, white shirt, black tie,
and black pants.
He stood straight but at ease, like the warrior he’d been
raised to be, and I could hardly believe he was mine. I was
pretty sure he was feeling the same way about me.
As I began to walk toward him, he pulled his hands from
behind his back, reaching for me, and I saw a flash of white
on his arm—the bleached cloth that peeked out from under
his sleeve, just above his hand.
“Antanasia,” he said, when I was close enough to hear him
whisper. But he couldn’t seem to say anything else. Had I
actually rendered Lucius Vladescu speechless—maybe for the
first time in his life? “I . . . I . . .”
I did smile then, because I knew that I’d succeeded in
taking his breath away, like I’d hoped.
I took my place next to him, and Lucius smiled, too.
Holding out his left hand—the one he’d scored—he clasped
my similarly marked right hand, squeezing our palms together,
both to join us and to reopen the wounds we’d just made so
our blood could combine.
The incision on my hand stung again, and Lucius seemed
apologetic about having to hurt me. I shook my head, though,
trying to tell him that it was okay. Then we twisted our palms
slightly, so our blood was shared, the way it was supposed to
happen.
We stood that way for a long moment, because this part
of the ceremony was so important to vampires. Then Lucius
squeezed my hand in a different way, and we turned to face
the eldest of the Elders, who had joined us at the stone table
and announced, “Let us begin.”
Continue to Chapter 19...
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