truck harder

et swallowed the whisper of her heels. Her gown shone like an illusion, a

crowd like music. Too t

ith a sudden, ringing crash. Her husband, Lord Virello, leaned forward i

ella," he breat

ek. His wolf stirred under his skin, a slow, growling roll of confusion and

. Like wind seep

he bond, not words precisely. Something older, wilder.

the room to him, her white-knuckled fists gripping a withering bouquet. Her bre

o

silk, and a crowd suspended b

is wolf at its leash. "Who is she? Where's St

he press has come. Politicians. You speak, all this union burns.

own the anger. It had be

hold of her husband's arm. Her lipstick-re

to his feet halfway before a wordless warning glanc

ana wa

verything in her was screaming. She felt it occurring-the blankness encro

t silence in her mi

used a dainty rune to dance through the air with gloved fingers.

serenity. Her eyes went out, not quite blank, but lost. As if th

ut, coal-fire eyes fixed

dding

e would s

lier. It flickered again. A

na'

ldn't

down this aisle, gazing down into the preci

feet co

miling mouth, all teeth and gold and clapping. The hem of the dress swept by marble like a sigh. I felt the

y

any

curiosity, suspicion, hunger. My hands tightened around the bouquet. Not for elega

tepped

him. C

gr

ehind the gauze as if it wasn't there. He glared at me - at me - and for a

did

smile. No welcome

k

the bride he wa

bewilderment, even terror - and was gone, overwhelmed by the weight of expectation. The father didn't

act. A goddamned production. The cameras rolled. The guests held their br

uth and speak. To con

ng ca

rds would not shape. My tong

when I

n, insinuating them

nged to someone else. Like I was a puppet i

ll. I did. But my

d been ready to do this. My back straightened, shoulders dropped-polished I'd

no

eam Stella's name and shout questions and tear the trut

ldn't eve

ll - I

be. My every step rings out too sharply upon the clear surface. The music is subdued

dable. Tall enough to look down on kingdoms. I don't know him. Not quite. But some

o one

ne s

the scores of hawky eyes behind mas

linch back. Just blinks. His eyes are darker than I'd remembered in

to protest. For t

ne d

hioned language, thick and formal, as I nod and echo like a string puppet, hardly understa

I don't know them. I don't know where I am. I don't know why my bo

n't I

don'

fog. Soft, velvety, convincing. Like maybe this is fin

to sha

to f

e wrapped in velvet. The audience is silent. I am not. My

aks the final words

kiss th

holds i

t..

ss