Page 135 of Hide From Me

I look around them as ungracefully as I can, but there's no Delilah in sight.

“Where’s the damn nuisance?” King grumbles, voice low and gravel-thick. “Still need to chew his ass out for thinking I’m old enough to be his father.”

“No, you won’t.” The words tumble out before Ican stop them.

King’s gaze snaps to mine, dark eyes narrowing with amusement. He doesn’t look pissed. He seems intrigued—like he can smell the feral protectiveness coming off me and likes it.

Great. I’m gonna end up biting someone’s ankle before this ceremony even starts.

I spin on my heel, chin high, ready to find Laura and strangle her for leaving me stranded in a mafia-meets-fantasy fever dream. Every uniform I pass is different in ways I hadn’t noticed—some sharp and modern, others embroidered, archaic, fantastical. It’s like walking through time, past lives, past wars. I push through the crowd until a familiar grip finds my arm and tugs me gently back.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Laura whispers, eyes flicking sideways like she’s smuggling state secrets. “Our seats are over here.”

She ducks her head, so I follow her lead without question, crouching slightly as we slide into a pew. Because yeah, with my luck, today’s the day this becomes a shootout.

“What are you doing?” I hiss, staring at her like she’s lost her damn mind as we settle in our seats.

“Don’t worry about it,” she mutters, eyes scanning the perimeter.

“These are all the factions, by the way. Every last one. We’ve never all gathered together like this.” She sits up a little straighter as she speaks, like she just cleared the area and didn't just change the subject. However, that does explain the air.

It’s thick. Humming with old grudges, unspoken truces, and the kind of tension that could slice a person in half if they moved wrong. Every second, another seat fills. Some guests remain standing along the flowing fabric walls, shifting with the breeze like ghosts on guard.

My knee starts bouncing.

“Where is he?” I whisper, scanning the crowd again, but apparently, not quietly enough.

The entire row in front of us turns in perfect, synchronized disapproval.

Behind me, deep chuckles follow.

“Think he got her back?” Jon mutters, and I'm half tempted to sic Laura on him.

“I fucking hope so. So he’ll finally shut the fuck up about it.” King grumbles.

“It’s a wedding.Nothis wedding. Could you maybe wait until after the vows before drooling on the seating chart?” Laura whisper yells, elbowing me hard enough that it pulls my attention to the way her shoulders are pinned back tight and her neck has turned a deep shade of red.

That's curious and new, but I don't have time to interrogate her.

I roll my eyes and drag in a sharp breath through my nose, trying to force calm into my chest as the music swells.

A hush falls so fast it’s like the air itself holds its breath.

At the front, the older woman clears her throat and stands, walking to the altar with incredible elegance despite her leg. All heads pivot toward the entrance in a single, reverent motion.

Caspian steps through first, and everything stills.

He looks like a fever dream—tux tailored within an inch of his life, dark and dangerous in the way only he can make look elegant. But beneath all that control, there’s a tremor in his step. A softness in the way his eyes flicker toward the altar, like he’s still not convinced this is real.

And somehow, that’s what makes me smile.

A man like Caspian, weathered and scarred by war and choices, walking like the mere act of moving forward might wake him up from the best dream he's ever had.

I glance back just as another figure approaches out of the darkness behind the flowing white curtains, and my heart stumbles.

Moe wears a black-on-black tux, crisp and devastating, with a deep green boutonnière that mirrors the band of my dress so precisely I could scream. His head is slightly bowed, steps measured, as his hands twitch once at his sides, fingers curling like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

Then he looks up like something prompted him to do so, and within an instant, his storm-grey eyes find mine.

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