Page 43 of Break Her Heart
When I reached the end, August extended his hand to help me up, but I denied it. He didn’t glance at me. Didn’t smile. His face was stone.
Halston began to speak. Each word echoed off the stone and seemed to seep into my bones, heavy and inescapable. He spoke of power. Of duty. Of binding. His tone was solemn, ceremonial, but I could feel the hunger behind it. The pride. As if what he was doing was sacred.
“This union,” he said, “binds not only flesh and name, but soul to soul. Not just for this life, but for every life to come. In shadow and ash, in flame and blood, you are tethered now, beyond the grave. Forever.”
Forever.The word rang in my ears like a death knell.
The veil suddenly felt too tight, like a shroud. My dress, too heavy. Forever with the monster I created.
My hands trembled at my sides. Rage built in my throat, thick and hot. My body craved to grab the magic that practically floated in the air. I wanted to tear the walls down. To scream until the castle cracked apart.
I hadn’t chosen this. I wasn’t some bride. And if he thought binding me meant taming me, he was wrong.
I would make this place bleed before I let him own me. Let them all feel what it was to burn.
August turned to me then. Halston’s words still echoed in the chamber, but all I could hear was the roar of my own heartbeat. He reached for my hand, and I barely noticed the cool pressure of the ring as he slid it onto my finger. My eyes stayed locked on his the entire time, unblinking. Unyielding. If he expected softness, if he expected surrender—he would get neither.
He gripped me tightly. I was unsure whether he was trying to keep me from running or hurt me. He handed me a second ring. I took it with fingers that trembled from fury, not nerves. Then I shoved it onto his finger with enough force to twist his hand. A few startled gasps broke the silence. Whispers rippled through the room like smoke.
August didn’t flinch.
Then, the knife came to bind our souls. August held it up between us. The room seemed to exhale all at once, a breathless hush descending as he turned it toward me. His fingers brushing mine as I gripped the hilt of the blade. Slowly, I pressed the blade to my palm and dragged it across the skin. The sting didn’t even register. Only the blood dripping to the ground did.
The reaction was immediate and sharp. Gasps echoed from the pews—sharp, startled, and hungry. Some vampires recoiled, red eyes flaring as they struggled to control themselves. A few clutched the edges of the benches, knuckles bone-white with restraint. Others hissed and turned away entirely, storming from the room in sudden, silent retreat. The scent of my blood had filled the air like perfume laced with danger. They weren’t just curious now. They were tempted. On the edge of losing control.
A low growl echoed as several vampire guards rose from the edges of the cathedral. They stepped forward, hands hoveringnear their weapons. It wasn’t a threat—it was a warning. A command to the crowd not to move closer, not to test their control.
August took the knife next. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even blink. He cut himself clean and deep, blood welling instantly. His eyes never left mine.
He extended his hand and whispered, “Soul to soul.”
You or your brother’s freedom?
“Soul to soul,” I said through gritted teeth. I pressed my hand to his with more force than necessary. Our blood mingled. Magic sparked at the edges of my vision—silver light that arced and curled like smoke through water. My knees almost buckled.
Halston closed the book and stepped back with a bow of his head.
August reached for my veil. He pulled it away completely, letting it fall in a whisper to the stone floor. His eyes swept over my face before he turned and picked up the crown resting on a velvet cushion beside us.
It was dark iron, forged in sharp lines and delicate arches, a cruel and beautiful thing. Etched with symbols I couldn’t read and crowned with subtle thorns, it shimmered like obsidian laced with shadow. Red jewels glimmered faintly among the iron, catching the light like drops of blood. It looked like something stolen from a fallen star—both sacred and savage.
August placed the crown on my head, and it was not a gesture of affection.
It was a claiming.
He leaned in to kiss me, and I turned my head, allowing his lips to only brush my cheek.
The room fell silent again, this time with the weight of insult. Someone hissed through their teeth. Another growled low in their throat. Even the air seemed to recoil. I could feel the waytheir red eyes bore into me like I’d just desecrated something holy. My jaw clenched, my spine stiff.
If they wanted a queen, they would get one.
But she would not be kind.
13
Bronwen
“King Augustus and Queen Bronwen!”
