Page 9 of Princess of Thorns and Ruin

A sweet burst of heat expands my chest as Lucas presses his lips to mine, and his familiar, minty scent is multiplied tenfold. He grazes my bottom lip with his teeth, cups the side of my face, and angles me for a deeper taste. I open my mouth, and his tongue greets mine, the feeling peculiar and wet, but incredibly thrilling.

I roll the silky hem of his collar between my thumb and index fingers as I pull him closer.

He presses his forehead to mine before pulling away. “I’ve been dreaming about this kiss for years.”

The revelation sparks a fire in my belly. “Why not kiss me earlier if you’ve always wanted to?”

“A dream is only meant to last one night.”

“All we have is one minute.”

A sad smile glazes his lips. “Then I shall use it well.”

It’s our first, second, and last kiss. Not my very first kiss, but from now on, I’ll pretend that it was.

Tomorrow, everything will be different. If we were ever to kiss again, Lucas’ lips wouldn’t feel cooler or fresher than mine, and the strength of his steel grip on my waist would only mirror my own. The warmth and softness of this pre-Nightfall kiss won’t be reproduced, ever, and so I enjoy every second, every graze, and every breath.

I curl my fingers over his chest. “Lucas…will you still play for me? Read me poetry? Or is everything going to change?”

Lucas has royal blood, too. He was raised alongside the Delacroix bloodlings while his family raised one of my cousins. The custom shows the deep amity between our kingdoms. But, as the youngest son of king Pereira’s brother, he can’t ever court me, and we’ve both known this since before we knew anything else about marriage.

“That’s up to you, Ari.”

Genevieve clears her throat loudly, and Lucas sidesteps just in time for the Elder to wave me inside. Over the threshold, I throw Lucas one last glance before the heavy door shuts on my old life forever.

The ceremonial hall has been spruced up for the occasion. It’s arranged like a church with a central aisle and benches on each side, but it’s small. Intimate. Garlands of flowers and lights hang from the chandeliers, and roses perfume the air, their subtle floral aromas mixing with the strong smell of incense. The Delacroix sigil—a gold cross and silver rose—is carved into the stone behind the Elder.

The train of my dress scratches the plush burgundy carpet as Genevieve leads me up the aisle. Mother should be the one to do this, and my throat shrinks. I hope she’d be proud of me…

The Bringer looks a little pale in the first row, his earlier enthusiasm for the ceremony apparently gone. He looks so glum, in fact, that I struggle to keep my cool, but I know better than to ruin the sanctity of the proceedings by speaking out of turn.

My second cousin, Jason, sits on the other side of the aisle with his wife, Emilia. They are both responsible for the upkeep of the island and have been my hosts for the last four years. They are the most laid-back, effable members of my family, and though they were always nice, we never really connected.

My chosen waits by the altar, nude cotton pants hanging loosely from his rugged frame. The stark contrast between our attires is meant to signify the difference in class and power, the shedding of his will to obey mine, but I wish he’d been allowed to wear a suit. His tattoo runs from the top of his collarbone to the edge of his abdomen and depicts the inner workings of a pocket watch—the sight of his bare chest is mightily distracting.

Genevieve squeezes my hands and hurries off to sit with the Bringer.

I stand up as straight as my tall heels allow and try to meet Leopold’s gaze, but the impassive, imposing human stares obstinately at the carpet.

The Elder raises his hands to the sky. “This gloried night marks the passage of our beloved princess, our dark rose, Arielle Beatrice Delacroix, into her new life. The sun sets on her as a bloodling, the moon ready to greet her into eternity.”

Flowery language again. Vampires aren’t immortal, but since we age the equivalent of a human year in two or three decades, I guess we’re damn close.

Leopold keeps his hands clasped over his stomach and frowns at the ground.

The Elder’s speech blurs in my heated ears, and I step closer to my chosen. The sinews and ridges of Leopold’s muscled chest betray a thin sheen of sweat, but the room is pretty cool, so he’s nervous. He’s built like Thor from those human movies Lucas loves so much, and his ashy blond hair sticks out in all directions. He’ll most likely cut them shorter once we’re at court, but the wildness suits him.

“Now, the first-blood and his patron will pronounce their vows.”

Leopold stands rigid as he recites the ancient vow. “I, Leo Callas, vow to serve and obey you, princess Arielle Beatrice Delacroix.”

Leo sounds more like him than old, stuffy Leopold, and I smile.

A deep breath blows out of his tight mouth. “From this day forth until my last day, I offer you my blood, my life, and my soul of my own free will.” His thick brows are stuck in a perfect line, and his voice cracks as though the words are painful on his tongue.

My heart hammers. Did he not want this? I open my mouth to ask, but a stern glare from the Elder gives me pause.

I clear my throat. “I, princess Arielle Beatrice Delacroix, accept your fealty, Leo Callas. I shall not ask of you more than you can give, and you will need of nothing. Your blood, your life, and your soul are mine to protect. Forever.”

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