Page 99 of A Dance Macabre

I somehow find the strength to soldier on.

“I had Tinny make them for us, one has my initials and the other yours. I thought we could—” Everything in me wants to look away. Run. Hide. Anything but this. I can barely manage to push the words out. “I thought we could exchange them at our wedding.”

Wolfgang’s expression brightens, turning boyish, and a weight suddenly lifts from my shoulders.

“Our wedding?” he says, his voice silky with hope.

“I want you to be my husband,” I say, looking into the distance, trying my best to act unbothered. “If you forgive me, that is.”

Wolfgang’s laugh is dark and deviant as his hand finds my cheek, turning my head back to face him. His thumb smooths over my lips before he presses a soft kiss to them. Pulling away, he gazes deeply into my eyes, his thumb still caressing my cheek in small circles.

“To forgive you is to love you,” he finally says.

My breath hitches in my throat.

The silence lingers.

“And do you?” I ask quietly, not sure to which statement I’m asking for an answer.

He smiles wide, revealing the gold of his canine.

“I do.”

52

WOLFGANG

Two weeks later …

“She’s ready for you,” Jeremial declares with a formal nod.

Giddy anticipation bubbles up my chest, and I nearly tackle him out of the way to get to Mercy. He somehow avoids my lunge and still manages to look stoic while opening the door for me. Eagerly, I enter the spacious waiting room connected to the large hall where our most important ceremonies occur.

Or in this case, the official union of the co-rulers of Pravitia.

The waiting room walls are full of formidable paintings of our ancestors, our likenesses soon to adorn the same walls.

But none of that matters right now.

Not when Mercy is standing near the crackling fireplace in her wedding dress, a long black veil cascading down her back, reaching the floor. Her dress is a blend of a dark red corseted bodice and black lace overtop, long flowing sleeves falling overher hands, and a wide circular train. Her gaze slides to meet mine from across the room.

And she smiles.

It’s almost demure as if she’s seeking my approval.

My heart explodes at the sight.

I stalk to her, setting down the gift I’m holding on a table nearby before cradling her face between my hands.

“My ruin,” I groan deeply, my forehead pressed to hers. “You look divine. A goddess amongst mortals. The entire city is undeserving to evenlay eyeson you.”

The smallest of giggles leaves her lips, the puff of air warm against my skin, and I can’t stand the countless seconds separating me from calling Mercy my wife.

“You look dashing yourself,” she says breathlessly.

Hearing her voice laced with such levity is intoxicating. Especially momentous, when I know it only happens when it’s just us two.

“Did you expect anything less?” I ask amusingly. Pulling away, I preen like a peacock as I show off my outfit; a red velvet tuxedo, with black lapels to compliment her dress.

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