Page 83 of Bride By Coronation

He takes a deep breath and nods.

I lace my arm through his, and he leads me through a crowd. It takes a few minutes to realize we're in an arena with no ceiling. It's a cloudless night, and the full moon shines over the audience, competing with the beautiful glow of the candles the women hold. They're all dressed in the same gold dresses. Men are in tuxes with skull masks, holding torches and banging them on the ground.

The chanting and stomping grow louder as I approach the center of the arena. Sean leads me up the stairs toward a well-defined, tall, masked man. Zara's near him, holding roses. Another man in a robe and mask stands behind them.

My stomach flip-flops.

I don't get to see what he looks like?

I glance around the arena, and more panic hits me.

How many thousands of people are here?

Who are they?

Sean positions me before the man, leans into his ear, and says something. He turns and hugs me, then steps behind him.

The wind chooses that moment to gently blow through, and I freeze.

The intoxicating smell of leather, rosewater, saffron, jasmine, and other notes I can't identify teases my core.

He smells like Kirill.

It's not possible.

The man takes two steps toward me, closing the gap between us. I search his eyes, seeing the same heat and danger I always saw in Kirill.

It can't be him.

What if it is?

Please be him.

He reaches for my hands, and I glance down. One has my father's mark branded into it. The other has a tattoo of tiny pink hearts on top of crossed bones hanging off a black chain.

It's the same hand tattoo as Kirill's.

Happiness fills me, replacing my panic. I gasp, blurting out, "Kirill?"

His chest rises with air. He stands taller, towering over me, squeezing my hands. His Russian accent sounds thicker as he says, "You look more beautiful than I imagined."

A smile erupts on my lips. I blink hard, overwhelmed with all the hours I spent wondering who I was going to marry. I don't know much about this man, but the little I know is enough for this situation. And all the letters he wrote and the time he took to find attire I'd love, flood my memory, intensifying the attraction I've felt for him since the moment we first met.

The audience quiets.

Kirill doesn't break our gaze, rubbing his thumbs over my hands.

My butterflies go into a frenzy.

A man with a German accent roars, "We have waited for this coronation for a long time. The Underworld will once again be complete!"

A deafening applause erupts.

I cringe.

The man holds his hand up, and everything goes quiet again. He declares, "Tonight's coronation will consist of three parts: Commitment, Consummation, and Closure."

The crowd roars.

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