Page 113 of The Madness Within

Then she stepped into the circle.

Ember.

My wife. My war. My ruin and salvation.

She wore black. Of course she did. A gown like a second skin, obsidian silk stitched in infernal thread, the hem igniting into orange flames that licked at the grass but never burned her. A living warning to any who still thought her breakable.

Her veil was embroidered with old symbols in silver thread, protection charms, curses, spells of binding and unbinding.

She walked barefoot, because she wasn’t pretending to be holy. She was sacred in the way storms were. Untamed. Untouched. Mine.

Thalia waited for her at the altar, crowned in thorns, and Noxen, silent, grim, gave her away. No blood father to speak for her, so a blood mage did it instead. Poetic.

And then there was Mirek, my best man. Stoic. Watching my six like always. Cassian's absence was a weight none of us named, but we all felt it. The one who wore his skin, Saze, had no place among the living.

I stood in a black tux stitched with thread that shimmered like shadow made flesh. My shirt? Flame orange silk, custom forged and blessed by a seamstress who feared me too much to ask questions. No tie. Just a collarbone kissed with Ember’s teeth earlier that morning.

The wedding was being streamed live.Dead Wrongaired the whole thing, audio, video, raw and real. Every feed, every corner of the underworld was watching. From abandoned temples to vampire courtrooms, demons, cursed men, and broken kings all held their breath.

“You’re listening toDead Wrong,” Ember whispered into the microphone, eyes on me. “And today… I’m marrying the Keeper himself. The man who makes monsters behave.”

I couldn’t wait. I crossed the circle, cupped her jaw, and kissed her before the priest even spoke. I tasted fire. I tasted forever.

Our vows were carved into bone and set alight between us. I swore mine in the language of the old gods. She swore hers in the rhythm of my name.

No doves. No rice. No prayers.

Just war drums and a full moon.

“I now pronounce you bound,” Mirek said, voice like a blade dragged across stone.

Ember turned toward the camera, veil pulled back, lips stained with my kiss. “To those listening from towers and tombs, don’t mistake this union for love alone. It’s power. It’s promise. We’re done hiding.”

I kissed her like I was sealing a hex. Because I was.

And when the broadcast cut, I knew, every beast that had ever whispered her name in vain just learned a painful truth:

She wasn’t alone anymore. She’s mine. And together?

We were coming.

Honeymoon, The Midnight Hour

She was mywife.

Fully.

Eternally.

Bound not by rings or rituals, but by something older, something carved into our bones and etched in blood beneath our skin.

Ember still wore her wedding dress.

Black silk kissed her curves like it had been poured onto her by the underworld itself. The orange flames licking the hem danced as she moved, like they sensed what was coming.

And gods, so did I.

I closed the doors behind us with a thought. Every candle in the room flared high, shadows lengthening, dancing. Hungry. The walls groaned, like the mansion knew what we were about to do and braced for the storm.

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