••{RHIANNON'S POV}••
I'd be lying to myself if I said I haven't thought about jumping through that window again.
Not because I want to escape Azrael.
But because everything he told me three nights ago didn't just scare me. It tore through whatever courage I had left.
Everytime I close my eyes, I see the image he painted.
I see the world burning. I see nothing but pain, suffering, and death.
I see Astragarde in ruins. I see my family… slaughtered.
Every detail, every possibility, every name he spoke… it's all been clawing at my thoughts until sleep feels like something I used to know.
The fear sits inside my heart like a stone. Cold, and heavy.
And yet, there is something else now. Something I didn't expect.
Azrael's voice. His promise. Protecting me with everything he is.
It makes a part of me believe that maybe I'm safer here than anywhere else in the world.
And if marrying him is what keeps my blood away from Samael… if it protects my father, Rayn, Jesenya, little Darren, Astragarde, and the whole world… then I'll do it.
And now here I am, on my wedding day.
Moonlight spills through the tall windows as the seamstresses flutter around me, fastening the last pieces of the gown. I keep staring outside, letting the moon calm me the way it used to when I was small. But the moment one of them calls my name, I force myself to look at the mirror.
The girl staring back at me doesn't look like me at all.
The black wedding gown is layered in intricate floral lace. The embroidery threads curl like vines winding around me, and every feather pattern across the bodice and skirt makes me resemble a black swan. Dark red stones shimmer across the gown like scattered drops of ruby. My gloves reach above my elbows, ink-dark and patterned with delicate floral lace.
It's hauntingly beautiful.
I give the seamstresses a smile, but it doesn't reach my eyes.
"It's beautiful," I say anyway.
Their faces brighten. "We knew you would love it, Your Highness."
One of them suddenly gasps, remembering something. She rushes to a table and returns with a thin veil. She gently sets it over my head, letting it fall softly down my shoulders.
"Princess," she says with awe, "you're the most beautiful bride I've ever seen."
That almost breaks me.
I blink quickly, refusing to cry in front of them, but I can't stop the memories of my first wedding. The laughter. The warmth of having my family and friends around me.
Here… there's none of that.
The door opens, and I turn as Nayeesha steps in. Her presence fills the room like calm water.
"You may leave us," she tells the seamstresses.
They bow and slip out, shutting the door behind them. Nayeesha approaches slowly, taking in the gown, the veil, the trembling breath I'm trying to hide.
"You look beautiful," she says.
I don't answer. My eyes stay on the floor.
"It's time for the ceremony," she adds.
My head lifts. Through the veil, her amber eyes soften.
"I know you're nervous."
"I really am," I whisper.
"It's going to be alright," she says.
I nod, even though nothing inside me feels alright.
She extends her hand to me. "Come."
She offers her hand. I take it, grateful for the anchor, and together we leave the room.
As we walk down the sprawling halls, my heart beats faster, each step echoing through the halls, growing louder than the last. My heart keeps matching the sound, beating harder and harder as we go.
We pass towering stained-glass windows, each one depicting terrible, beautiful things—vampires kneeling under eclipsed moons, winged beings falling in spirals of fire, forests of bone threaded with crimson light. Strange lanterns float above the path, suspended in midair, glowing with pale fire.
When we step outside, I gasp.
The moon hangs enormous above us, pouring light over Darkholme's courtyard. The aisle stretches out ahead, covered in a carpet the color of blood. Candles line both sides in tall, twisted candelabras shaped like skeletal branches. Red roses coil around them, their petals darker than blood. Wisps of glowing fog curl around the ground like ghostly ribbons, shifting with every breath of wind.
It's haunting, beautiful, and terrifying.
Every guest turns to stare. Dozens of vampires, all dressed in black, their pale faces glowing under the moon.
My throat suddenly feels dry.
Nayeesha gently releases my hand. The moment she does, panic flares in my chest and I almost reach for her again. But she leans close and whispers;
"It's alright," then she takes a step back.
Azrael waits at the end of the aisle.
He's wearing a crown of obsidian and gold. His long red cape trails behind him like a river of blood. Gold lines streak across his black attire like veins of molten metal. He stands perfectly still, but even from here I can feel the weight of his presence.
And somehow… it steadies me.
I force my legs to move. One trembling step after the other. I can barely see through the veil, but I feel every stare, hear every whisper.
Human weddings happen under sunlight, filled with music, warmth, and life. But this night… this night feels like a ceremony meant for spirits and shadows.
There is no choir.
No music.
Just silence so thick I can almost hear my own heartbeat. I can hear the candles crackling.
The silence is so unsettling that I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise, and my skin prickles.
My legs grow weaker the closer I get. At one point I actually fear they'll give out.
But I reach him.
Azrael steps forward and extends a hand. I take it, my glove brushing against his skin. He rubs the back of my hand gently.
"You look beautiful," he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear it.
I try to respond, but my throat is too tight to form words.
The priest steps forward and says, "Let us begin."
We turn toward, Azrael still holding my hand.
"In the name of Ægon, Ruler of Hell, and Keeper of the Underworld," the priest intones, lifting a dark chalice, "we unite these souls in the covenant of night. By the spilling of blood, by the surrender of breath, by the dominion of the eternal abyss—let this union stand unbroken. Let no light sever what darkness has claimed."
"So shall it be," everyone murmurs in unison.
A shiver runs down my spine.
Ægon.
The Devil.
The enemy of Astoria, Queen of the Heavens.
The one humans pray they never meet in life or in death.
Azrael must feel me tense because he squeezes my hand again, slow and gentle. I breathe out slowly, but my whole body trembles as the air leaves me.
The priest hands the chalice to Azrael. He drinks calmly, not looking away from me.
Then he passes it to me.
My brows pull together. I lift it toward my nose and as soon as the scent hits me, my eyes widen in horror.
It's blood.
I look up to Azrael. He gives me a slow, steady nod and another gentle squeeze.
My hand shakes as I lift the chalice under the veil. The rim touches my lips and even before I taste it, my stomach heaves and bile rises instantly.
I force myself to swallow the smallest sip and lower it immediately, handing it back to the priest before I wrench out my guts.
My stomach churns violently. I swallow hard, trying to steady my breathing.
"Azrael Bloodbourne," the priest says. "Dark Sovereign of the Empire of Night, do you bind yourself to this mortal in blood and dominion, to shield her with your strength, to claim her as yours, and to walk as one through shadow eternal?"
"I do," Azrael answers without hesitation.
The priest turns to me.
"Rhiannon Aurelian of Astragarde, do you stand before the Abyss and yield your fate to this Sovereign, accepting his protection, his power, and the bond that endures beyond death?"
My heart clenches painfully. Everything in me wants to run. To flee this unholy union. To choose the light and Astoria and everything I've known all my life.
But when I look at Azrael, all I can remember is the future he warned me about.
And then, I think of my father. I think of Jesenya, Rayn, Darren, and my people.
If this marriage is what keeps them safe… then so be it.
"I do."
The priest straightens, lifting his hands over our heads. The crowd quiets instantly, like someone pulled the breath straight out of the courtyard.
"By decree of the Empire of Night," the priest says, his voice echoing between the towering pillars, "and by sacred covenant between sovereign and chosen, this union is now sealed."
"And so," the priest continues, "before the eyes of the Empire, I pronounce you bound. Emperor and Empress."
A rush of whispers ripple through the courtyard.
"Seal this union," the priest says, "with a kiss."
My entire body goes still.
Azrael slowly turns toward me.
For a moment, his eyes search my face, and everything else disappears in the way his golden gaze draws me in.
He leans in, and I can feel the warmth of his breath on my lips.
"I'll be gentle," he murmurs.
His hand rises but hesitates before touching me, his fingers hovering near my jaw. Then he cups my face with the faintest pressure, as if he's afraid I'll break. His lips brush mine, and the kiss is soft, and brief—and the guests erupt in cheers.
I flinch the moment he steps back.
Azrael's expression changes, smoothing into the cold mask he wears for the world.
"It's done," he says quietly.
The priest dismisses us with a sweeping gesture, the nobles rise, and bow.
When Azrael offers his arm, I don't take it. I walk forward on my own.
His jaw clenches but he doesn't force the contact.
We leave the hall together, side by side, but miles apart.