ššš¢š„š¢šš”
Vladimir's gaze never left mine. Those icy blue eyes tracked my every movement, unreadable and intense. My corset tightened.
When I finally reached the black matte marble stairs leading up to the altar, my hip throbbed with each step. But the pain felt distant, unimportant compared to the enormity of what I was about to do.
Three steps. Four. Five.
And then I was standing before him, close enough to see the fine details of his faceāthe way frost seemed to cling to the edges of his suit collar, the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest.
Vladimir Dragunov. My husband-to-be.
He extended his hand toward me, palm up, waiting.
Then it began. The cloaked figure I had noticed before stepped forward with a velvet pillow.
On it lay a strange, ornate daggerānot made from steel or any metal, but from the claw of a creature I could not name. The hilt was silver, catching the light as Vladimir picked it up.
