She shook her head. He probably was just concerned after what had happened. So, she smiled.
“Well, I have news,” she announced, her joy from earlier returning despite everything. “Caelan, I?—”
The carriage bounced and slowed. The wheels dragged over gravel before finally coming to a stop.
The rest of her words died on her tongue.
Caelan rose smoothly and reached for the door. He opened it, letting the sunlight spill inside. He stepped down first, then turned back toward her, extending his hand.
“Come,” he said. “Careful.”
Sorcha took his hand but as she descended the first step, he took her by the waist and lifted her to the ground. His hands stayed on her waist longer than he usually would, one hand rising to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
Caelan had never been this polite. Unease coiled in her gut. Something wasn’t right, but she wasn’t sure what. Still, she accepted his hand.
His fingers wrapped around hers, his thumb brushing her knuckles in a way that set off alarm bells in her head.
He helped her down. Once she had placed her foot on the ground, she looked up… and froze at the sight before her.
This was not the castle. Instead, trees and greenery surrounded them. And right ahead was a chapel. A small, old stone structure, its arched doors open wide. Flowers decorated the entrance, as though prepared for a celebration.
Her heart skipped a beat.
What is going on?
She slowly turned to Caelan. “Where are we?” she asked, her eyes searching his face.
He gave a smile, but not the crooked one she knew. This one was composed, too satisfied.
“To attend a wedding, me Lady,” he replied.
Her eyebrows knitted together with confusion. “A wedding?” she echoed faintly.
Out of the blue?
“Aye.” His grip tightened slightly on her hand. “Follow me.”
Her instincts screamed at her to flee, but her feet followed him anyway. Because he was Caelan, and she trusted him far too much to have any doubts.
Each step she took toward the chapel felt heavier than the last. Somehow, the beauty of the place felt too staged. Maybe because it was too glorious. Too quiet. Too perfect.
As they crossed the threshold, her unease grew. How could it not, when they had just walked into an empty chapel?
The wooden pews were vacant. No murmurs. No guests. Not even a priest.
What sort of wedding is this?
Only sunlight welcomed them, painting the floor in colors that felt wrong somehow.
Her pulse quickened.
“Caelan…” She slowed down, then stopped altogether. “What kind of wedding is this?” Her voice echoed faintly in the cavernous space. “Why is it empty?”
She was met with silence at first. Then Caelan’s voice followed. However, it was no longer gentle. No longer warm.
“Because it is our wedding.”
The words sounded heavy and final.
