Her mouth dropped open, but no sound came out.
Our wedding?This has to be a joke. A cruel one, but still a joke.
Her cousin loved to tease her, but he had gone really far with his one.
She forced a small laugh. “Caelan, this isnae funny. I am serious.”
But he did not laugh, did not seem amused at all.
“I believe we daenae need guests,” he said evenly. “This is between ye and me.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She spun around to face him, fixing him with a glare cold enough to quell his jokes.
But maybe she shouldn’t have done that, because she was greeted with a sight she would never forget. Her breath whooshed out of her.
Caelan was on one knee. Right there on the chapel floor, one knee pressed into stone, his arms held out before him as though this was the most natural thing in the world.
He smiled up at her. But she did not recognize that smile at all.
Sorcha might have gone deaf at that moment—courtesy of shock—but she certainly had not gone blind.
Her cousin was on his knees—No. He was ononeknee, inside an empty chapel, talking about weddings.
Isnae that insanely comical?
Her mind refused to accept it at first. Maybe if she laughed hard enough, the image before her would vanish.
Alas, despite her stiff chuckle, Caelan remained there. Still on his knee, still proposing.
“Are ye messing with me right now?” she asked, her voice strained.
Her lashes fluttered. Her brow creased with confusion as she stared at him. Another dry, hollow laugh slipped out.
“This must be a trick,” she declared, shaking her head. “It has to be.”
Her laughter faltered when her gaze landed on something. At that moment, the world slowed down. Her eyes narrowed on his coat pocket.
She could see it. The cloth peeking out. The same one that had been pressed to her nose and mouth.
Sickening realization dawned on her: Caelan was the same man who had jumped from her chamber window, the same man whohad knocked her out in the corridor. Why else would that cloth be tucked in his pocket?
The deeper the realization sank in, the tighter terror gripped her.
“Nay,” she whispered, shaking her head.
Her eyebrows rose to her hairline, disbelief pulling at her face until it hurt.
“Nay… nay,” she repeated, backing away.
Who exactly is Caelan?
Her heart sank with dread.
“Was it ye, Caelan?” she asked, her voice hoarse with emotion. “The one who seized me? The one who knocked me down?”
Just like that, Caelan’s expression shifted. Like a mask falling off after years of plastering it on.
It wasn’t dramatic at first. Rather, it was subtle. It started with a slow curl of his mouth, a smile that bent wrong. His expression contorted, too sharp.
