The moment I saw her walking down that aisle, six years collapsed into nothing. Time hadn’t dulled a single thing about how she made me feel. The same heartbeat. The same mouth I’d dreamed of more times than I wanted to admit.
My witch. My mistake. My second chance I would not throw away.
I’d give anything to go back to those three days when her fingers had been tangled with mine, when her magic had made even the night air taste like hope.
“Is that all?” I asked, and they nodded.
One by one, they bowed and vanished through the heavy doors.
When the echoes faded, I pressed my palms against the marble table, letting the cold bleed into me. Six years of mastering composure, and one witch had undone it with a single look.
Thirty days. That was the ultimatum.
Thirty days to prove a love they doubted existed.
Thirty days to earn back the trust of the woman I would adore for the rest of my days.
I’d find a way to make this happen.
The corridors of Shadowborne were tomb-silent as I walked toward the dining room. Light flickered along the stone, catching on carved family crests that stared down like judgmental ancestors.
When the doors opened, conversation cut off mid-sentence. The hall stretched long and severe, chandeliers dripping light over a table polished to a mirror shine. Every noble and relative in attendance rose as I entered.
“Your Majesty,” they murmured in unison.
I took my seat at the head of the table. The chair beside me remained empty.
Aunt Madeline never could resist making sarcastic comments. “Will Her Majesty be joining us?” she asked sweetly. “Or has the new queen already fled?”
A ripple of laughter followed, quickly muffled.
I turned my head enough for my gaze to land on her, and her laughter died instantly.
Across from her, her husband, my Uncle Prentiss, leaned forward. “I wasn’t able to attend the wedding, as you well know. Is it true she’s a witch, and does she really glow when she uses magic?”
I almost smiled. A ridiculous rumor. She only glowed when she laughed. But that wasn’t something I intended to explain to this audience. “You’ll have to ask her yourself.”
Madeline wrinkled her perfect nose. “I’d rather not. They’re unpredictable. Always smiling, always touching things they shouldn’t.”
“Then you’ll get along splendidly,” I said.
Prentiss snorted before catching himself. Lady Aragorn, farther down the table, looked horrified.
The dining hall door swung open, a wash of cool corridor air slipping inside with the scent of honey and something warmer.
Cyrene appeared in the threshold, her cheeks flushed, her curls slightly mussed, her gown a half-rumpled cream that shimmered like spilled moonlight. Every vampire in the room turned as one.
She outshone every jewel in the castle, every star in the night.
She didn’t belong in this world of shadows and restraint, and yet I couldn’t imagine these halls without her now.
“I—ah—apologies for the interruption,” she said, her voice too bright for this dark hall. “Vassen came for me. I didn’t realize breakfast was at this time or so formal.” Her gaze scanned the room, taking in my advisors in their robes, my family in their gowns and stiff suits. Even I wore a coat and tails. A tie. But that was the usual for castle life.
When our eyes met, Cyrene froze. The noise in the room thinned, the space between us snapping taut.
Six years, and it only took one glance to still my world.
Did she remember how we’d watched the stars from that hillside, her head on my shoulder, me stroking the back of her hand? Did she remember how she’d teased me for being too serious, then proceeded to make me laugh until my sides ached?
