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My father’s expression hardened. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I’m not letting you give me away.” I met his gaze steadily. “I’ve asked Frank to walk me down the aisle.”

His nostrils flared, the only visible sign of his fury. “You would humiliate me like this? In front of everyone?”

“This isn’t about humiliating you,” I replied calmly. “This is about honoring the truth. You didn’t protect me. You didn’t love me. You used me as a pawn in your games. And I’m done.” I shook my head. “No. You don’t get to play the proud father today.”

My father’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’re making a mistake, Harlowe.”

“No. For once in my life, I’m making my own choice.” I gestured toward the door. “You’re still welcome to attend the ceremony. But as a guest, not as the father of the bride.”

I thought he might strike me. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his face flushing with anger. But then, with visible effort, he regained his composure.

“You’ve made a grave mistake, figlia.⁠* One that will cost you,” he said softly, his voice dropping to that dangerous register I remembered from childhood. “You think marrying him gives you power, protection. But you’re more naive than I thought if you believe a Romanov will ever truly love you.”

“Maybe not,” I acknowledged. “But as I have told you already, he’s never pretended to be anything other than what he is. That’s more than I can say for you.”

“You think you know what you’re doing,” he said, his voice deceptively soft. “But you’re still that little girl playing with knives too sharp for her hands.”

“No,” I replied, straightening my spine. “I’m not a little girl anymore. And these aren’t your knives.”

He studied me for a long moment, his amber eyes—so like my own—searching my face as if seeing me clearly for the first time. Whatever he found there made his jaw tighten.

“When he breaks you,” my father said finally, “don’t come crawling back to me.”

“I won’t break,” I told him, the certainty in my voice surprising even me. “And if I do, I’ll put myself back together. I’ve had practice.”

The barb hit its mark. A flash of something—not quite regret, Giovanni Virelli wasn’t capable of that emotion anymore—crossed his face before his expression hardened again.

“Goodbye, Father,” I said, the words feeling like a final door closing between us.

He turned without another word and left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway like the fading drumbeat of my old life.

Frank moved to stand beside me, his weathered face solemn. “Are you sure about this, Principessa?”⁠*

I nodded, swallowing past the tightness in my throat. “More sure than I’ve been about anything.”

Frank offered me his arm, and I took it, grateful for the steadiness of his presence. Outside the preparation room, Luna waited, her face lighting up when she saw me.

“It’s time,” she said softly, adjusting my veil one last time.

The cathedral doors loomed before us, massive and ornate, like the entrance to another world. Beyond them, I could hear the murmur of voices, the soft swell of music. Everyone who was anyone in our world had gathered to witness this union—Virellis and Romanovs, enemies forced into the same sacred space by the promise of an alliance.

Or the spectacle of a bloodbath.

Luna squeezed my hand once more before taking her place in front of the doors to make her way down the aisle. I drew a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle around me like my veil. Once she was halfway down the aisle, two little girls—some Romanov cousins children—started skipping down the aisle, sprinkling red rose petals.

“Last chance to run,” Frank murmured, his voice gruff with emotion, and offered me his arm.

I smiled, though he couldn’t see it through the veil, and squeezed his arm. “I’m not running ever again.”

* Princess

* Daughter

* Princess

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