“Drink of this cup, blessed by the ones who came before, and bind yourself to this vampire.”

I watched my bride raise it to her lips, the column of her throat working as she took a deep draught. Purely wine and petals for her—if she were a vampire, or were she to choose an eternal life with me, the cup would have been held beneath our thorn-bonded hands to catch our intermingled blood.

Wyn slid a bottle from her robes, full of fresh blood that was nearly black in the moonlight. As Cirrien swallowed her wine, she uncorked it and poured it in, the sweet salt aroma of Cirrien’s fresh blood overpowering the roses.

“Now, Lord Bane, drink from this cup, blessed by the ones who came before, and bind yourself to this woman. She lives in you now, the other half of your soul.”

Cirrien’s eyes narrowed faintly at the words she hadn’t received, and if I understood anything about her at all, she already knew much of the ceremony had been changed for her sake.

I took the goblet and drank deeply, my first taste of Cirrien.

It was not the same as fresh blood from the vein, but it was sweet. The wine was an unwelcome addition, diluting the fresh taste of my bride, warmth soothing my aching throat.

Wyn took the goblet from me and held it beneath the thorns now, catching droplets in our mingled blood in the dregs of the wine. She swirled it, mixing them together, and then paused.

It was only a second of hesitation, one that perhaps no one outside of those who knew her well would even notice. But for the next part… I wondered if she was worried.

“Two are now one. You have vowed yourselves to each other, through life and into death; you will never be parted. We ask you now, Mother, to bestow your blessing upon this union.”

Wyn poured the wine-and-blood dregs into the mouth of the statue. It was only a few mouthfuls at most, the thin red liquid dripping over the white marble fangs of the Mother’s likeness, disappearing into her dark throat.

Cirrien stood so close to me, still bound by the thorns, that I felt her muscles tense. Her breath caught and held, her eyes fixed on the altar’s statue.

There was silence for a long moment, and then, in a silent, almost eerie waterfall, blood flowed from the Mother’s mouth, pouring over her white neck, filling her cupped hands in a dark pool.

Cirrien stared into the pooled blood, her eyes wide as it soaked into the pale marble, staining it red.

Wyn let out an audible sigh of relief. “This union is blessed. May the Lord and Lady of the Rift rule with the strength of iron for all their days.”

My cadre bowed before us, their own relief evident. A smothering hand of unease seemed to vanish, the Bloodgarden itself lightening around us.

“Now let the binding be planted, that their love and power might flourish so long as Ravenscry stands.”

Visca unbound our hands, coiling the bloodied thorn vine into a perfect spiral, and she handed it to Cirrien. “May the Lady plant it.”

We were ushered from the Mother’s altar, to a small, bare patch of ground in the garden at the base of one of the loggia’s columns. Someone had already dug a hole on Wyn’s orders; Cirrien knelt to lower the spiral into the ground.

“May the Lord bury it,” Wyn intoned, her voice much more relaxed now that the vows were made in time, and the union blessed. I hadn’t realized just how deeply worried she was until I heard her usual tones once more.

I knelt at Cirrien’s side, pushing soft, rich earth over the vine and patting it smooth.

Cirrien glanced up at me from under her lashes. Did she regret this?

“If this grows to become bloodroses, our marriage is doubly-blessed,” I said quietly. “If it withers… well. That’s never considered good luck.”

She signed something, then smiled and patted the back of my hand.

She touched me. Willingly.

I stared at my hand, where dirt had mixed with blood, where her fingers had left a smudged print.

A twisted urge rose up inside me, some perverse imp taking the reins—hadn’t I just sworn to myself not to make her life harder? To inflict myself upon her as little as possible?

But I couldn’t stop myself. I offered my hand, for a single moment pretending to be a man, a handsome vampire, instead of a fiend. “There will be a small celebration. Would you… accompany me?”

Cirrien looked down, contemplating her dirty, bloodied hands, clenching those fine-boned fingers.

I began to draw my hand away, already cursing myself for offering.

This was not a happy wedding. It was a necessity. Of course she wouldn’t wish to hang on my arm and pretend to be a blissfully-wedded wife.

But she signed something, her movements abrupt, and drew my hand back. Slid her arm through mine, resting our palms together lightly.

Cirrien smiled up at me, raising her left hand and forming rapid symbols. It took my shocked brain a moment to catch up—the Brother had formed these same signs, though I remembered little of them.

She was spelling words individually, each sign a letter.

Ancestors, why had I not been born with an eidetic memory? It suddenly seemed like a fatal flaw in my basic genetic components.

“I’m sorry, Cirrien, I’ve only just begun learning—” I muttered, but she didn’t appear disappointed.

She shook her head, touched my hand again, and then unleashed another single-handed flurry of letters, still smiling.

As long as my bride was smiling… I was happy. No, more than happy; purely ecstatic, because it was so much more than I could have hoped for.

“Soon I will learn it all, and your words will be no secret from me,” I told her. I helped her to her feet, trying to keep my gaze away from the dress clinging around her hips.

What curse was coming? Nobody ever got everything they didn’t dare wish for. She was lovely, determined, and composed. She was smiling. Touching me of her own accord.

There was a curse waiting in here somewhere. I just knew it.

“Let’s get the celebration going,” Visca interrupted, her own smile far more broad and satisfied than the ones that had come before. I’d even go so far as to say smug. “They’re going to want to take word of this down through the Rift, let everyone know they can stop worrying, their bachelor Lord has finally amended his ways.”

“They weren’t worried.” I guided Cirrien through the darkened garden, watching as several rose petals drifted from above and landed in her hair. I admired the velvet of them against the silk of her hair; I couldn’t bring myself to remove them. She wore them like a crown, almost vampiric with that pale skin in the moonlight.

Visca’s second in command, a large vampire named Koryek, kept a close step behind us. I had noticed his blue eyes on Cirrien, and now it took a tight hand on my leash to stop myself from doing something monumentally idiotic.

He was permitted to look. She was now his Lady, after all.

“My apologies, but I’d beg to differ, my Lord,” he said, his deep voice a rumble in the darkness. He smiled at Cirrien as she glanced at him, and I flexed my claws at my side. It would not endear me to her if I killed a man for smiling. “Your late wedding has been the main topic of discussion for about the last three months. They’ve been dying to know who their Lady will be.”

“Our reign is cemented now,” Wyn added. “Honestly, Bane, let’s not be ridiculous. The Rift-kin would revolt at this point if they tried to put a human back in Ravenscry.”

I pondered this as we left the Bloodgarden, the candlelight within the keep painting Cirrien in shades of gold. The taste of her blood still haunted me; I had to keep my eyes anywhere but that smooth expanse of throat and the swell of her breasts beneath it.

I forced my mind to the conversation at hand, not thinking about staining that white silk with red, not thinking about peeling it off her.