IT’S SAID THAT THE WISTERIA VINE IS A SYMBOL OF IMMORTALITY.
Blythe Hawthorne had often admired the flower—as deadly as it was beautiful, and resilient enough to thrive for centuries even if left forgotten. Yet as she crushed a petal between her fingers and let its color bleed onto her skin, she pitied the wisteria for the fate that she and the flower shared. How tragic that they were to forever remain rooted in Aris’s garden, their splendor wasted on the likes of him.
Blythe, at least, had one advantage over the wisteria—she had thorns.
And when it came to Aris Dryden, she had every intention of using them.
Blythe trailed a look across the garden to where dozens of guests stood in wait. Sunlight cut through the wisteria canopied above them, bathing the courtyard in a golden haze of light that had people squinting as they chatted, their breath pluming the air.
Blythe envied their fine coats. Her skin was chilled from autumn’s dampness, and the gossamer sleeves of her gown did little to stave it off. November was an unusual time for a wedding, though with Aris, she supposed she should always expect the unusual. If the alleged prince decided he wanted to get married on an autumn morning at an hour when the sun hadn’t yet dried the dew on the moss, who was society to question him?
Aris Dryden was a man who got what he wanted. This day just happened to be a rare exception, for he was being forced to marry a woman he could not stand.
And to be fair, the feeling was mutual.
“You don’t have to do this.” It was Blythe’s father, Elijah Hawthorne, who spoke. “Say the word, and I’ll get you out of here.”
In any other world, Blythe would have taken him up on the offer to flee Wisteria Gardens. But to secure Elijah’s safety after he was falsely accused of murder, Blythe Hawthorne had spilled her blood upon a golden tapestry and bound herself to Aris—to Fate—for the remainder of her years. She even had a glowing band of light on her ring finger to show for it, the golden hue so faint that it was nearly invisible to the eye.
“I’ll be all right,” she told her father. It was no use to try to sway him with sweet words about how much she loved Aris or how happy she was to be marrying the brute. As it was, she was shivering in the damp air and itchy from what felt like a hundred layers of taffeta, and she had to keep fighting off a sneeze every time her veil brushed near her nose. She had no patience left within her to lie, and Elijah was no fool; he knew that Blythe had never intended to marry.
“You’ll make a beautiful princess,” he whispered, and Blythe surely would have agreed, had Aris actually been royalty. “But I want you to remember that Thorn Grove will always be open to you. No matter the day or the hour, you can always return home.”
“I know that,” Blythe promised, for she understood that truth better than anything.
Only when Elijah seemed certain that there would be no talking her out of this wedding did he bend to kiss her head. He adjusted Blythe’s veil to shroud her face as he eased away. She scrunched her nose, turning to the side to sneeze.
When the lilting pings of a harp began a sauntering melody, Elijah extended his arm. “Are you ready?”
Never. A million years would need to pass before Blythe could even consider being ready. But instead of the truth, she told her father, “I am,” for if this was what it took to keep him from being hanged, it was more than worth the sacrifice.
As much as Blythe tried to focus, the world spun as she walked into the courtyard. The ground was a pathway of stepping stones with vibrant clovers that curved around each one; Elijah steadied her as she nearly slipped on them, her choice of shoe providing little grip.
Blythe’s heart beat against her chest like a torrent, drowning out the
pinging of the harp, which slowed its tune to match her careful footsteps. She looked to the crowd, to faces that blurred into sharpened slivers of too- white teeth and hungry eyes that devoured her with every step, as if readying to pluck the skin from her bones. Blythe held her chin sharp even as her hands fought to tremble, refusing to let anyone scent her fear.
It wasn’t until she saw her bridesmaid, Signa, standing near the front of the crowd in a beautiful lace gown that the pressure in Blythe’s chest deflated. Death loomed behind Signa, his shadows winding around her own fretting hands.
Tiny shocks pulsed up Blythe’s spine at the sight of him touching her cousin. Everything in her body ached to flee from Death’s presence, and yet… he was the one Signa had chosen. Blythe would never understand why, but if Signa was happy and Elijah was free, then all was well in the world.
As Blythe passed her cousin, the harp song faded, and her father drew to a halt. Blythe was left with no choice but to finally turn her attention to the golden-haired man who stood before them in a coat as richly hued as a sapphire. Handsome, she supposed others might think him, and yet all Blythe could see was the resentment that festered within Aris Dryden like a poison. He masked it with a cleaving smile, as if ready to join the fray of predators set to devour her.
Aris stepped forward, offering Blythe his hand. Had Elijah not tensed beneath her grip, reminding Blythe of his presence, she might not have taken it.
“Hello, love.” Aris may have whispered the words, but his voice was a weapon that slipped through Blythe’s skin and struck to the hilt. “I hoped you wouldn’t make it.”
She squeezed his hand, forcing her own smile onto a face she hoped looked half as vicious as his. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world, my darling. Though do feel free to divorce me tomorrow.” The thread between their fingers shone bright, searing into their skin so intensely that Aris laughed to cover his grimace.
“And spare you a lifetime of misery? I think not. You have no idea how much I intend to—” He froze, having been speaking so quietly that their heads were bowed, nearly touching each other, when he demanded in a dangerous tone, “What on earth are you wearing?”
Blythe didn’t need to follow his gaze down to her feet to know that he was referring to her green velvet slippers. Her favorite pair, in fact. She’d adjusted her dress just enough to allow him a glimpse. As buttoned-up as Aris was, Blythe hadn’t had any doubts that he’d notice.
So, it seemed, had their guests. A quiet tittering sounded from the audience, and though Blythe paid it little mind, Aris’s jaw tensed. He squeezed her hands, hissing words through a false smile. “You are not marrying me in slippers. Go and change.”
Blythe curled her toes into the velvet. “And stop the wedding? I wouldn’t dream of it.”
If she weren’t already so aware of Aris’s power, she would have realized the full extent of it as his eyes flashed gold and the world fell still. Elijah’s foot stopped midstep on his way back toward the guests, and Blythe reached out to stroke her finger along the belly of a hummingbird that had frozen beside her, its wings unmoving. Some of the guests had their mouths ajar, bodies bent in stilled whispers, and not a single eye blinked in awareness. Only Signa and Death continued to move, swathed in the shadows. Signa drew a step closer, though Aris halted her with a scowl that seared like a melting sun.
“Go and put on shoes.” Aris bowed his head to Blythe’s level, holding back none of his contempt now that their guests were frozen. “This is ridiculous. I refuse to play your games.”
Blythe had earned every bit the reaction she’d hoped to from such a proud man, and the grin she sported said as much. “It seems you haven’t noticed, my love, but you’re already playing.”
The millions of golden threads surrounding them glimmered. Several wound around her wrist, and as Aris made a motion as if to tug her forward, Blythe braced herself. Yet it was Aris who stumbled back, clutching his own wrist with a hiss of pain. He looked not at Blythe but to Signa, whose face was stony.
Had her cousin also struck a bargain with Fate? It seemed that he was unable to harm her, and Blythe’s realization came in the form of a baleful laugh as she drew chest-to-chest with Aris. Or chest-to-stomach, really, given that he was a good head taller.
“I will wait out the rest of my life rooted in this spot if it means besting you,” she told him, meaning each and every word. “Free the others from
whatever spell you placed upon them and let’s get on with this charade.”
A long moment passed in which Aris did nothing. So long, in fact, that Death began to stir. Though she knew the reaper meant to help, Blythe tensed when his shadows inched closer. It was all she could do to keep her eyes on Aris, trying to ignore Death’s presence by putting as much heat into her glare as she could summon. She couldn’t say how long Aris matched that stare until, eventually, he gritted his teeth and grabbed hold of her skirts, tossing them over her slippers. Only then did Elijah’s foot hit the ground with a slap and the quiet whispers resume. The hummingbird darted over Aris’s head as the minister approached.
“Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife…” he began, and no sooner had the words left his mouth than Blythe’s world swayed. She dug her heels into the earth, rooting deeper with each vow that passed his lips. “Wilt thou love her… forsaking all others… so long as you both shall live?” Though she missed most of what the minister said, her world came crashing to a halt with his last question. Blythe glanced sideways at Aris, who kept his head down and his jaw so tight that she thought his teeth might snap.
“For as long as she lives,” he agreed, so curt that the minister flinched before turning his attention to Blythe.
“And will you take this man to be your wedded husband, to live together according to God’s ordinance in the sacred bond of matrimony? Will you obey him, serve him, love, honor, and care for him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”
Aris shot Blythe a dark look, silencing her laughter before it could break free. She cleared her throat and said earnestly, “I will marry him, and I will love him even more when he is unwell.”
The minister presented a golden ring, crafted to resemble a snake with jade eyes. “Repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed, with my body, I thee worship…”
Each word felt like venom on Blythe’s tongue, the ring burning as Aris forced it down her finger while repeating the vows. Blythe bit back a curse as he pressed it so firmly towards her knuckle that she knew she’d have to oil the wretched thing off later. Which she fully intended to do the moment they were away from prying eyes.
“Hello, wife,” Aris hissed, his voice low enough for only her to hear.
Blythe smiled through the discomfort, wrapping her hands around his to dig her nails into his palms. “Hello, husband.”
Neither looked away as the minister gestured for them to kneel for the ceremonial prayer, and the rest of his words faded into the background as Blythe’s ring finger throbbed beneath the golden band.
It was not a ring but a shackle. One, it seemed, that neither she nor Aris would be escaping any time soon.
