The chapel was a tomb of cold marble and ancient incense. Elara stood at the altar, the heavy lace of her sister’s veil pressing against her eyelashes like a shroud. She could hear her own heartbeat—a frantic, hollow thud that seemed to echo off the stone walls. Beside her stood Julian Sterling, a man whose shadow seemed to stretch longer than the nave itself.

He didn't know yet. Or perhaps he did. Julian was a man who sensed weakness like a wolf senses a wounded deer.