The bells of St. Patrick's Cathedral did not ring; they sang. They sang a song of gold and power, a melody that echoed off the vaulted Gothic ceilings and spilled out onto Fifth Avenue, announcing the union of two of the city's most formidable dynasties. Or rather, one dynasty and the man who had successfully usurped its queen.
From my place in the ether, I watched the sunlight filter through the stained-glass windows, painting the scene in jewels of sapphire, ruby, and emerald. A river of silk and lace, my wedding dress, flowed around Seraphina’s slender frame as she stood at the altar. It was a masterpiece of stolen joy, a Vera Wang original I had sketched myself, its every stitch a testament to a future that had been drowned in a rusty iron barrel.
Liam stood beside her, a king in his
