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He watches me approach with a calm I realize he projects in public, not the deep intensity he showed me when he ordered me into the cage. When I reach the steps, he rises. Doesn’t offer a hand. Just turns and ascends, expecting me to follow.

I do.

The throne is different from the others, because there are two seats on the red tufted cushion. Next to that are two smaller thrones, one for each Baron.

Just in case anyone forgets, I’m still the Baroness for the House of Night. Damon and Hunter claim their seats and the music dims as cloaked servers approach the dais, offering me a silver chalice embedded with jewels. The King takes another, its bronze finish matching his ring.

Once everyone has their own drink, Graves steps forward, his cloak rustling behind him like wings.

“On this sacred night of Samhain,” he begins, his voice rich with gravitas, “when the veil thins and the dead draw near, we bear witness to a union that will mark this house for decades to come.”

He raises the glass higher.

“To the Baron King and his Bride. Let this binding stand against the rot of the modern world. Let it remind us that power is not taken, butoffered, and blood is never given freely, but with sacrifice.”

I feel the King shift beside me, pleased.

“May the old gods bless this night. May the dead take note of what was promised. And maywe,” he pauses for effect, voice low and reverent, “never forget who we are.”

The crowd remains still, as if waiting for the final note.

“Memento Mori,” he finishes, and drinks.

All around us, glasses lift. Some high in the air, others hesitant, wary of our ways. But no one can argue the truth.

Memento Mori.

Remember you must die.

I glance up at the King.

He takes a small sip, but his eyes are on our guests, his expression unreadable behind the mask. Then, slowly, he turns his head toward me. “The reception will be over soon.” He sets down his glass. “And I have something for you.”

From somewhere within his cloak, he draws something between his fingers–a small black tablet, no bigger than a button.

“Natural aphrodisiacs are part of the Barons’ custom. We’re one with the elements. One with the earth and air. Fire and water. Everything combined. It sharpens instinct. Softens resistance. Makes the body remember what the mind tries toforget. Tonight, you don’t need to overthink the past few days–only feel what’s to come.”

He holds it out, and I react without direction, opening my mouth, letting him press it to my tongue. His gloved fingers graze my bottom lip.

“You’ll like this one,” he promises, his voice pitched low enough that only I can hear it. “It’s clean and won’t mess with your head. Warm. Erotic. You’ll feel it start in your spine then melt between your thighs. Let go. Let the night have you. Letmehave you.”

I swallow: the pill and the promise.

He leans back on his throne. “Once they leave therealBaron Samhain will begin.”

I sit beside myhusband, the pill already melting down into my bloodstream. Below us, the other Royals start their retreat, the party is ending for them, and soon it will just be the Barons embracing who and what we are.

For once, I feel part of something–not on the outside looking in. Or worse, looking over my shoulder to see who is chasing me.

The party dissolveslike a dying spell–embers and smoldering wood. The guests vanish, slipping into cars or disappearing through the estate gates, their duty done. The Shadows don’t follow them. They stay here.

Withus.

The party shifts, like the path of the moon, stretching farther into the sky. The energy changes. Cooler. Hungrier. Someone lights smaller bonfires. Another uncorks a bottle and pours fizzy champagne into crystal glasses. The Baron King’s throne has been moved beneath the arching limbs of the forest canopy, nowsurrounded by low couches and cushions, silk and velvet tossed like offerings across the earth.

How did we get here? I wonder, not remembering. My skin prickles. The Shadows close in. Not oppressive–but possessive. They want to watch.

The King,myhusband, leads me there with a gloved hand resting on the small of my back, and I follow without question. The drug is a hum now, coursing warm and heady through my blood. Every sound tastes like sugar. Every movement flutters against my skin like a kiss.