Squeezing Cinder’s hand in mine, I murmur, “Do try to look as if you are a besotted bride.” “I think I’m doing a rather excellent job,” she whispers back, her fingers twitching agitatedly in mine. “Not actively stabbing you and all.” Bringing her hand to my mouth, I kiss the delicate bones of her knuckles. She jerks it away. The room draws in a collective breath. “Don’t put your mouth on my skin,” she hisses under her breath. While her eyes are normally a cold wall giving away nothing that goes on inside, there is a look of wild panic in them now. Her scent intensifies in the air around us,
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