When they reached the altar, Rathborne placed her hands in Ansel’s, which were even clammier than her own. The prince’s gaze roamed along her veil. ‘I might burst from anticipation, my flower,’ he whispered. ‘Even without a face, you are too lovely for words.’ Rathborne leaned towards Rose, and to all the guests it must have appeared as if he was giving her a fatherly kiss on the cheek. ‘Behave yourself,’ he hissed in her ear. Then he strode all the way back to the Vault’s entrance, where he stood like a sentinel, blocking the only way out. The harpist lifted her fingers from the strings and
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