Morning arrived in blood-red light. Lucien escorted Aurelia to the grand ballroom for their wedding a spectacle for Venice's underworld elite. Women in silken masks seduced the light; men in tailored suits masked ambition. All eyes turned to the bride and groom.
Lucien placed a golden chain, shaped like a rose thorn, around her neck. The metal was cool and unyielding. "By this chain, I claim your service," he intoned. Panic fluttered in her chest. When she touched the chain, her magic flared silver tendrils snaking through the petals. A gasp rippled through the crowd, even Lucien's expression flickered. That fleeting, electric moment was Aurelia's first stand.