Finally, the latch groaned. The door swung wide, and a group of attendants hurried out, their heads bowed and faces flushed. Then, Eris stepped into the hall.
Soren's entire existence simply stopped.
He had thought her beautiful at the altar, a crystalline goddess of the high peaks, but this was lethal. The reception gown was a waterfall of sky-blue and silver, the silk so thin it seemed to cling to her like a second skin.
The bodice was a masterpiece of silver filigree, but it was the midriff that broke his focus, a broad expanse of pale, smooth skin adorned only by a delicate silver waist-chain that dripped with gems.
Every time she moved, a high slit in the skirt betrayed the long, elegant curve of her leg, a flash of warmth against the cool fabric. The only fire in the ensemble came from the rubies; the sharp silver diadem on her head held stones the color of fresh blood, and a single ruby teardrop rested against her forehead like a brand.
