Sheesh, he hadn’t felt this nervous since…well, maybe since the day he’d married Claire. He’d told himself, after Claire’s death, that he’d never marry again. But this was different. He was older, wiser, and RJ wasn’t Claire.

And frankly, he missed the commitment of marriage. The power of it to strengthen him, give him purpose. Bind him to the man he longed to be.

Footsteps fell on the gravel behind him, and Emmanuel walked up. He had changed clothes, wore a simple white shirt, a pair of pants, those boots. And his over-sized hat. But he carried a bible and came up to York with an outstretched hand.

“Waiting for the bride?”

York nodded.

“I know what that feels like.” He went inside the chapel.

York checked his watch. She still had a few minutes.

Admittedly, he had knocked on her door a couple hours ago, breaking the no-see-the-bride tradition.

She wasn’t there.

He refused to panic. Then.

Now.

He’d go inside and wait with Emmanuel.

The stone room smelled of the fresh bouquet of flowers that he’d brought from the castle garden.

Emmanuel stood silently with him as York stood at the altar.

And waited.

And waited.

He could taste his pulse even as he looked again at his watch. Ten minutes late.

She was coming. She was—

A figure shadowed the doorway of the chapel, moving into the foyer. He glanced at Emmanuel and grinned.

Turned back.

Oh. Ziggy stood in the doorway, looking travel weary and stressed. He braced himself for—well, something—as she strode down the altar toward him.

“Roy said you’d be here.”

Um, yes. “I’m getting married.”

“Well, duh. But first, you have to know something.” She hooked him by the arm, glanced at Emmanuel, frowned, then dragged York out the side door.

Roy stood there, hand on his hip, pacing.

“What is this—an intervention?”

“Gregori is dead.”

York stared at Ziggy.

“Yeah. Really dead. As in his wife and granddaughter were killed too.”

York pressed his hand to his mouth, feeling sick. He turned.

“They were killed a few hours after you met with him, in Berlin.”

Roy must have already known this because he shook his head. “Gregori must have given us away, but maybe not for gain.”

“Or his hired killer turned on him.” Ziggy said.

“Was there anything —”

“Yeah. This was carved into his chest.” She held up her phone.

It showed a snap of a man’s chest, with a jagged circle, a star in the middle.

“A roundstone.”

“Yes.” She pocketed the phone. “You know what this means.”

He wanted to turn and punch something.

“York?”

He stilled and now he did turn.

Oh. RJ stood in front of him, and he just. Couldn’t. Breathe.