I see my husband’s face morph and his expression shift. Something akin to an almost physical discomfort. Jaw tight, he closes his eyes and draws a slow, deep breath in. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s steeling himself. But I do know better. What reason would this man need for steeling himself? He is a king here.

When he opens them again, they’re empty. It’s like he’s just slipped a mask on, another one.

We take the last few steps and we’re in the courtyard.

I gasp when I see the gathering. I remember that night Santiago first came into my bedroom and put his ring on my finger. Because the sight that greets me is a terrifying one. All those men wearing those black robes with the hoods pulled up, white and black masks gleaming underneath.

“I don’t want to,” I say stupidly, sounding like a child.

Santiago laughs. “You think you have a choice?”

I shift my gaze from them to him.

“Besides, it’s not those men you have to worry about,” he adds.

I swallow.

He turns to them, and I understand all those candles. People are curious. I wonder if any have seen him fully. Santiago is careful. I get the feeling only those he allows actually see his face.

“I needed a moment with my new bride,” Santiago says casually to a slew of nods and chuckles. He nudges me ahead of him.

The men shift their attention to me. I shrink back but behind me is the wall of Santiago’s chest.

“Where are you going, sweet Ivy? We haven’t yet begun,” he whispers, arm wrapping around me from behind, fingers on my jaw lifting my face, making me look at all those men. A little more than a dozen. No women. Like at the church.

At least my brother isn’t here to witness this next humiliation. Or is he one of them?

No, only the upper echelon wear the robes. They wouldn’t allow Abel in even if they did allow my father.

Santiago keeps hold of me as we cross the courtyard. The rain has cleared, but the sky remains cloudy. The stone is cold and hard beneath my bare feet with the debris of dried, fallen leaves from the trees.

I have only been here once before. My father brought me when I was little, and he had business here. The babysitter had canceled at the last minute. I remember being awed by it then. I’m as awed now.

Two sets of staircases lead to the upper floors where any glass door or window has been shuttered against curious eyes. Green cascades from the railings, growing lush in the damp Louisiana climate. Even the air in this place is that of money. Of power.