The scent of incense filled the air, a reminder of the Holy Temple's influence. Priests and priestesses stood in attendance, their white robes pristine, their expressions unreadable.
Alaric turned his gaze away from them, scanning the hall once more.
That was when he spotted them.
The Richmond father and son duo.
They were mingling effortlessly, slipping between groups with the ease of men accustomed to high society. They laughed at the right moments, nodded at the right words.
He ignored them.
They were of no concern to him at this moment.
The ceremony was about to begin.
A hush fell over the crowd as the doors to the hall slowly opened.
And then, Annora entered.
She walked alone.
Her steps were slow, deliberate.
Her wedding gown was unlike the one she had worn in her past life—this one was hers, truly hers. Gone was the modest attire of a perfect Saintess, designed to appease the expectations of others.
