The Lisades were resplendent in their intricate, tailored gowns and cloaks with gold threads, splendor, and majesty, created to astound without outshining the bride.
On the other side of the aisle stood the ultra-wealthy Sauvage family and its most influential personages, their titles and fortune evident in the bejeweled rapiers and weapons holstered on the men’s waists.
The formidable cartel clan emerged in the last fifty years as one of the preeminent and ruthless on Earth, and now on the flotilla.
Underscoring their potent sway, their women showed off their opulence, their diamonds resplendent on their headdresses, which sat in high-reaching, sparkling designs.
Their necks, too, dripped with gems.
Saba had never seen so many pure jewels in one place. She had also never encountered such blatant signs of wealth before.
Still, she didn’t give afokkabout their influence and affluence; heck, two days ago, she’d never imagined being anyone’s wife, let alone a Sauvage bride.
What she cared about was how this charade was going to play out.
Worry rose once more in her as her guilt weighed on her shoulders. She straightened her spine, hands clutching her bouquet, trying to steady her trembling body.
The truth was about to unravel, and the fear of what was to come made her drag her steps.
They stopped by a formal dais to greet the guests in a ceremonial line.
Mak’s grip on her hand tightened, a silent warning that she wasn’t out of danger yet.
Close by stood her husband’s fellow strong guards, who were legends in their own right, feared and revered across the flotilla for their ruthless efficiency and absolute refusal to tolerate disobedience.
After the chaos between the Lombardis and Bianchis, and the pivotal role they played in restoring order, their reputations had only grown darker, sharper.
Fokk, they were breathtaking men.
Sculpted faces, angular and handsome, eyes burning with violet-gilded focus.
Their physiques appeared built for war, broad-shouldered, muscled, radiating the kind of power that came from years of surviving unimaginable battles.
They shared a kinship in presence, a resonance of otherworldly intensity.
Mak, as demonstrated earlier, was infamous as a lycan venator, a hunter of great spectral potency.
The rest of the pack were no less deadly, each one an aetheric wolf shifter sworn to guard the flotilla from whatever the galaxy threw at them, be it interstellar beasts, cartel warlords, or the political vipers in their ranks.
Every one of the Signet Company’s strong guards wore exquisitely tailored black suits, made with meticulous precision and luxurious fabrics.
As Saba flicked her eyes over them, a tremor ran through her.
If theŠarfound her explanation wanting, what would follow might be horrific.
These men, her husband’s brothers in arms, would not hesitate to tear her family apart with the brutal savagery of wolves if he asked them to.
She shook off the shiver that went through her at the thought. Focusing instead on greeting their well-wishers as they congratulated them on their union.
Ushers directed the guests through the line at a rapid pace.
After exchanging their regards, a retinue of staff and strongmen escorted them to the cocktail tables, where they mingled in the grand atrium beside the glass-like lake.
The air was heavy with the scent of exotic perfumes and colognes, mingling with the aromas of lavish foods, sweet pastries, succulent meats, and rich wines that wafted through the wedding reception.
It was a promise of the mouth-watering, sumptuous feast that awaited them.
The well-wishers kept coming, agog with fascination, their probing unrelenting, and the light glinting off the lagoon piercing straight to her brain.
