Chapter Twenty-Eight
The chapel was small, old, and cold. Not in the hallowed, holy sense, but rather in the way of things forgotten.
Damp clung to the stone walls. Mildew soured the air.
The floor beneath her slippers was uneven, the pews cracked, the cushions flat as parchment.
Unlit candles leaned in their sconces like tired old soldiers, and the air was so still it felt like it hadn’t moved in years.
Too still. Too quiet.
Only the echo of footsteps disturbed the silence—hers and his.
Paisley’s grip around her wrist was unyielding, iron fingers digging into her pulse like a shackle, forcing her forward. At the front of the chapel stood a robed vicar, flanked by a mousy woman in a fur-collared cloak—the witness.
This was happening.
Maddie’s breath came fast and shallow, her heart a wild drumbeat inside her chest. She looked around—any object could be a weapon. A candlestick. A book. A loose stone from the floor. Even her own fury.
And then she remembered.
The etui.
Still tucked into the inner pocket of her coat, next to her ribs. Small, silver, sharp-cornered. And inside: a pinch of cayenne pepper, gifted by Sera as a joke. “Just in case you need to ‘spice up a conversation.’”
She hadn’t thought she’d actually use it.
But she might.
“Just say the words,” Paisley muttered, dragging her toward the altar. “It’ll all be done.”
“Never.”
She twisted her arm. No use. He held on tighter.
“You are mad.”
“We’ve established that already,” he said, smiling faintly.
Maddie glared at him. “This will not end the way you think it will.”
“Oh, but it will,” he said, his tone light. “You’ll be my wife, and this whole drama will become a charming story to tell over dinner parties.”
“I will never be your wife.”
“You will,” he said simply. “Because if you don’t, your family pays the price. And I have your mother’s blessing.”
Disgust hit the back of her throat like bile.
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
Even if he wasn’t, she didn’t care. Not anymore.
“You and my mother have no power over me.”
Paisley laughed, a sharp, dry bark. “You’re here, aren’t you? At my mercy. That’s all the power I need.”
“I stopped this the moment I opened my mouth,” she snapped. “I will not say the words.”
“You will. Because your family’s name, your friends’ reputations, all of it is teetering. And you? You care too much not to give in.”
A quiet voice broke the tension.
“Maddie?”
She turned and nearly collapsed.
There, seated primly in the shadows of the chapel, was her mother. Wrapped in her usual furs, expression unreadable.
“Mother?” Maddie whispered. “What are you doing here?”
She half-stepped toward her, disbelief buzzing under her skin. “You know what this is. He’s kidnapping me. Forcing me to marry him. And you’re just… sitting there?”
Her mother stood, moving toward her slowly. “My darling girl,” she said, gently taking Maddie’s hands. “Paisley is steady. Responsible. He’s willing to pick up the pieces that man dropped.”
“No.” Maddie’s voice cracked. “There were no pieces to pick up.”
Her mother frowned slightly. “You’re already in love. And ruined. This is… a formality.”
“Ruined?” Maddie recoiled. “Mother, I never let Paisley even so much kiss me, or touch me, for that matter, and you know it.”
Maddie pulled herself free. “I won’t let you sell me off like a spare bonnet.”
The chapel swayed slightly as the wind howled outside. Or maybe that was just the storm inside her.
She turned back to Paisley, voice low and sharp. “You may think you have power. But you’ll never have me.”
“Now, now,” her mother said, calm but clipped. “You’re confused. Likely feverish.”
“I’m furious. That’s the heat you feel.” Maddie stepped away from both of them. “And I will not be cornered. Not by him. Not by you.”
Her mother stiffened. “Your father’s orders—”
“I don’t care about orders,” Maddie said, breath trembling. “I’m in love.”
“With me,” Paisley said smoothly.
Maddie turned slowly. “No. With the Marquess of Cambridge.”
“What?” her mother gasped.
“She doesn’t know what she wants,” Paisley barked. “The girl’s dramatic.”
Before anyone could speak again, the chapel door creaked open.
A man in clerical robes poked his head in. “Are we ready then?”
“Yes,” Paisley said at once.
“No!” Maddie shouted. “We are not having a wedding!”
“You fell in love with a marquess?” Her mother’s voice was almost a whisper. “Maddie…”
“What’s so wrong with a marquess? With even a farmer? I can’t demand my heart to follow your desires, mother,” Maddie cried out. “I didn’t even mean for any of this to happen, but it did. And I’m not ruined, mother. I’m in love.”
Her mother’s eyes glistened. “How could this be…” she whispered. “How could you… I…”
Paisley stepped in before her mother could finish her sentence, voice cold and final. “She’s here. The vicar is here. We begin.”
“No,” Maddie snapped. “I’ll scream. I’ll run. I’ll claw your eyes out before I say a word to bind me to you!”
“I own every thread holding you together,” Paisley snarled. “Say the words, Madeleine. Or watch everything unravel.”
Her lip curled. “Then unravel it.”
His hand faltered. Barely. But she saw it.
And she smiled.
“Go on,” she whispered. “Burn it all down. I’ll be the one still standing.”
The vicar opened his book.
Then a voice ripped through the chapel like a thunderbolt.
“I would advise you to let her go.”
They all swung around.
Standing in the doorway, coat dark with rain, eyes cold as a winter storm, was Prince Alexander von Hohenzoller-Siegmaringen.
Sera’s prince.
Maddie’s eyes flew wide. What was he doing here? Relief slammed into her the same time as that thought.
Her mother gasped, one hand flying to her throat. The color drained from her face, confusion warring with dawning horror as she looked between them. “Who are you?”
The prince ignored her as his gaze dropped to Maddie’s wrist, still locked in Paisley’s grasp.
His jaw flexed, eyes flicking back to the duke. “What,” he said softly, “are you doing?”
“None of your business, Your Royal Highness,” Paisley sneered.
“It becomes my business when you manhandle my wife’s friend.”
“She’s willing.”
“She doesn’t look willing.”
“I’m not here willingly!” Maddie exclaimed.
“No one asked you, pet,” Paisley said.
“She just told you,” the prince said with a sneer. “Take your hand off her. Now.”
Paisley’s grip tightened, and Maddie winced.
“You overstep,” the duke hissed.
“And you violate every code of decency,” the prince said, stepping forward. “Let. Her. Go.”
Paisley squared his shoulders. “Going to challenge me to a duel, Your Highness?”
“If it’d work faster, yes. But I’d rather drag you before a magistrate in chains.” The prince’s voice dropped. “So I’ll ask one last time. Unhand the lady.”
Paisley hesitated.
Maddie seized the moment. Her fingers slid into her coat pocket, closing over the etched silver edge of her etui. She didn’t pull it yet. But braced herself to do so at any moment. “I swear,” she hissed, “I’ll bite your hand off if you don’t release me this instant!”
The prince didn’t smile, but his eyes gleamed. “You heard the lady.”
Paisley flushed, then slowly let her go. Only to snatch her elbow instead.
Drat this man!
The vicar cleared his throat again.
Maddie’s fear was nearly gone now, but not entirely. Paisley could still bolt with her. Still try something reckless. Still force her hand somehow.
But she was ready.
One more second, she thought.
Sebastian, where are you?
He didn’t come.
*
Ten.
They’d searched ten chapels. Nothing. Sebastian clenched his jaw, his fingers tight around the reins as his horse picked its way through the snow-covered road.
Dusk was closing in, stretching long, eerie shadows across the countryside.
The air had turned bitter, clouds pressing low overhead like a threat.
Beside him, Thomas muttered a curse. “They couldn’t have vanished. There aren’t that many bloody chapels in the area.”
But there were just enough.
“They wouldn’t have gone south,” Rotheworth added grimly, his eyes scanning the horizon. “Too open. Too exposed.”
Sebastian didn’t speak. Couldn’t. If he opened his mouth now, the fury simmering beneath his ribs would boil over.
Maddie was out there. Somewhere. And that bastard Paisley had her.
He gritted his teeth harder, jaw aching.
Every chapel they’d entered had been emptier than the last. No witnesses. No sounds. Not even a muddy boot print. But still, he felt it.
They were close.
Behind them, carriage wheels creaked on the icy road. The women followed in silence—each of them holding their breath.
“We’re wasting time,” Thomas growled. “We should split—”
“No,” Sebastian snapped. “Not yet. That’s what he would want. If we split, someone misses something.”
His voice was low, taut with command.
“He’s clever. Clever enough to pick a chapel just remote enough to delay us, but not so far that no vicar would agree to a quiet ceremony.” He exhaled sharply. “We stay together.”
Rotheworth gave a tight nod.
A gust of wind cut through their coats. Sebastian narrowed his eyes at the bend ahead. Then—he saw it.
A steeple, modest and weatherworn, rising behind a clutch of bare-limbed trees. Half-swallowed by ivy. A chapel no one would visit unless they were desperate.
His gut twisted.
“There.”
The horses broke into a faster trot. The chapel came into view—small, crooked, leaning into the hillside as if to hide. And off to the side—
Two carriages. One of them unmistakable.
“That’s my coat of arms,” Thomas growled. “The blackguard took my carriage.”
Sebastian was already moving. He vaulted from his horse before it stopped, boots slamming into the frozen ground.
Rotheworth was at his heels, yanking open the chapel’s doors without a word. And this time, it wasn’t silence that greeted them, but the low, clipped tone of Prince Alexander von Hohenzollern.
“… you really know how to try a man’s patience, Paisley.”
Sebastian shoved past the threshold, eyes scanning.
There. At the altar.
Maddie.
Pale. Furious. A few curls falling from their pins, her arm caught in Paisley’s grimy grip.
“Maddie,” Sebastian breathed.
For a moment, dread swamped him. Was he too late? Had he failed her? But her eyes met his, and in that instant, the rigid mask on her face broke. Her body slumped with visible relief.
The vicar flinched as Thomas appeared beside him, likely glaring daggers, while the cloaked woman beside him gasped.
But all Sebastian saw was her.
And the man touching her.
She didn’t speak, but she didn’t need to.
“Let her go,” Sebastian growled, advancing down the aisle, fists already clenching. He was ready to break Paisley in two.
Maddie’s voice rose above the tension. “Sebastian… I knew you would come.” Turning to the duke, she snapped and yanked on her arm, “Let me go! How many times must this be asked of you? I said no. I’ve said it a hundred times.
I’ll say it a thousand more. Even if you drag me to a thousand bloody altars, it will be no! ”
That’s my girl.
Paisley sneered. “You’re being hysterical.”
Sebastian laughed, low and dangerous. “You’ve clearly never seen her truly hysterical. But please. Continue. Let’s see how far your arrogance gets you.”
“She’s mine by right—”
“She is herself by right,” Sebastian snapped. “You think dragging her in here like some prize filly to auction proves your worth? It proves you’re a coward.”
“Agreed,” Thomas said, arms folded.
Maddie twisted again. This time, her elbow slammed into Paisley’s ribs. He gasped, and she tore herself free.
And ran.
Straight into Sebastian’s arms.
He caught her, hands firm at her waist, holding her like a man reattaching a part of his own heart.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice rough. “I’ve got you.”
But Maddie didn’t sob. She didn’t cling.
She turned, chin lifted, voice clear.
“I told you they would come,” she said, staring down Paisley. “That you would not win.”
She turned to Sebastian. “I knew you would come.”
He held her tighter, a fierce, protective hold, as if trying to wipe away the memory of Paisley’s grip.
“You’re safe,” he said. And by all the last straws in the world, he would never let her out of his sight again.
Already, his mind spun. There would be consequences. Paisley would pay.
And then—like justice manifesting at the perfect moment—the chapel doors opened again.
The women burst in.
Charlene. Ashley. Sera.
Maddie didn’t flinch.
She stood taller.
Let the reckoning begin.