Incense curled through the chapel air like smoke from dying embers. Candlelight painted the stone walls in amber and shadow.

She did not turn.

Seraphine remained still for a long moment, her hands clasped before the altar. Then she rose, slow and graceful, her robes whispering against the stone floor.

He said nothing. Only stood there, snow melting from his pauldrons, dripping onto the sacred floor.