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I grudgingly followed Baldur out into the evening. We traversed the city for an hour, soon coming upon London Bridge—or what would later be known as Old London Bridge. At Baldur’s behest, we scaled to the top of one house on the northern section of the bridge. We stood at the edge of the roof, holding hands, and gazed over the city before us, the full moon reflecting on the rippling surface of the Thames. Our capes and the plumes of our wide-brimmed hats wafted in the breeze.

“Beautiful, is it not?” Baldur coaxed, rubbing the knuckles of my hand with his thumb.

I gave a weak nod and removed my hat. “Beautiful.” My voice was listless.

Baldur drew me into an embrace and gently rocked me back and forth. “Is there nothing I can do to assuage your heartache?” He kissed me on the lips. “I am here for you, Ezekiel. Whatever you need—whatever you desire—I will give it.”

“Just … just hold me,” I moaned, burying my face against his shoulder. I didn’t know what else to ask of him. “Please just hold me.”

We embraced for so long, nuzzling and caressing each other. Baldur kissed my cheek and whispered in my ear. “I would have you as my husband.”

I drew back a step to face Baldur. “What?”

Baldur took my hands. “I know I deprived you of your family, and a part of you will never forgive me for that. The only consolation I can offer is myself.”

I stared at Baldur in astonishment. “You’re asking for my hand in marriage? Baldur, that’s not possible for us. We’re … we’re …”

“We’re what?” An affectionate smile spread across Baldur’s face. “We’re both men, and no minister would ordain our offensive union? We’re undead, and therefore can’t pledge ‘till death do us part’ as the living do? Humanity’s inconsequential laws don’t apply to us, Ezekiel. We don’t need witnesses, we don’t need a priest, and we don’t need God’s recognition.” He kissed my hands. “All that is needed is your answer to this question. Will you marry me?”

I hesitated to answer, flabbergasted by the very notion of marrying another man, a prospect I would never have entertained before that moment. As I considered Baldur’s staggering proposal, I reflected on the pain I carried, having lost my wife, child, and brother. I didn’t know if that grief would ever go away, but if it did, I never wanted the pain to return—never wanted to be parted from a loved one ever again.

And I did love Baldur. Gazing at his earnest expression, brilliant tawny eyes brimming with affection and reassurance, I wanted nothing more than to be with Baldur forever. I lost Lydia, Abigail, and Elijah, but at least I would have Baldur. “Yes,” I said, voice cracking. “I wish to be joined with you for all eternity.”

“Then we shall marry, here and now.” Baldur removed his hat and drew me close, pressing our foreheads together. “Ezekiel Blake, from this evening forward, I take you as my husband. No one, human or Anointed, shall refute our union. I devote myself to you and pledge to be unto you a true and loving partner for the rest of time.”

I attempted to recite Baldur’s vow back to him, but I stumbled over my words at first. With an indulgent chuckle, Baldur guided me through the pledge, and once I’d finished, we sealed our profane marriage vows with the deepest kiss. The bells of a far-off church tolled at that very moment, almost as if to celebrate our union, though Baldur and I would later learn this bell ringing was in fact a death bell signaling for prayers on behalf of a newly wedded couple who lost their lives that very night.

Baldur and I returned to that rooftop on London Bridge each year to commemorate our nuptial anniversary—that is until 1633, only three years after our wedding, when a fire destroyed the very buildings upon which we’d exchanged vows. I sometimes wonder if the fire was a divine act meant to cleanse that area of the bridge desecrated by our unholy union.

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