Jem Vespertine never expected to be a widow at age twenty.

She never expected to marry again either, but today was her second wedding day. Her father had betrothed her to Lord Fletcher Penrose, a stranger almost sixty years her senior. She’d only met the lord a few times, each one more anxiety inducing than the last. He was a foul old man with lecherous eyes that made her feel uneasy as they raked up and down her “becoming womanly curves.”

Jem leaned forward out of her bedroom window, letting the morning light bathe her face. She brushed her long brown hair over her shoulder and closed her eyes. Reaching up, she touched the wooden teardrop pendant around her neck. It was all she had left of her first husband, Matias.

Jem had defied everyone in marrying him—in a noblewoman marrying a commoner.

She was supposed to marry someone of nobility, but she had loved Matias too much to not marry him. He had been tall and strong, and more handsome than anyone she had ever seen in her life. But it was his kindness that had drawn her to him. The warmth of his heart had encompassed her with a love she couldn’t deny if she tried to. He was so different from everyone in her own world and she’d craved it in a way she’d barely understood.

Matias had been forced to join the army right after they were married. Jem’s father said that if Matias became a knight, he would be worthy of marrying a noblewoman. It felt like they didn’t have any choice at the time. It was the only way that her father, General Ambrose Vespertine, would acknowledge their union and it wouldn’t be seen as a scandal.

Neither Matias nor Jem had imagined that his first mission would also be his last.

A wave of familiar guilt washed over Jem at the memory as she stared out at the rolling hills covered in mist in the distance. If only she had told Matias that his love was enough. If only she had told him to stay home. If only she had told him that she didn’t need her title. She clutched the wooden pendant more tightly, willing herself to steady her breathing. She couldn’t afford to panic now.

It was, after all, too late for any of that.

Then, the door flew open behind her. She quickly tucked the pendant into her bodice and turned to see Tauriel in the doorway. The woman looked Jem up and down and folded her arms, a cruel scowl on her face.

Tauriel was all sharp angles—jutting jawbone and high-arched eyebrows. Others at court called her beautiful, but to Jem, the woman’s expressions were too harsh to be lovely. When Jem’s mother was still alive, Tauriel had been Jem’s governess, hired to help Jem with her studies, but also to give her etiquette lessons. General Vespertine had hoped that Tauriel could train Jem out of the crippling panic she felt in crowded rooms.

From her earliest childhood days, Jem had accompanied him to balls and events, and the daughter of a royal officer was expected to have the poise and grace of a lady. She was expected to speak eloquently and softly, to smile demurely, and be an ornament to society. She was not supposed to freeze; her hands were not supposed to shake. She was most certainly not supposed to stand silently in front of dukes and lords from throughout the kingdom without so much as a greeting.

But Jem couldn’t help it—her heart would start racing, her breath would grow shallow, and she’d grip her skirts and have to escape to an abandoned hallway.

And General Vespertine hated her for it. She tried to tell him once that it wasn’t in her control. If she could have stopped the high-pitched ringing in her ears or the wash of white that clouded her vision, she would have. But General Vespertine believed it could be “disciplined” out of her. He had Tauriel carry a switch with her wherever she went, and he gave her full power to use it on Jem at her will.

A year after Jem’s mother died, her father married Tauriel. Jem had been just twelve years old. It had all happened so fast, and no one had ever asked her how she felt about it.

Jem’s heart still stuttered with fear whenever she saw her stepmother. Jem placed a hand over her chest to try to slow her breathing as Tauriel stood at the threshold of her room. She was ready for the event today, a dark blue dress with pearl fastenings draping across her in a way that a dress would never fit Jem.

“For god’s sake, James, stand up straight,” she snapped.

Jem straightened her spine, but she was already shaking. The bodice of her voluminous wedding gown was too tight around her ribs. She could barely breathe.

“T-Tauriel,” Jem began. “Please…can you speak to my father? Please?”

“What about?” Tauriel sneered.

“I can’t…I can’t marry Lord Penrose. He’s almost eighty years old, and—”

Tauriel cut Jem off. “Stop whining. Your father is a general and you have to marry Penrose. Need I remind you of what is at stake here? Don’t shame this family any more than you already have.”

Tauriel stepped forward to yank Jem’s long, unfinished hair into a braid. Tears sprang to Jem’s eyes, and she blinked hard to hide them as her stepmother tugged and pulled.

“You’re lucky hardly anyone knows about your horrible elopement with that ugly peasant boy.” Tauriel’s voice was a violent whisper as she pulled Jem’s hair hard. “Thank the Lord he died before the shame spread.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say!” Jem cried out suddenly. She realized too late what she’d done and her hands flew to her mouth.

But Tauriel acted quickly with the switch. She grabbed the base of Jem’s braid, pulling hard at the same time a sharp pain hit the back of Jem’s legs. Tauriel had yanked up her skirts to reach her skin, hitting her in a place that would hurt, but not show. Jem gasped, and Tauriel hit her again.

“Watch that mouth of yours,” she snapped.

Jem bit her lip to keep from saying anything. She knew it would only be worse if she did.

“Your father is joining the troops fighting the raveners next month,” Tauriel said, releasing her hold on Jem’s hair. Her hands were back in Jem’s hair, twisting ribbons into the plaits. “I cannot be expected to care for his grown daughter who should’ve been married long ago.”

Jem swallowed hard. The raveners had gotten worse lately. The dark, horrible creatures often plagued the outskirts of the kingdom, but over the past few years, they’d made their way deeper into the cities. If the army couldn’t stop them…

Tauriel’s rant interrupted Jem’s thoughts. “You should have been married off to a nobleman years ago. You’re lucky Lord Penrose is willing to take you off our hands.”

Jem made one more desperate attempt to halt her fate. “Tauriel—”

“We practically had to sell you off, did you know that? Your father practically had to beg. Do you know how embarrassing that is?” Tauriel tightened the last ribbon in Jem’s hair, and then swept out of the room. Jem collapsed onto the floor.

She gripped her voluminous skirts and tried to hold back the tide of fear threatening to overwhelm her. She closed her eyes and did what she’d done since Matias died—she imagined him here with her. She could picture him so clearly, his soft brown hair falling over his hazel eyes, his warm smile lifting her out of her panic. As she sat on the floor of her bedroom, she imagined Matias riding a white horse, galloping toward her to take her away from all of this. It helped, thinking of him.

A knock came on the door, and two maids stepped in. One of them curtsied and said, “I’m to escort you to the hall for the wedding, Lady James.”

Jem simply blinked up at them. The vision of Matias was gone, and the harsh reality of her situation set in.

She allowed herself to be helped up. The maids accompanied her down the hallways, down the stairs, to the entrance of the great hall. She could hardly walk in her dress, but she barely noticed.

The hall was filled with nobles and ranked officers. General Vespertine sat on an elaborate chair near the front of the hall, Tauriel by his side. Jem looked at these people, her parents, but saw only coldness in their eyes. Standing beside them, leaning on a cane, was Lord Penrose. His heavily brocaded clothes fell loosely on his elderly frame.

Jem couldn’t bring herself to believe that she was to marry this man. She stood frozen in place until one of the maids gently pushed her forward. Jem stumbled once, and then walked forward. She moved as slowly as possible, looking into the eyes of those she passed, silently pleading for someone in the room to object to this wedding. But no one did. Everyone just watched impassively as Jem finally took her place beside the aging lord.

The man leered at her. He was missing most of his teeth, and his gums were black with decay. Jem tried to remember her training as a noblewoman, tried to remember to smile or look demurely through her lashes. But she felt like she was going to cry, or else fly into a million pieces. She would have to share a bed with this man? She would have to let him touch her?

Jem clasped her hands together to try to hide how badly they were shaking. She glanced at her father and saw his angry glare—he knew when she was about to panic, and his expression contained a thinly veiled threat. Jem tried to focus. The priest was looking at her, his mouth moving, but Jem couldn’t hear the words. When she looked blankly at him, he cleared his throat and repeated them.

“Do you, Lady James Vespertine, take Lord Fletcher Penrose as your lawfully wedded husband?”

Jem glanced at her father, hoping for one last chance at mercy. But the general nodded his chin sharply once at her, and she turned back to the priest.

Jem blinked back tears and opened her mouth. “Ye—”

Just then, a sharp crack echoed through the hall. The air sparked with electricity, a low hum buzzing throughout the room. Jem turned to see that the doors of the hall had flown open. Blue arcs of light crackled at the metal hinges, and faint wisps of smoke rose from the wood. Jem could feel the ends of her hair lifting with static energy.

What was this? How was this happening? She’d never seen anything like it, and fear blossomed in her chest.

A man stood in the doorway, sunlight streaming around him. Jem lifted her hands to her eyes, squinting to try to identify whomever just interrupted the ceremony. As he strode forward, Jem took him in.

Tall. Broad shoulders, thickly muscled forearms. His entire body was thickly muscled, and he moved with enormous power, as if he had just swung a sword through a crowd of people to get here. His brown hair fell a little past his shoulders. A five-o’clock shadow covered his sharp jaw, and he had a scar through his left eyebrow. His boots were dirty, and Jem could see a thin sheen of sweat on his swarthy skin. The man’s hazel eyes were hard and intense as he moved toward them. Jem felt something stirring in her, but then she gasped.

It couldn’t be.

It was impossible, right?

But the name was on the tip of her tongue, echoing in her mind as if she were screaming.

Matias?!

But the man before her wasn’t her Matias, the Matias she’d married two years ago. No, there were things that Jem didn’t recognize about him. His strong, muscular physique, his clothes, and the sharpness to his jawline. But when she saw his eyes, she knew. It was him.

How is this possible? Jem thought. I must be hallucinating. I must have fainted, or I’m dreaming. Jem closed her eyes tightly. But when she opened them again, Matias was still there.

And now he was striding up the aisle.

When he reached Jem and the rest of the group at the altar, he said in a rough voice, “She will not marry him.”

“Wh-what is this?” the priest asked.

“And why not?” Lord Penrose demanded.

The crowd gasped, muttering amongst themselves, but Jem couldn’t make anything out. All she could hear was Matias’s next words.

Matias leaned in, his expression severe, and said, “Because, old man, she’s already married to me.”