Til Death

41. Frances/Blake

FRANCES

Creeping his head into the wedding hall, Frances listened to the chaos he created as if he wrote a symphony. He had actual butterflies listening to all the fervor and the panicked questions:

"Why are we starting late?"

"Where are the princes?"

"Do you think everything's okay?"

"Is the wedding getting cancelled?"

They were really losing their minds in there, surrounded by hundreds of years old pews, archways over kaleidoscopic stained glass, and its high vaulted ceilings. The wedding was sprinkled throughout in the anemone and rose bouquets and the candles lighting up the aisle so neither groom would lose their way. It was holy ground that Frances was created to desecrate. Frances's wicked giggle was cut short by a hand grabbing the back of his tuxedo and yanking him from the door. He choked on his good time before getting dragged away like a bad dog. The strength of the hand was strong, but not as powerful as Michael's menacing aura.

"I know you have something to do with this," Michael snapped, his fury flickering around him like hot flames.

"What? I don't know what you could possibly mean!" Frances feigned innocence.

"This has your greasy little immature hands all over it."

Frances guffawed, half to continue his charade of confusion, but also it was just pretty funny. Michael dragged him through the impressive halls, the picturesque example of gothic architecture, before throwing him into a secluded corridor with a dead end.

The perfect place to murder Frances.

"It wasn't me!" Frances spouted as he stumbled at least an arm's reach from Michael. He was going to make this guy work for it and chase him around if he wanted to kill him. "Why on earth would I ever do anything to upset this wedding?"

"Because you're a menace—" Michael spat when his phone buzzed inside his pocket. Frances noticed the flash of the King's name on the screen as Michael took it out and his stomach twisted. "Frances Petrovic," Michael said and closed his eyes, holding onto the phone like it was weapon he never wanted to use. Frances only realized now that the bags underneath Michael's eyes had blackened to bruises and his posture was slumped and sad. "I want one good reason for your shenanigans today. You have no idea the fragile state the marriage is in today."

Frances's veins went ice cold. He forced a tight grin and raised his hands, his fingers trembling. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"Then who called the caterers and told them to go to a different hotel for the reception?" Michael jumped at him, snatching Frances's tie.

Frances shot him a glare. "Who had the nerve to do that?"

Michael yanked him forward. "Blake is missing. The guests are scattered around the church and the street because someone moved the signs. And I'm the first vampire in all of existence that will perish from an aneurysm. Frances Petrovic, if it is the last thing I do as Daniel's assistant, I will not let you ruin this wedding for your sick kicks."

Once the first call went to voicemail, another call immediately flooded in, and Michael sighed. He answered it, "My apologies your highness. Have you found Blake?"

"Michael," Frances grabbed Michael's arm, holding it firm. Meeting his eyes, confusing him, Frances said, "I need you to know and understand that what I'm doing is important."

"Why?" Michael whispered away from the receiver. "Why should I believe you? What about the last month would give me any confidence in you?"

"Because you know that Danny is my friend and so is Blake."