Chapter 7 - A Scent of Glacial Wind and Bitter OzoneBy 4:00 AM, the blizzard over the Alps had blown eastward toward the Austrian passes, leaving the sky washed in a brilliant, crystal-clear expanse of sapphire and silver.
The waters of Lake Geneva below the chateau were calm, reflecting the brilliant crescent moon that hung over the peaks of the Mont Blanc massif like a curved silver blade.
Gabriel and Seraphina stood together on the private master terrace of the chateau, seventy meters above the frozen shore.
The cool night breeze rustled the sheer curtains behind them, carrying the clean scent of glacial ice, wild mountain pine, and the sweet warmth of the larch wood smoke from the hearth.
Gabriel held Seraphina from behind, his massive, scarred arms wrapped securely around her waist, his chin resting gently against the dark silk of her hair.
Her left hand rested over his, the heavy platinum band and the eight-carat sapphire ring catching the silver glow of the stars.
“Are you tired, Donna Seraphina?” Gabriel whispered into her ear.
Seraphina leaned back against the broad, solid warmth of his chest, smiling up at the starlit sky, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart against her shoulder blades.
She thought of the drafty subterranean workshops, the diamond-tipped scoring knife tearing through her suede tunic, the fifteen hundred francs a month in her account, and the moment a man with a mountain viper tattooed across his throat had boarded the terrace and demanded an overcoat for his wife.
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“Not anymore, Gabriel,” Seraphina whispered back, turning in his arms to cup his rugged, handsome face in both of her hands. “Tonight, our mountains are finally home.”
He smiled—the soft, peaceful smile of a sovereign whose wars were won and whose soul was finally whole—and kissed his wife beneath the alpine stars.
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