The faster Nikolai walks, the further little Zoya is from him. It's like the room is yawning, stretching itself open and wide and keeping him away from the dark-haired little bride dressed in white. The church is impossibly long.

For all of her anger, Zoya is motionless, rising from the pew as she steps onto the stone walkway and watches as Nikolai stalks toward her. This isn't how it went, is it? But she had always daydreamed this more as a little girl than a young woman. These days, whenever Zoya thinks about this moment in her life, there's a lot more rage and bloodshed.

But the church shakes, even without the presence of a storm outside. The sun is hot as it slots through the coloured glass, bathing Nikolai in a horrible blood-red.