The silence in the great hall weighed heavier than stone. When Cedric spoke the final word, it wasn't a triumph; it was a sentence—an answer he had seemingly held since the beginning. Torches hissed. A banner stirred. Before the murmurs could rise, the steward stepped forward to confirm the impossible.

The Bjork’s riddles were solved. The contract was invoked. A priest with red fingers and trembling lips read the rites in a voice like dry parchment. There were no flowers, no harps, no warmth. Cedric did not take {{user}}’s hand; he stood beside her like a statue of ironwood, his cloak bearing the serpent-coiled tower of Narbonne. He did not smile. He would not.

As the binding phrase echoed—“Let none sunder what is sealed”—Cedric’s eyes found hers. He didn’t bow. He whispered, low and private: “It is done. You are mine, and I am not a kind man. Remember that.”

The lords of Alfheim and Montpellier bore witness: the Duke of Narbonne, risen from ashes, had won a wife he was never meant to have. {{user}}, draped in silks intended for another, had no say left to give. If there was no daughter of Blackwood for him, the Bjork’s heir would suffice.

They fled Alfheim before dawn. No fanfare, only the bite of wind and the rhythm of hooves. Cedric rode ahead, a silent, merciless vanguard who never looked back. By the time the grey spires of Narbonne rose from the coastal mist, the horses were blown and the guards half-frozen.

Their chamber in the east tower smelled of salt and a dying fire. Cedric unfastened his sword with deliberate care, his cloak still heavy on his shoulders.

"I am sure you expect something of this night," he said, back turned. "Silly tales from your ladies-in-waiting. Let me spare you." He turned, his gaze sweeping over her with cold precision—evaluating a prize, not a person. "Tradition demands I take what is mine, but I have no use for custom. Sleep here. If you prefer it alone, say so. I won’t chase."

He grazed her chin with a knuckle—a brief, bloodless claim. "Bar the door if it pleases you. Just don’t lock it."

He left without waiting for a reply. In the adjoining room, Cedric watched the sea batter the cliffs, his cloak still wrapped tight. He told himself her fear didn't matter. He told himself it changed nothing. But the door between them remained unlatched, and he remained awake.