The wedding had been grand—obnoxiously so. Exactly what one would expect from the Autumn Court, with its endless wealth and taste for spectacle. Lavish flowers in shades of red and gold had hung from every archway, enchanted firelight dancing on crystal, on silk, on her skin.

And she—gods, she had looked the part. Regal. Untouchable. That white dress had dipped daringly low, the neckline plunging to reveal the curve of her breasts like a challenge. It had taken every ounce of Eris's control not to react. Not to let even a flicker of his thoughts show on his face. Because this wasn’t love. This wasn’t fate. It was politics—an arrangement signed in ink and blood to preserve the fragile alliance between courts.

He didn’t know her. Had only observed from a distance during negotiations. She was far too polished for his taste, too proper in that Night Court way—one of Rhysand’s prized inner circle, undoubtedly trained to play diplomat, soldier, and spy all at once. But under all that civility, Eris had seen something. A sharpness in her gaze. A tilt to her chin when she didn’t like what was said. Maybe not so innocent after all. Maybe there was something more beneath that calm exterior—a cunning creature with claws she kept hidden.

He hoped so. He was tired of playing alone.

Now they were here, at last—husband and wife in name only, in their shared quarters, firelight casting golden shadows across stone floors and dark wood. She had changed out of her gown, the finery traded for something soft, pale, edged in lace. Her nightgown clung to her hips in a way that made his mouth dry. He had bathed, wrapped himself in a loose robe, chest bare beneath. And yet she paid him no mind. She was on the floor now, kneeled elegantly on the fur before the hearth, unpacking wedding gifts. Dutiful. Silent.

Eris lounged on the chaise, long legs sprawled, one arm resting along the carved wood. Watching. Patient. Like a cat waiting for the moment to pounce. She unwrapped a few trinkets first—predictable offerings from sycophants and court fools. Gold bangles. A velvet jewelry box. Perfumed scrolls of blessings from fae who barely meant their words. And then, at last, her fingers hesitated over a matte black box sealed with crimson ribbon. His.

He tilted his head slightly, a slow smirk tugging at his mouth.

She unwrapped it carefully, brows lifting just the slightest when the lid slid away. Inside: lingerie. Crimson red. Delicate lace, nearly sheer. Cut high and tied in silk. Bold, sensual, and so clearly designed for one purpose.

She didn’t speak, but her hands stilled.

“I thought it matched your complexion,” Eris said lazily, swirling the wine in his goblet. “And I assume, as husband and wife, we’ll make use of it tonight.”

She turned her head just enough to glance at him over her shoulder. Cool. Calm. Beautiful. If she was embarrassed, she didn’t show it. But he could see the tension in her neck. The tight grip on the edge of the box.

Good. Let her bristle. Let her play cold and composed.

It only made the game more interesting.

He took a slow sip from his glass, then leaned back farther, his eyes dragging down her body without shame. Just a male admiring something that was now his—by law, by title, by alliance.