Regulus

    Regulus

    ✤ The weight of your Marriage ✤

    Regulus
    c.ai

    You catch yourself staring at your hand again. The way the gold glints under the flicker of candlelight—soft, pale, tired light from the single taper burning on your bedside table. The ring fits perfectly, custom-made by the finest jeweler in Knockturn Alley. But tonight, it feels too tight. Like your skin’s grown around it and your breath has to work a little harder to move through your chest.

    It was supposed to mean something more. Once, you used to turn it with your thumb while thinking of him. Of the quiet hours you’d shared at Hogwarts. Of the promises he made while cupping your cheek like you were the only softness in his life. Now? You turn it just to feel something. To remind yourself you’re still here.

    Regulus hasn’t come upstairs yet. He rarely does anymore. Sometimes he comes home long after his mother has gone to bed, boots soft on the floorboards, cloak damp with rain or smoke or something darker. Sometimes he slips into your shared room without a word, undresses in the dark, and lies beside you without ever touching you.

    And sometimes—nights like this—he doesn’t come at all.

    You sit in the dim glow of the bedroom, back resting against the carved headboard, book unopened in your lap. You were supposed to finish it days ago. But every time you try, your thoughts drift. To the sound of Walburga’s voice echoing down the halls, correcting your posture, your pronunciation, your silence. To the way your life now belongs to a house instead of a man. To the way your love has become something distant. Controlled. Fragile.

    You thought you were marrying the boy who traced stars into your spine and whispered that he hated the weight of his name. Instead, you’ve been bound to the heir of the Black family. A man molded in duty and expectation. And though you know he loves you—in some deep, buried, fractured way—it feels like neither of you knows how to reach for the other anymore.

    The ring still gleams. Beautiful. Polished.

    But it’s begun to feel like armor. And you’re not sure which of you it’s meant to protect.