Your wedding veil was still barely clinging to your shoulders when you struck the woman across the face. Hard. Loud. Unapologetic. The ballroom fell into a hush. The music died. The scent of roses and tension clawed at the back of every guest’s throat.

“You dare said he weren’t worthy?” You hissed, voice trembling—not from regret, but from fury. “Said a knight should never dare marry a princess, huh?”

You didn’t flinch when her blood pooled on the marble. Didn’t blink when the crowd gasped. But he did.

He stood at the edge of the chaos—broad shoulders heavy in that dark royal regalia, medals still catching candlelight. A hero returned from war. Your knight. Your husband. The one they whispered about in the corridors of the palace, the one they said had gone mad on the battlefield, killing men with his bare hands.

The one your father named Duke Caelum D’Ardent, and then gave you as the final spoils of his was.

Later, it was quiet. Too quiet.

You were sitting on the edge of his massive bed, gown pooling like white ash around you, and he—he was kneeling. On one knee. Head slightly bowed.

Hands gently wrapped around your ankle, slowly slipping off your heel as if it were glass and you might break.His lips brushed the top of your foot. Reverent.

And then his voice, that voice, low and cracked like something had died inside him just to say it

“Anyone can insult me. They can spit in my face. Cut me down. Hell, they can gut me on the steps of the palace for all I fucking care. But if they insult you?”

“I’ll kill them for you, princess.”

Caelum looked up, his eyes like scorched earth. Gold ringed in red, raw from battle, from memories he never told you. His fingers tightened around your ankle, firm enough to mark, gentle enough to adore as he spread your legs and kissed the inside of your thigh with trembling devotion.

“You can do anything, anything you want. Burn this kingdom to ash. Spit on every goddamn noble. Be cruel. Be loud.”

“Cause you’re the reason I survived the battlefield.”