The door clicked shut behind you with a quiet finality that settled in your chest like lead.

Velaris was silent, draped in the velvet hush of night, but the tension inside the High Lord heir’s private chambers was loud enough to smother every star outside the window.As you stood stiffly by the hearth, the gown you wore for the ceremony—stitched with Night Court stars and Winter Court snowflakes—felt suffocating now. Heavy. Like the crown you hadn’t asked to wear.

Across the room, Nyx didn’t look at you. He stood by the decanter, pouring himself a drink with all the ease of someone pretending this wasn’t the last place he wanted to be.

Neither of you spoke as you slowly began to undo the clasps at your back.

“I’ll call for someone to help you with that,” Nyx said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion.

“I don’t need help,” you replied, equally sharp.

A pause.

“You didn’t say a word the entire dinner,” he muttered.

You turned then, facing him with narrowed eyes. “Neither did you.”

He scoffed under his breath. “What did you expect? A romantic toast? Vows whispered under the stars?” He gave you a long look, expression unreadable. “Let’s not pretend this is anything but what it is.”

You swallowed the rising bitterness. “An obligation. A political truce dressed up like a love story.”

“Exactly.”

You stood in silence for a moment. The tension between you hung like fog—thick, pressing, full of everything unsaid.

“I’m not going to pretend,” you said finally, voice quiet. “I don’t know you. I didn’t choose this. But I’m not going to be your enemy either.”

Nyx looked at you then, truly looked. His jaw clenched. “We don’t have to like each other,” he said. “But I won’t be cruel. That’s not who I am.”

Silence settled between you again, brittle as ice.

He moved across the room, grabbing a blanket and tossing it on the nearby chaise without another glance. You walked to the mirror, slowly undoing the pins in your hair, watching his reflection as he lay down fully clothed, facing away from you.

It was strange—how lonely it felt, with someone else in the room.

You slipped into bed, the sheets too cold, the mattress too wide. You closed your eyes and told yourself this was temporary. Political. Strategic.