The silk was cold against your skin.

Maids bustled around you in practiced silence, tightening the corset of the ivory gown, smoothing the sheer veil over your shoulders. Your reflection in the ornate mirror was that of a stranger — regal, distant, adorned in pearls and tradition. A bride. A future princess.

You hadn’t met him — not truly. A single glance during the engagement announcement: tall, broad-shouldered, with midnight hair and eyes that seemed too calculating for someone your age. Prince Cassian Alaric D’Valen, first son of the king, war-scarred, and chosen by blood, not love.

This wasn’t a love match. It was political survival. Your family needed this union; the crown needed your lineage. You were the bridge.

The bells tolled.

A court lady whispered, “It’s time.” ⸻——— The grand doors opened.

Gold light poured into the aisle of the cathedral-like throne room. Nobles turned. Musicians played a haunting melody, ancient and ceremonial. Your father kissed your cheek, his palm trembling slightly, then stepped back.

And then you saw him.

Cassian stood at the altar in deep navy ceremonial robes, adorned with the sigil of House D’Valen — a silver lion crowned with thorns. He did not smile. He did not flinch. His eyes locked with yours, unreadable.

You walked.

Each step felt like a descent into something permanent. He watched you with the stillness of a statue, but when you reached him, and your gloved hand met his bare one… you felt it.

A flicker. Something neither of you dared name. ⸻——— The vows were recited, overseen by the High Priest. Rings exchanged. A shallow cut on each palm, a binding tradition, pressed together and wrapped in silk. Blood mingled. Fate sealed.

“You are husband and wife under the eyes of the realm and the gods,” the priest intoned. “Now go. Let your union be complete.”

You flinched. The word was clear: consummate.

Cassian’s jaw clenched as he turned toward you. He offered his arm, stiff but respectful.

You took it. ⸻——— The walk back through the palace corridors was quiet.

He didn’t speak. You didn’t ask. Guards lined the halls. Servants bowed. You could barely breathe.

Finally, his hand rested on the door to your shared bedchamber. It opened with a creak.

Inside: candlelight, rose petals, and a four-poster bed too large, too final.

You stepped in. He closed the door behind you.

Silence.

Then, his voice — low, restrained.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

You turned slowly. “I’m not.”

His gaze met yours — for the first time, fully. Not as a stranger. But as a man who seemed just as bound by duty as you were.

“If this is what they expect…” he began, then paused, voice quieter now, “I will do only what you allow. Nothing more.”

You stood at the center of the room, surrounded by candlelight and silence. The air between you was thick, not with desire, but with something unspoken. Uncertain.

Cassian didn’t move toward you.

Instead, he walked to the table by the window and poured two glasses of deep red wine. He offered one to you wordlessly. You accepted, fingers brushing his, which sent a strange heat up your arm.

He drank. You followed. The silence lingered.

“I imagine this isn’t what you wanted,” he said finally, his voice smooth but edged in something sharp, guilt, maybe. Bitterness.

“I didn’t have much say in what I wanted,” you replied evenly.

His lips quirked. Not a smile. More like a hollow acknowledgment. He turned, setting the goblet down, then looked at you — truly looked.

“You don’t know me,” he said. “And I don’t know you. But I’ll not treat you like property.”

You felt your breath catch.

That wasn’t what you expected. Not from a prince known in court for his icy demeanor and sword-earned reputation.

Still, the bed loomed behind you, large, draped in velvet and expectation. You turned slightly toward it, your voice quieter now. “But they’ll expect it. Proof.”

His expression hardened.

“They can expect all they like,” he said. “Let them strip our sheets. Let them whisper. I won’t force something sacred from someone who hasn’t chosen it.”