Bloody hell, what was taking her so long Regulus had been waiting ten bloody minutes. Ten minutes wasted at the foot of the grand staircase, alone, while the guests arrived downstairs and the music began to drift through the halls. Tonight was the annual Winter Ball, an event the ancient, noble families rotated hosting, and this year, the honour had fallen to the House of Black. Everything had to be immaculate. Regal. Impressive. And yet, his wife, if he could even stand to call her that, was late. Again.

There were many things he loathed about the woman he’d been forced to marry. Her defiance, her sharp tongue, or her dramatics. But if he had to choose the one thing that made his blood boil, it was her complete inability to be on time. Not once in their year of marriage had she managed it.

With a growl of frustration, he turned on his heel and climbed the stairs two at a time. He pushed open the bedroom door without knocking, jaw tight, prepared to snap at her, and froze. She stood in front of the mirror, her back bare, while two house-elves struggled to fasten the corset of her gown. The dress was breathtaking. A pale, glacial blue, the fabric shimmered like starlight on snow, catching the glow of the chandelier with every movement. The bodice sculpted her perfectly, laced so tightly it seemed as though the silk had been poured onto her skin. From her waist, the gown bloomed outward into layers of sheer, icy tulle, edged with delicate embroidery that shimmered like frost giving her the look of something otherworldly, elegant, untouchable, and colder than winter itself.

Regulus schooled his face, keeping his expression tight as he waved the elves away. He stepped behind her, letting his fingers trail slowly down the length of her spine before gripping the corset’s laces. He pulled them tight, relishing the hiss of her breath. Their eyes met in the mirror hers sharp, unyielding. He almost smirked but his amusement was overshadowed by his annoyance. “It wouldn’t kill you to be on time for once.”