Meanwhile in the land of the Steppes, counting down the days of the imperial family's arrival.
The heavy silence inside the grand private dining room was thick enough to choke on. For a few days, Adrian had nagged, snapped, and practically threatened to starve himself unless Thoris spent actual, dedicated time with Elyria.
And so, Thoris finally gave in. He set aside an entire evening to dine alone with his second bride—no elders, no war-captains, and no Adrian to mediate between them. He figured it would be easy. Put food on a table, sit in the same room, and get it over with so Adrian would finally stop lecturing him about "courtly etiquette" and "emotional neglect" of his poor sister.
He didn't realize that without Adrian's sharp tongue to cut through the tension, he was left face-to-face with a young woman who looked as though she expected to be executed at any moment.
Thoris kicked his heavy boots onto the edge of the carved wooden table, the loud *thud* echoing off the high stone walls. He slammed a large pewter goblet down, spilling a few drops of dark, bitter ale onto the polished wood. Across the table, Elyria flinched hard, her hands trembling so noticeably that her silver fork clattered against her porcelain plate.
"Stop jumping at every noise,"
Thoris grunted, leaning back and tearing into a leg of roasted boar with his bare hands. Juice ran down his chin, which he wiped away carelessly with the back of his leather sleeve.
"You've been staring at the same piece of meat for twenty minutes. Eat."
"I... I am eating, Prince Thoris," Elyria whispered, her voice barely a breath. She quickly picked up her knife, trying to cut her food with delicate, perfect Imperial grace, but her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Thoris narrowed his golden eyes at her, letting out an annoyed, heavy breath through his nose.
He hated this. He hated the way she sat there looking so small, so fragile, as if a strong gust of wind on the steppes would snap her in half.
"You eat like a bird,"
Thoris barked, leaning forward over the table. His massive frame shadowed her completely and his rough, stern face set in a permanent scowl.
"If you fall sick before the wedding, Adrian will blame me. Eat the meat."
"Yes, My Lord," she choked out hurriedly, shoving a tiny piece into her mouth. She swallowed it almost whole, her chest heaving as she tried to keep her tears from spilling over.
To Thoris, he was simply stating facts. He was a creature of the steppes—direct, loud, and uncaring about polite feelings. But to Elyria, raised in the pristine, soft halls of the Valemont palace where men spoke in quiet, dangerous threats, Thoris felt like a wild beast pacing outside a cage. Every sudden movement he made, every loud command, sent a spike of terror straight through her soft heart.
Just then, Thoris suddenly reached across the table, grabbing the heavy wine pitcher. He didn't gently pour it. He dumped a generous splash into her cup, the dark liquid sloshing over the brim.
"Drink," he ordered gruffly. "It will warm you up. You look like a corpse."
"T-Thank you..." Elyria murmured, wrapping both of her small, pale hands around the heavy chalice just to keep it steady, then she took a timid sip, coughing slightly at the harsh, bitter bite of the northern wine. Thoris watched her, his scowl deepening. He rested his chin on his fist, glaring at her across the food.
"Adrian says you cry a lot,"
Thoris said flatly, without a trace of sympathy or softness.
"Is that true?"
Elyria froze, her eyes widening in pure embarrassment. Faint color rushed to her pale cheeks, though she kept her head bowed.
"I... I do not mean to be weak, Prince Thoris..."
"Good, because I don't tolerate weak people in my house," Thoris snapped, slamming his palm onto the table to emphasize his point. The loud bang made Elyria gasp, dropping her goblet and the red wine spilled across the white tablecloth, blooming like a pool of blood.
She immediately scrambled back in her chair, her eyes shining with terrified tears as she bowed her head in panic.
"I am sorry! Forgive me, My Lord, I—I am so sorry—"
Thoris stared at the spilled wine, then at the trembling girl who was practically cowering in her seat, clutching her sleeves to her chest as if expecting a physical blow.
Thoris let out a loud, frustrated roar, throwing his hands up in the air.
"Gods above!" Thoris yelled, kicking his chair back as he stood up.
"I didn't even touch you! Why are you looking at me like I'm about to flay you alive?!"
Elyria squeezed her eyes shut, a tear finally slipping down her cheek. "I... I apologize..."
Thoris paced back and forth near the fireplace, running a heavy, clawed hand through his unruly hair. He was furious—not at her, but at how impossible this whole situation was. He didn't know how to speak to someone who broke at a harsh word. He was used to warriors who yelled back, or Adrian, who would outwardly throw a book at his head if he raised his voice.
Suddenly, he stopped pacing and looked back at her. Elyria was sitting completely still, terrified to even wipe her tears away, looking so small in the huge, cold dining room. Thoris growled under his breath, walking back over. He didn't offer a soft handkerchief. He didn't offer gentle words.
Instead, he grabbed a clean cloth from a servant's tray, tossed it bluntly into her lap, and pointed a thick, calloused finger directly at her nose.
"Stop crying,"
He commanded, his voice a low, harsh rumble.
"I came here to give you my time because your brother wouldn't shut his mouth about it. I am not going to sit here and watch you weep over spilled wine."
He grabbed his jug of ale, taking a long, heavy gulp straight from the mouth of the vessel.
"So wipe your face," Thoris grunted, turning his back to her and leaning against the mantle.
"We are staying in this room for another hour. So get used to my voice, Princess. Because like it or not, I'm the man you're marrying."
Elyria hastily wiped her cheeks with the rough cloth, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. She stared at his broad, muscular back, trembling softly in the cold air, realizing with terrifying clarity that her life in the Iron Steppes was never, ever going to be gentle.
*****
An hour felt like an eternity.
The silence after Thoris's outburst wasn't peaceful; it was heavy, suffocating, and charged with tension. He remained standing by the fireplace, drinking his ale in silence while staring into the roaring flames. Elyria sat at the far end of the long table, barely daring to breathe, her hands folded tightly over the rough cloth in her lap.
When the hour finally passed, Thoris turned around, setting his empty jug down with a dull thud.
"Enough," he grunted, rolling his broad shoulders. "I'm going to bed. You're coming with me."
Elyria stilled, her heart dropping straight into her stomach.
"P-Prince Thoris...?"
"You heard me," Thoris snapped, walking toward the heavy oak doors without waiting for her.
"I told the elders we would share quarters tonight. If you sleep in the eastern wing, those foolish rumors will just start up again. So move. It's your time to shine."
Elyria scrambled out of her chair, her knees trembling so badly she nearly tripped over the hem of her skirts. She followed a few paces behind him, terrified to get too close to his towering frame.
Inside Thoris's Private Chamber.
The royal bedchamber was massive, lit only by a low-burning hearth and a few flickering oil lamps. The air smelled of woodsmoke, crushed herbs, and leather.
When Thoris swung the doors open, Adrian was already there, propped up against a mountain of plush velvet pillows on the massive bed, quietly reading a map. He looked up, his sharp eyes darting between Thoris's scowling face and Elyria's pale, tear-stained cheeks. Immediately Adrian's expression hardened into ice.
"What did you do to her?" Adrian demanded, setting his map aside and swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress.
"I didn't do anything!" Thoris growled, tearing off his heavy leather pauldrons and tossing them onto a nearby chest. "She cried over a glass of wine! Ask her yourself!"
"You yelled at her, didn't you?" Adrian snapped, as he gestured for Elyria to come to his side.
"Elyria, come here."
Elyria practically practically ran across the room, seeking refuge behind Adrian. She grabbed his arm, her small fingers clutching his silk sleeve like a lifeline. "Adrian... please, it's alright... I was just careless..."
"You don't have to defend him," Adrian whispered softly, patting her hand before glaring back at Thoris.
"She is not one of your wild soldiers, Thoris. She was raised gently."
"Well, she isn't in the Empire anymore!" Thoris barked back, unbuckling his broad belt and letting it drop with a loud, metallic clatter that made Elyria flinch behind Adrian's shoulder. Thoris pointed a finger at both of them.
"This is my room, my bed, and my house. Stop staring at me like I'm a monster and sit down."
The bed was vast—built out of solid northern timber and covered in thick, dark fur blankets and soft silk sheets. Thoris climbed onto the far right side, stretching out his huge frame with a heavy, exhausted sigh.
"Both of you, get in," Thoris ordered, his voice dropping into a low, commanding rumble.
"I'm tired of arguing so let's just sleep."
Adrian clicked his tongue in deep annoyance, but he knew fighting Thoris when he was in this mood was useless. Instead he pulled the thick fur blanket back, pulling Elyria in first so she was safely tucked in the middle, away from the cold draft and partially shielded from Thoris.
"Stay close to me," Adrian murmured gently to his sister, pulling the covers over her shoulders.
Elyria lay stiff as a board in the center of the massive bed. To her left was her brother—familiar, safe, and warm. But to her right–...
To her right lay Thoris.
Because of his massive size, the heavy mattress dipped slightly under his weight. And even without touching him, Elyria could feel the intense, radiating heat coming off his body. His broad shoulder was only inches from hers. Every time he took a deep, heavy breath, she could hear the rough rise and fall of his chest. It was an impossible intimacy—a terrifying closeness with a man who felt more like a hurricane than a husband.
Thoris lay on his side, resting his head on his hand as he looked down at the two imperial siblings. He saw how tightly Elyria was clinging to Adrian's tunic, her eyes wide open and fixed staring up at the stone ceiling, her breathing shallow and fast.
He let out a low, frustrated breath through his nose.
'She really thinks I'm going to hurt her,' Thoris thought, a strange, bitter taste settling in his mouth. He was a prince of the steppes. He took what he wanted, he fought when he was crossed, and he never apologized for his strength. But looking at this fragile girl shrinking away from his mere presence, his pride felt strangely sour.
Without warning, Thoris reached out his large, heavy arm and Elyria gasped, squeezing her eyes shut and bracing herself for a harsh grip. Instead, Thoris simply grabbed the edge of the heavy fur blanket, pulling it higher up over Elyria's trembling shoulders, tucking her in securely all the way to her chin.
He didn't touch her skin. He didn't force her closer. He simply covered her.
"Stop holding your breath,"
Thoris grunted softly, his golden eyes fixing on her tight expression in the dim firelight.
"I don't break things that already belong to me."
Elyria slowly opened her eyes, meeting his intense, golden gaze. The dark scowl was still on his face, his features still harsh and rugged, but his action had been... protective. And in his own crude, barbarian way, he was trying to keep her warm. Adrian, lying on the other side, watched the exchange silently. He reached over, taking Elyria's small hand under the blanket and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
"...Goodnight, Prince Thoris," Elyria whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire.
Thoris let out a low rumble in the back of his throat, rolling over onto his back and resting his arms behind his head.
"Just sleep."
Thoris murmured into the dark room. "Tomorrow, the work begins again and I won't be so patient with you just because Adrian asked me to."
Gradually, the heavy, steady rhythm of Thoris's breathing filled the quiet chamber. Sandwiched between the fierce protection of her brother and the overwhelming, terrifying presence of the barbarian prince, Elyria slowly let her body relax, the warmth of the furs finally chasing away the cold fear in her chest.
*****
Deep in the night.
The heavy silence of the chamber was broken only by the low crackle of the hearth—until the quiet rustle of blankets signaled Thoris shifting across the massive mattress.
Elyria kept her eyes tightly shut, her chest rising and falling in a practiced, steady rhythm. She forced every muscle in her body to remain completely motionless, but her heart was hammering wildly against her ribs as soft, wet sounds of muffled kissing echoed in the dim light, impossibly clear in the stillness of the room.
"I thought you said you'd give me a break and focus on my sister instead," Adrian scoffed softly between kisses, his voice carrying a mix of exhaustion and quiet amusement.
"What should I do when your sister trembles at the sight of me?" Thoris grunted back, his deep voice vibrating against the heavy bedding.
"It is all your fault," Adrian murmured, placing a hand against Thoris's chest. "You are the one who oppressed us right from our first meeting and brutally forced yourself on us. How can we ever heal from that?.... Elyria really wants to fulfill her duties as your partner, but you just scare her too much as you are a violent man. Just take it easy, will you?"
Thoris rolled his eyes in the dark, ignoring the lecture entirely and burying Adrian beneath his massive weight, the fur blankets shifting around them.
"Elyria is awake," Thoris stated bluntly, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.
"Then spend the night with her alone, you both need it."
Elyria let out a sharp, startled gasp, her whole body jerking in a violent flinch at being so effortlessly caught. Faint heat rushed to her face as she buried her nose deeper into her pillow, realizing her fake breathing hadn't fooled the barbarian prince and Adrian for a single second.
"Before that,"
Thoris growled, ignoring her reaction as he leaned down, his sharp teeth nipping possessively at the soft skin of Adrian's nape.
"Take care of me first."
Adrian sighed softly, looking down at Thoris, who was already casually using his teeth to pull away the edge of his silk nightclothes.
"I will take it as a warm-up before attending to your sister,"
Thoris whispered, Adrian's fingers running lightly through his unruly hair. "And I'm sure this will help her calm down as well."
Adrian paused, his hand coming up to rest lightly against Thoris's broad cheek, his tone turning serious.
"Just as long as you take it easy and not harm the baby."
"I know, I know," Thoris rumbled softly, as he adjusted his weight away from Adrian's stomach.
Elyria squeezed her eyes shut even tighter, pulling the heavy furs all the way up over her ears to block out the low, rhythmic whispers and heat beside her. Her face was burning with pure embarrassment, yet beneath the mortification, a small, quiet sigh of relief slipped past her lips. Hearing Adrian advocate for her—and seeing Thoris actually yield to him with genuine, careful concern for the child—made the terrifying barbarian prince feel just a tiny bit more human in the dark.
The air inside the dimly lit chamber grew thick with heat. Elyria lay with her back turned to them, her knees pulled tight against her chest as she pressed the edge of the fur blanket over her ears. But no amount of heavy fur could completely block out the sounds of two massive bodies shifting across the mattress, or the low, visceral friction of their bodies grinding against each other.
Beside her, the broad wooden bed frame creaked under Thoris's shifting weight. He moved with deliberate aggression, yet entirely mindful of Adrian's condition, but his sheer size and power were impossible to disguise.
"Stay still," Thoris rumbled, his voice a low growl, bold enough to make Elyria silently shift to the edge of the mattress.
"You're heavy..." Adrian gasped softly, a breathlessly catching his words in his throat before turning into a sharp, quiet moan as Thoris leaned down to press his mouth against the crook of Adrian's neck. Every wet kiss, every low growl that vibrated in Thoris's chest sent a shiver straight down Elyria's spine. Her heart pounded in her ears like a frantic war drum. And a faint, burning heat flushed across her cheeks, traveling all the way down to her neck. She squeezed her eyes shut so hard that faint stars danced behind her eyelids.
'Don't move. Don't make a sound,'
She pleaded with herself, barely daring to draw air into her lungs. She felt every micro-movement through the mattress. Whenever Thoris shifted his hips, the bed dipped, rolling her slightly closer toward the intense wall of heat emanating from their bodies. The scent of woodsmoke, heavy northern leather, and the sweet, sharp musk of their arousal filled the immediate space around her.
"Ah–... Thoris...slow down, please." Adrian's soft, trembling sigh echoed through the quiet room, devoid of his usual sharp, defensive edge.
Hearing her proud, sharp-tongued brother sound so vulnerable—so completely yielding under the barbarian prince— sent a bizarre wave of disbelief through Elyria. Back in the Empire, intimacy was spoken of in cold, hushed, mechanical terms, strictly tied to duty and lineage. But what was happening inches away from her back was completely raw, primal, and unapologetically alive.
But compared to their first forced intimacy she had to witness at first hand, she was now at least glad that Adrian was able to enjoy himself.
But it was not too long, when Thoris's breathing turned heavy and rhythmic, a low, guttural purr echoing from his throat each time he buried himself deeper into Adrian. He kept one massive, heavy palm flattened against the mattress right beside Adrian's head, anchoring himself so none of his crushing weight rested on Adrian's stomach. But the ramming of his hips was brutal, every thrust causing Adrian to jolts up and arching his spine to float in the air. Thoris groaned, his voice rough against Adrian's ear.
"See?, it's not too much right?"
"What do you mean it's not too much when I can literally feel you pummel my insides?, at this rate you'll even harm the child..." Adrian panted, his fingers digging into Thoris's broad shoulders, his nails dragging lightly over the warrior's scarred skin.
"Will you stop complaining about everything?, even during intimacy you complain. I am trying my best to hold back right now."
"Then try harder!"
"Should I just stop?, you're seriously pissing me off."
Thoris glared down at him and Adrian scoffed turning his head sideways.
"....–don't stop..."
Elyria was left in disbelief, after the sound of their breathing suddenly synchronized—Thoris's deep, heavy rumbles mixing with Adrian's soft, breathless gasps. The slick, rhythmic sounds of their genitals slamming against each other filled the shadowy corner of the room and it was impossible to ignore.
Elyria clutched her hands into tight fists against her chest, her nails biting into her palms as her pulse raced at a dizzying speed. Part of her was mortified beyond measure—she was a highborn princess, buried in a bed between two men while they engaged in something so intense and unfiltered. Yet, as the minutes dragged on, her overwhelming terror began to shift into something else: a strange, quiet fascination.
Through the brutal, uncaring persona Thoris presented to the world, she was listening to him check his own terrifying strength. He was a man who could snap a man's neck with a single hand, yet here he was, pausing his own pleasure to gently tilt Adrian's chin, asking if he was alright, murmuring low, gruff reassurances whenever Adrian let out a strained breath or even a single complaint. Turns out he wasn't just a mindless brute. He was capable of care—even if his way of showing it was rough and awkward.
*****
When Thoris finally shuddered, a deep, heavy groan spilling from his chest as he poured his heat into Adrian, the entire bed shook with the force of his release. Adrian let out a long, shuddering sigh, his arms wrapping tightly around Thoris's neck as they collapsed together in the immediate, sweat-soaked aftermath.
For several minutes, the only sound in the room was the harsh, heavy panting of the two men, slowly slowing down to match the quiet crackle of the hearth. Elyria finally let out a tiny, imperceptible breath she had been holding in her lungs for what felt like hours. Her face was still burning, her skin flushed and hot under the heavy blanket, but the icy, paralyzing fear that had gripped her all evening had noticeably thawed.
"Get up..." Adrian murmured weakly after a long moment, tapping Thoris's solid shoulder.
"You're suffocating me..."
"Quiet," Thoris grunted, though he slowly rolled off, letting the heavy furs fall back over Adrian's body. He sat up, wiping a hand over his damp face, his golden eyes drifting toward the tiny, curled shape of Elyria under the blankets.
He didn't say a word, but the bed shifted once more as he slid off the edge, standing up in the dim firelight.
Elyria kept her eyes shut, listening as Thoris's heavy, quiet footsteps crossed the stone floor, followed by the soft click of the heavy oak door closing as he left the room to give the siblings their space. The silence that returned to the bedchamber was no longer cold or terrifying. Beside her, Adrian shifted, rustling the sheets as he reached over, gently pulling the edge of the blanket down from Elyria's face. He looked at her flushed cheeks and messy hair, letting out a soft, tired chuckle.
"You can stop pretending to be dead now, Elyria," Adrian whispered gently.
Elyria slowly opened one eye, her long eyelashes fluttering as a deep, burning crimson spread from her cheeks all the way to the tips of her ears.
She didn't dare look Adrian directly in the face. Instead, she buried her nose into the plush edge of the silk pillow, hiding half her face like a shy child.
"...You are a terrible human being brother," Elyria muffled into the feather cushion, her soft voice trembling with equal parts sheer mortification and overwhelming relief.
"Both of you... absolute mean monsters."
Adrian let out a quiet, genuine laugh, the tired tension in his shoulders finally dissolving. He shifted under the heavy furs, ignoring the dull ache in his hips as he turned onto his side to face her. The room still smelled strongly of woodsmoke, sweat, and the musk of their recent release, but the suffocating danger that usually hung around Thoris had completely vanished with his departure.
"I warned you he was an uncaring brute," Adrian murmured, reaching out with a slender, pale hand to brush a stray strand of brunette hair away from her damp forehead. His touch was cool and infinitely gentle—a stark, comforting contrast to the blistering heat that had occupied the bed just moments before.
"Though... I suppose you heard enough to know he isn't entirely without a soul."
Elyria squeezed her eyes shut for a second, a small, involuntary shiver running down her spine as the vivid sounds echoed back in her mind.
"I heard... far more than any unmarried noblewoman ever should," she whispered, her hands clutching her nightgown at her chest. She slowly lifted her head, looking at her brother through the dim, golden light of the dying hearth.
"Adrian... does he... does he really treat you like that? With... care sometimes?"
Adrian's sharp, usually guarded eyes relaxed. He looked toward the heavy oak doors Thoris had just closed behind him, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips, with a click of a tongue.
"In his own crude, obnoxious way... yes," Adrian admitted. Right then, he pulled the thick fur blanket higher around Elyria's shoulders, making sure she was completely warm.
"He is loud, he lacks every single courtly grace, and he speaks like a man who was raised by mountain wolves—because he practically was. But when it matters, Elyria... he protects what belongs to him."
He paused, his gaze locking into hers with solemn intensity.
"He will not harm you. I would never let him, and despite his rough barking, he knows it."
"You could say that I have grown accustomed to his barbarian antics."
Elyria looked at her brother's tired face, noticing the soft flush still lingering on his pale neck, marked by the faint red imprint of Thoris's teeth. A strange, quiet warmth bloomed in her chest. For weeks, ever since they were brought to the Iron Steppes as captives and bargaining chips, she had lived in constant, paralyzing terror. She had seen Thoris only as a wild beast waiting to devour them. But tonight it was slightly different, listening from inches away in the dark, she had felt the exact moment the wild beast held back its claws.
"...He pulled the blanket over me," Elyria murmured softly, almost as if she were trying to convince herself it had actually happened.
"Before... before you two... he tucked me in."
Adrian chuckled, resting his chin against his propped-up hand.
"See? A regular gentleman of the steppes."
"Do not joke," Elyria huffed weakly, a tiny, genuine smile finally breaking through her embarrassment.
"He still threatened to throw a jug at my head during dinner."
"And tomorrow, I will throw one at his to balance the scales," Adrian promised casually, his eyelids growing heavy as the late hour and physical exhaustion caught up with him. He let out a long, quiet breath, leaning his forehead lightly against hers.
"Sleep now, little sister. You have survived another night in his bed."
"Our bed," Elyria corrected gently, closing her eyes as she cuddled closer to Adrian's familiar, safe side.
"Our bed," Adrian agreed in a fading chuckle. Although the concept sounded absurd, it was still a fact.
Outside the private chambers, the quiet stone corridors of the stronghold were freezing.
Thoris walked briskly down the dim hallway, his upper body bare, his thick trousers slung low on his hips, and a heavy fur mantle draped carelessly over one broad shoulder. His dark hair was messy, and faint scratches marked the muscle of his upper back.
He stopped outside the guest quarters a few doors down, pushing the heavy wooden door open with his boot.
The room was smaller, but cozy, warmed by a crackling brazier in the corner. Thoris stepped inside, grabbing a fresh pitcher of cold water from the table and taking a long, heavy gulp straight from the rim. Water spilled down his chin and chest, shocking his overheated skin back to reality.
Just then, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sat down heavily on the edge of the guest bed, the wooden frame groaning under his weight. He stared at his large, calloused hands—hands that had snapped bones, held heavy battleaxes, and cut down dozens of enemies on the field.
'She trembles at the sight of me.'
Adrian's words echoed in his mind. Thoris scowled, running a hand through his hair with an annoyed growl. He didn't care about pleasing foreign imperial nobles. He didn't care if people thought he was a monster. In the steppes, fear was respect. Fear kept tribes in line. Fear kept you alive.
But Elyria wasn't a rival warlord or a rebellious captain. She was a frightened girl who looked like she might shatter if he raised his voice too loudly. And like it or not, she was his bride now.
"Tsk," Thoris grunted into the empty room, tossing the empty pitcher onto the table.
As he laid back against the guest pillows, staring up at the dark timber beams of the ceiling. He thought of the way she had flinched over a drop of spilled wine.
She was weak, soft, and fragile. Why couldn't it have been Cassian in her stead?
"Four hours of lectures from Vikra... three days until Cassian arrives...I can't wait." Thoris muttered to himself, his golden eyes narrowing in the dark as he closed them.
"But for now, I need a drink."
*****