The heavy oak door closed behind us with a final, resounding thud that echoed through the bedchamber like the sealing of a tomb. The room was vast, lit by a low fire in the massive hearth and clusters of candles that cast warm, flickering gold across everything. In the center stood the bed—enormous, draped in deep crimson velvet and white furs, piled high with embroidered pillows and scattered rose petals. The sight of it made my stomach twist into knots.
This was it. My people's last, desperate attempt to bind me to Larkin before the truth came out—that I wasn't the mate the king had requested, that perhaps the entire alliance rested on a lie they hadn't even bothered to warn me about. If I slept with him tonight, if I carried his scent and his mark, maybe they thought it would be too late for him to send me back. A cruel, calculated insurance policy.
I stood frozen just inside the threshold, veil still pushed back from my face, cheeks stiff with dried tears and ruined makeup. My hands trembled at my sides.
"Are you all right?" The voice was low, careful—Gideon's.
I flinched hard, startled. I had forgotten he was there. Forgotten, for one stupid heartbeat, that I was no longer alone.
He stood a few paces away, still in his black velvet doublet, silver wolf fur at the collar catching the firelight. Those gray eyes watched me with quiet concern, no trace of impatience or demand.
"Are you all right?" he asked again, softer this time.
"Y-yes," I managed, the word barely a whisper.
"Are you sure?" He took one small step closer, then stopped when I tensed. "You were crying earlier."
I opened my mouth, closed it. What could I say? That the tears weren't for him, or for this marriage, but for Caleb—for the friend I might never see again? The truth felt too raw, too dangerous to speak aloud to a stranger who now legally owned me.
Before I could find words, the door opened again.
"You may now consummate your marriage," Mariam announced, stepping inside without knocking. The same maid from earlier—sharp-faced, thin-lipped, the one who had always taken special pleasure in making Caleb's life hell.
I froze. Was this truly happening? Was I expected to—to do this with him while she watched? I had never even kissed anyone properly before tonight. My heart slammed against my ribs. Fear clawed up my throat.
Gideon's expression darkened instantly.
"Give me a little time with my mate," he said, voice flat but edged with steel.
Mariam bowed her head, but did not move. "Your Highness, I have been sent by the king and his consort of Valerion to ensure the marriage is consummated. I cannot leave."
Gideon's eyes narrowed to slits. The air in the room seemed to thicken, his alpha pheromones rising—cedar smoke and winter frost, now laced with something sharper, more dangerous. "Out," he said, the word vibrating with restrained fury.
"By Valerion custom," Mariam announced, raising her voice over his, "the omega must be prepared for the wedding night by his own attendants."
She clapped her hands twice. The door opened again, and two Valerion attendants entered—the same ones who had dressed me for the wedding. They wore plain grey dresses, their faces blank and unreadable. They bowed to Mariam, then to Gideon, then turned to me.
"Come, my lord," one said. "We must prepare you."
I looked at Gideon. My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my throat.
The attendants took my arms—not roughly, but firmly—and led me through a side door I hadn't noticed before. It opened into a smaller chamber, lit by dozens of candles. A copper tub sat in the corner, steaming with fragrant water, the scent of lavender and rose petals rising from the surface. On a chair near the fire lay a garment so sheer it was barely there—whisper-thin silk in deep crimson, the color of blood and roses.
My breath caught. They meant to dress me like a concubine. Like a gift unwrapped for the taking.
They undressed me in silence. The lace top, the silk trousers, the pins and combs from my hair. I stood naked before them, my long red hair tumbling loose around my shoulders, my mismatched eyes—one green, one blue—fixed on the floor. I did not speak. I did not resist.
They guided me into the warm bath and washed me with gentle hands, rubbing scented oils into my skin—jasmine and musk, meant to arouse. The water sloshed softly. The candles flickered. Through it all, the black velvet collar remained around my throat, the single blood-red ruby warm against my skin. Alaric's claim. It stayed.
When I was clean and dried with soft linen, they slipped the crimson garment over my head. It fell to my thighs, leaving nothing to the imagination. The fabric was so thin I could see my own skin beneath it—the pale curves of my chest, the dark peaks of my nipples. The neckline plunged to my sternum. A matching robe of black silk was draped over my shoulders, but it was barely more concealing than the gown itself.
"You are ready, my lord," one attendant whispered.
They led me back through the side door.
The main bedchamber had changed while I was gone. Gideon stood by the fireplace, his back to me. He had removed his doublet and boots. His white shirt was untucked, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing strong forearms dusted with fine blonde hair. He had changed into something more comfortable—less the formal duke, more the man.
The attendants announced, "Your mate, my lord," and withdrew, closing the door behind them.
Gideon turned.
His gray eyes swept over me—the sheer crimson, the loose red hair, the black robe hanging open. The collar at my throat. He swallowed, his throat moving visibly.
Mariam still stood in the corner, watching. Her arms were crossed, her thin lips pressed into a bloodless line. She did not speak. She only waited.
The fire crackled. The candles burned low. Gideon and I looked at each other across the room, the air thick with tension and unspoken things.
He did not move toward me. He only waited.
And Mariam watched.