The Wedding Night

The wedding had been a spectacle—golden goblets overflowing, silk banners draped across the halls, and nobles whispering behind jeweled masks. But now, as the last of the guests staggered from the great hall, the true test of the night began.

Prince Kaelith Veynor stood in the dimly lit chamber, his broad shoulders tense beneath his ceremonial cloak. The scent of burning incense curled through the air, mixing with the lingering perfume of the woman who now sat before him—his wife, Lady Seraphine D'Caria.

She had shed her wedding gown for a nightdress of sheer ivory, its delicate fabric clinging to her curves in a way that made it clear the garment was meant to tease. Her raven-black hair cascaded over her shoulders, her emerald-green eyes watching him, unreadable.

Kaelith clenched his jaw.

"You wear that dress like a weapon," he said at last, his voice low, edged with something dangerous.

Seraphine tilted her head, the hint of a smirk playing at her lips. "A woman must use the tools she has, Your Highness."

He hated that title on her tongue. Formal. Distant.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with expectation. The entire kingdom believed that tonight they would consummate their marriage, binding their union not just in law but in flesh.

But Kaelith was no fool.

He had spent his life surrounded by deception, by whispers in the dark. And now, in his own bedchamber, he could feel the presence of a woman who was not just his wife but something else entirely—something untamed, something dangerous.

He stepped closer. "Tell me, my lady," he murmured, his fingers ghosting over the silk sheets as he leaned down. "Did your father instruct you on how best to please a husband? Or were you given different orders for tonight?"

Seraphine did not flinch, though a flicker of something—amusement? Challenge?—flashed in her gaze.

"I was given many lessons," she answered smoothly. "Though none that involved warming a husband's bed."

Kaelith's breath hissed through his teeth. She was lying. He did not know about what yet, but he would find out.

"Then tell me," he said, brushing a strand of dark hair from her face, watching as her pulse jumped at the contact, "what lessons were you given?"

She met his gaze head-on. "How to survive."

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then Kaelith let out a slow, mirthless chuckle. He stepped back, stripping off the heavy ceremonial cloak from his shoulders.

"Sleep well, then, Lady Veynor."

With that, he turned from the bed, leaving his wife untouched.

And yet, as he settled onto the couch across the room, watching her from the shadows, one thought pressed into his mind.

She is not mine. Not yet. But I will uncover her secrets. And when I do… she will be.