"No!" She grabs my arm, her nails digging into my flesh through the fabric of my shirt. "Please. He's just a boy. I convinced him to help me. The fault is mine."
"Yes," I agree, covering her hand with mine, trapping it against my arm. "It is. Which means you'll be the one punished in his stead."
Fear flashes in her eyes, quickly masked. "What are you going to do? Beat me? Lock me away? Kill me?"
The last suggestion is so absurd that a harsh laugh escapes me. "Kill you? You think I'd destroy the very thing I fought to possess?" I tighten my grip on her hand. "No, Princess. Nothing so permanent."
I pull her roughly against me, one arm wrapping around her waist like an iron band. "Your punishment will be much more... intimate." My free hand tangles in her hair, tilting her face up to mine. "For the next week, you will not leave my sight. You will eat when I eat, sleep when I sleep, bathe when I bathe. You'll attend every council meeting, every training session, everyjudgment I pass. You'll learn exactly what it means to be my queen, to rule at my side rather than plot against me."
"And the stable boy?" she asks, her breath coming quick and shallow.
"Banished. If I ever see his face again, I'll have his head on a pike." It's a mercy I wouldn't have considered before her, a softening I can't afford but grant anyway. "Be grateful I don't chain you to my side permanently."
"You might as well," she says bitterly. "That's what this marriage is, isn't it? A chain binding me to you for life?"
"A chain you forged yourself, with this betrayal." I release her hair, my hand sliding to the necklace at her throat, fingers brushing the skin beneath it. "I've given you everything—status, comfort, pleasure. And still you try to run."
"Because none of that matters without choice," she whispers. "Without the freedom to decide my own fate."
Something in her words penetrates the haze of rage and betrayal. For a brief moment, I see myself through her eyes—not a husband but a jailer, not a protector but a tyrant. The perspective is uncomfortable, like a poorly fitted armor that chafes with every movement.
But I push the discomfort aside. I can't afford such doubts. Not when they might weaken my resolve.
"Your fate was decided the day I set eyes on you," I tell her, my voice low and final. "There is no turning back for either of us now."
I pull her toward the bed, toward the gifts she now sees for what they truly are—not tokens of affection but symbols of ownership. Yet as I look at her face, at the mixture of defiance and resignation in her eyes, I realize a truth I've been avoiding since the day of our marriage.
These gifts, this obsessive need to keep her close, to mark her as mine—they're not just about possession. They're about fear.Fear that despite all my power, all my conquests, I can't conquer the one thing I truly want: her heart.
But I will. Even if I have to break us both in the process.
seven
. . .
Fiona
Five daysof being Lachlan Drummond's shadow, and I'm losing my mind. Not from boredom—I almost wish it were that simple. No, I'm losing my mind because I'm starting to understand him. Five days of watching him govern, negotiate, train, command. Five days of seeing not just the conqueror but the king. Five days of his constant presence—his scent, his voice, his casual touches that send unwanted heat spiraling through my body. He's made good on his threat, keeping me at his side from dawn until we fall into bed at night, where his possession of my body is as thorough as his possession of my time. The worst part isn't the lack of privacy or the stares from his men. The worst part is that sometimes, in moments I immediately try to forget, I find myself admiring him. And that terrifies me more than any punishment he could devise.
"Pay attention," Lachlan murmurs, his breath warm against my ear as he leans closer in the council chamber. "Lord Brennanis about to tell us why his border taxes have been consistently lower than expected."
I straighten in my chair beside him, focusing on the nervous nobleman fidgeting before us. Lachlan's hand rests possessively on my thigh beneath the table, a constant reminder of my captivity. Yet I can't help noticing the shrewdness in his eyes as he watches Lord Brennan stammer through an explanation about poor harvests and merchant caravans taking different routes.
"Interesting," Lachlan says when the man finishes. "Because my scouts report the southern road busier than ever, and the granaries on your lands are full to bursting." His thumb traces small circles on my thigh, a casual intimacy that makes it hard to concentrate. "So I'll ask again—where is the missing gold?"
Lord Brennan pales. "My lord, I assure you?—"
"Don't." Lachlan's voice hardens, though his touch on my leg remains gentle. "Don't compound theft with lies. Not in front of your queen."
The mention of my position makes Lord Brennan glance at me, perhaps hoping for intercession. I keep my expression neutral, though inwardly I'm surprised. Lachlan could easily have conducted this interrogation without me. Instead, he's deliberately including me, making me witness to his governance.
"I..." Lord Brennan swallows hard. "There may have been some... accounting errors."
"Errors that coincidentally enriched your personal coffers." Lachlan leans forward, his hand finally leaving my thigh as he places both palms flat on the table. "Here is what will happen. You will repay every coin, with interest. You will open your books to my steward for review. And you will personally oversee the repair of the eastern road, which has been neglected while you've been busy stealing from your king."
"But, my lord, those repairs would cost?—"
"Less than your head," Lachlan finishes for him. "Which is the alternative."
