I ignore them. I try. It becomes harder every second.
I stand alone near the far wall, watching her from a distance.
Peighton.
My wife.
She moves through the reception with unexpected poise. Soft smiles. Gentle nods. Not the enraged girl who fled from me.
She does a polite dip of her head when an older wife touches her arm in greeting. She carries herself with grace, even though she has been here so little. It should be impossible for her to fit into my world. Yet she walks through this hall as though she does.
Her father trained her well.
My jaw flexes.
She is radiant in that old dress. The same dress worn by three generations of raven brides. Wonder how she found it. I thought the tower was locked.
Regardless, she’s a warm flame in this cold castle. The soft curve of her mouth. Her brown eyes glowing under candlelight. Her hair a tumble of dark silk over her shoulders. The men look at her with the kind of cautious admiration one reserves for a sacred thing. The wives whisper about her beauty.
She belongs here more than I expected.
I watch her because I need to. I watch her because the idea of anyone touching her makes my stomach tighten for reasons that didn’t exist before. I watch her because the voices overtake me when I don’t.
She is mine. Mine to protect. Mine to break if needed.
Mine.
The thought of tonight simmers my blood.
Sexual gratification has never been a priority. It’s always been simple enough to dismiss or indulge. Pleasure is trivial compared to power.
But with her...
Her kiss lingers in my memory like a tattoo. Her scent stuck to my tux like dye. The way her breath trembled, the way her lips parted, the soft noise she made when I deepened the kiss.
My body responds to her in a way it never has with any woman.
I hate to admit it, but I want her in my bed tonight.
I want her underneath me, her soft thighs trembling, her breath caught between fear and ecstasy. I want to drag my mouth down her throat and hear her whimper my name. I want to tear away that dress and corrupt her innocence in every way.
Hold on.
Do I want her to suffer or enjoy it?
The question pierces through me, sharp and unwelcome. My breaths stumble. Why would I ask myself that? It doesn’t matter.
I look down at my palm. The cut is dark red now, the dried edge of blood still sealing the mark where our vows touched skin.
A strange dizziness sweeps over me. My vision narrows for a moment.
A hand touches mine.
I snap out of the haze instantly, muscles tightening. I never get startled, yet she startled me.
Peighton stands before me, looking up with hope blooming in her eyes. So angelic. Soft as morning light.
“I’m learning all about you,” she starts. “Your men are loyal. Their women are kind.” She smiles sweetly and adds, “I figured they’d be scary, like you.”
