I say nothing.
I smile on cue. I wave.
But inside, my bones are screaming.
Later, in the private wing of the estate reserved for wedding nights, I stand at the foot of a bed I have no intention of using. The walls are too clean, the sheets too crisp. The air is sterile with lavender and power.
Frederick lounges against the headboard, sipping some vintage wine he thinks is romantic. “A toast,” he says, lifting the glass, “to new beginnings.”
I hand him the one I’ve prepared for him.
He doesn’t notice the difference. Why would he?
I watch him drink.
He grins. “Now come here. Let’s begin our legacy properly.”
I don’t move.
His brow furrows. “Ayla?”
He tries to sit up.
Tries.
But his limbs are heavy now. His eyelids droop.
“What did you—” he slurs.
“Don’t worry,” I murmur, reaching for the lock on the door. “You’ll live.”
He collapses against the pillows.
I slide the bolt shut, double-check the seal, then cross the room and open the balcony doors wide.
The night is endless.
Stars scatter across the sky like bones tossed by some ancient hand. I lean against the railing and breathe in the cold. The wind tangles in my hair. The moonlight bleeds across my skin like something sacred.
I lift my eyes to the heavens and whisper, “Kallus…”
My voice breaks.
“I hope you’re alive. I hope you’re fighting. I hope the stars haven’t swallowed you.”
I close my eyes.
“I married him,” I confess. “But only on paper. Only for now.”
The wind answers with a shiver.
“I couldn’t let him touch me. I couldn’t bear it.”
I press my palm to my stomach.
“I’ll protect us. However I have to.”
I stay there until the sky fades from black to gray. Until the birds start to sing and the estate stirs below. I don’t sleep. I don’t cry.
