Page 16 of Vow to Claim You

“Our choices?” I can’t resist the jab. “You didn’t ask me if I wanted a separate bedroom. You made that decision yourself.”

“I thought you’d prefer it that way.” His eyes narrow, though his tone stays maddeningly even.

“Of course I prefer it that way. I barely know you.”

“Then what’s the issue?” He studies me like a code that refuses to break.

“The issue?” I snort, the sound far too undignified for a princess, but I’m past caring. “It’s the way you handle things.” I take a step toward him and tip my chin up, meeting his eyes despite our height difference. “You made decisions for both of us without so much as a word in my direction. I understand I’m not your wife by choice and just a clause in a contract. But since we’re already trapped in this catastrophe together, you could at least do me the courtesy of treating me like a partner instead of furniture.”

He stills. His expression darkens, and for a second, I think he’ll argue. Defend himself. Offer something—anything—resembling human connection. He doesn’t. He just stands there, silent, calculating, and somehow that unnerves me more than his arrogance ever could.

“Get ready for the evening,” he speaks at last, his voice betrays nothing. And then, without another glance, he turns and leaves.

“Unbelievable,” I mutter to the empty room, staring at the space his insufferable presence just occupied.

No argument, no acknowledgment. Just that icy restraint, that same maddening calm that makes me want to throw something at his perfectly sculpted head. Could’ve expected that.

Still fuming, I head to the bathroom. A hot shower helps ease the tightness in my shoulders but not the restless fire beneath my skin. When I step out, the steam still clings to my body while I towel my hair dry and style it until it falls in thick, glossy waves tumbling loosely down my shoulders, parted to the side. I do my makeup clean and soft. Dark lashes and a subtle shimmer on my eyelids. I fasten a set of diamond earrings that graze my neck, delicate but dazzling, and a matching necklace that glitters like frost against my bronzed skin. A bracelet encircles my wrist, paired with my engagement ring and wedding band I still haven’t gotten used to wearing. Then I slip into an elegant black velvet dress with long sleeves. The fabric skims every curve before flaring softly at the floor. One long slit runs nearly to my thigh.

When I finally descend the grand staircase, Aric waits at the bottom and turns at the sound of my heels on the polished wood. He has his hands loosely clasped in front of him, the picture of composed power. For a heartbeat, he doesn’t move as his gaze sweeps over me, slowly, deliberately.

He’s dressed in a black suit over a white shirt, the top buttons left undone. Dark ink disappears beneath the open collar, winding up the length of his neck. Runes, I think, though I have no idea what they mean. And just beneath the fabric, the edge of a skull peers out from his chest.

I wonder what else hides beneath the tailored fabrics of his black suit?

Are there any more inks? Perhaps.

Do they mean something to him?

“You look stunning.” His low voice breaks on the invisible thread creating between us.

“Thank you,” I say, caught off guard.

I didn’t think compliments were in his vocabulary. Too human. Too warm. Too much like admitting he’d noticed.

“You don’t look bad yourself,” I add, determined not to let him see he’d thrown me.

The faintest shadow of smirk ghosts across his lips, then it’s gone.

I won’t lie, the arsehole looks unfairly attractive. All sharp edges and dangerous beauty, the kind of man artists would weep to paint, and sensible women would run away from.

Naturally, I keep that observation to myself. I’d sooner swallow my own tiara than admit that aloud.

“Shall we?” He extends his arm.

I take it. Reluctantly.

We head toward the garage together, side by side. Husband and wife on paper. Still strangers everywhere else.

We leave the estate in a convoy. Tassilo leads in the first SUV. Aric and I occupy the back seat of the second, while Eero follows with the rest of the security detail. Up front, our driver sits in perfect silence, dressed in a black suit, his eyes fixed on the winding road as though we aren’t even there. Beyond the windows, the forest swallows everything outside the reach of the headlights. Snow drifts lazily through the beams before disappearing back into the darkness. My reflection stares back at me, and though my face is calm, a storm brews underneath my facade.

How will my life look like now?

What does my future hold?

I’m sitting in a car with a man I barely know—a man I’m supposed to call husband, though the word still feels like a bad joke. A man whose favorite color I couldn’t name, who’s like a locked vault, whose emotions are buried so deep I’m not sure even he can reach them, yet I’m expected to spend a lifetime beside him. Share a bed. Bear his children. Build a future on a foundation of nothing but obligation. It still feels surreal. Like I’ve stumbled into someone else’s story and can’t find the exit. But it’s not someone else’s story. It’s mine now. Whether I like it or not.

I rest against the leather seat, letting the soft hum of the engine fill the silence as the car glides through snow-dusted streets as if it owns them. I scoff under my breath, because I realize—it probably does. The Volds likely own half this country, if not all of it.