The carriages had barely stopped when the hoofbeats started.
Seraphina stood in the D'Lorien courtyard watching her team unload supplies. They had just got there to prepare for the trials and the ancestral estate had way stronger blood-locked wards than anywhere else. The space she needed.
Caelan surveyed the grounds beside her, she felt his calm focus shift when the horses approaching grew louder through their connection.
God. This again.
Then she saw the banners. Vessant colors. At least twenty armed riders headed toward the estate, Alaric at their head.
Her husband had come.
Caelan went very still. A breeze picked up around them, gentle at first. She touched his wrist lightly, sending him a silent message, Alaric was performing, they needed to perform better.
The column stopped in perfect formation, naturally. Too perfect. Alaric dismounted slowly, making sure to wince as one hand pressed to his ribs. The demon battle injury was real, but he played it up anyway, making sure everyone saw the pain, the dedication it took to come here despite his suffering.
He looked at Caelan first. "Duke Vorenthal. What a surprise to find you at my wife's estate." His tone carried calculated hurt. "I ride for hours with broken ribs to support my grieving wife, and she already has company."
He'd rehearsed this. He always rehearsed.
Air currents strengthened and papers rustled, servants glancing around confused by the sudden weather change.
Caelan's face stayed blank. "The Duchess requested security escort given the recent demon activity in the region."
"Of course." Alaric cut him off with a pained smile. "Always the hero." He turned to Seraphina, his expression shifting to wounded devotion. "I couldnt stay away, my dear. Not when I knew you were here dealing with your parents memorial. Even injured, I had to come."
He was watching her, too closely maybe.
He crossed the distance. Grabbed her before she could blink his fingers digging in slightly. Claiming. "I could not bear being apart from you any longer." His voice dropped, intimate and wounded. "Every day without you felt wrong... I kept thinking about how I failed you leaving you alone to handle everything while I was injured and useless."
His thumb traced her lower lip, eyes holding hers with intensity. "Have you heard any troubling rumors from court? I need to know if anyone has been spreading lies about us."
Testing her. Probing to see if the affair scandal had reached her yet.
Getting ahead of the story before I hear it from someone else. She kept her expression neutral.
The air thickened around them and wind strengthened, leaves skittering across stone.
Alaric ignored it completely. He pulled her closer until his arms wrapped around her fully, one hand pressed at the small of her back while the other fisted in her hair, ensuring everyone witnessed who she belonged to. Especially Caelan.
"You are my wife," he murmured against her temple, loud enough to carry to the watching servants. "My beautiful, devoted wife who I almost lost during the demon attack. Life is so fragile, we should not waste time apart."
He kissed her deeply with claiming intent, his tongue invading her mouth while his hand slid lower on her back. The other tightened in her hair, controlling the angle, controlling her.
Performance. Ownership. All for Caelan's benefit.
She forced herself not to resist not to flinch.
He wanted control and, god help her, part of her still froze for it.
The wind was too loud, she could not think.
Through their bond, she felt Caelan at the courtyard's edge with every muscle locked, rage bleeding through in waves he could not fully contain.
The wind became a gust and a shutter banged against the wall, dust devils forming in corners of the courtyard.
When Alaric finally released her mouth, he kept her locked against him with one hand spread possessively across her lower back. "I missed you so much. Being injured, alone, while you were here."
She almost laughed, a sharp wrong sound that died halfway out.
Her mouth was dry; why now?
His voice dropped into theatrical pain. "They say the Dukes Vorenthal and Gravenor are both courting you now, that Marcus Branthorne's pledge was romantic not just political." He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. "Tell me it's not true. Tell me you haven't been listening to their promises while your husband lay bleeding from defending the realm."
It was a masterful emotional blackmail that positioned him as the injured war hero against rival suitors, the devoted husband against an abandoning wife. She almost admired the performance.
She sensed Caelan's control fracturing through their connection as air currents intensified violently, and a clay pot shattered. Guards exchanged nervous glances.
"You're reading too much into political alliances," she said carefully. "The gala was about building support for charitable efforts."
"It was about three men trying to steal my wife." Alaric's grip tightened, not painful yet but close. "While I was too injured to attend, while I couldn't defend what's mine."
He kissed her again with more intensity, his hand sliding down to cup her hip as his thumb stroked in slow circles, demonstrating his claim for Caelan's benefit.
Wind pressure built rapidly and the air itself seemed to compress and expand in waves as the courtyard filled with swirling currents, then a window cracked from the force.
Alaric finally broke the kiss but kept her trapped against him. "I came here despite my injuries, rode for hours in agony. Because you matter more than pain, because my wife matters more than comfort."
He nuzzled against her throat with his breath hot on her skin. "I need you, Seraphina. Need you with me, safe, where I can protect you from men who would use political alliances to steal you away."
His hand traced patterns on her back, possessive and claiming. "I've missed everything about you, your voice, your smile, the way you look at me when you think no one else is watching." Each word felt calculated, designed to sound romantic while asserting ownership.
"I will arrange for dinner to be served in your chambers tonight," he murmured against her ear, low enough that only she could hear. "Just the two of us. No servants interrupting. We have so much lost time to make up for."
No. Not tonight. Not ever.
Panic flared hot and immediate.
"That sounds lovely" she forced out, the words tasting like ash. She swallowed hard, fingers twitching. "Though you must be exhausted from the journey. Perhaps you should rest first."
She tried to think of something, anything, to say but the words tangled before they could even reach her lips.
"What are you, " She stopped. No point.
"Right" she said, too soft.
"I'm never too tired for my wife." His hand slid down her spine, heavy and certain. "I've been dreaming about tonight since I left the capital."
She felt sick from the way he was touching her, the certainty in his voice, the dark promise. He'd come here with one goal and wasn't leaving until he got what he wanted.
Sweat prickled under her collar. The air felt too close.
Mirelle appeared from the main house, moving with careful neutrality. "My lord, my lady. Shall I have the staff prepare refreshments? The journey must have been taxing."
Alaric released Seraphina just enough to acknowledge the interruption. "That would be appreciated. And have my wife's chambers prepared for this evening, I want everything perfect."
The words carried clear intent. Mirelle's expression didn't change, but Seraphina saw the brief flicker of concern in her eyes before the servant bowed and retreated.
Alaric turned back to her with that devoted husband smile firmly in place. "Why do not you show me the memorial preparations? I want to understand everything you have been working on. Your dedication to honoring your parents is one of the things I admire most about you."
More performance, more carefully chosen words designed to sound supportive while maintaining control. He was still talking still performing, and she couldnt hear half of it through the panic building in her chest.
She led him toward the family shrine with Caelan following at a respectful distance that still kept them in view. Wind currents swirled constantly around them, Caelan's magic responding to emotions he kept locked behind a neutral expression.
The shrine stood in the eastern gardens, simple stone with her parents' names carved in elegant script. Fresh flowers had been placed that morning, bright against weathered marble.
Alaric studied the memorial with appropriate solemnity. "They would be proud of you, everything you've accomplished as Duchess of Vessant." He squeezed her hand. "Everything we've built together."
Together. The word felt like mockery. She kept her face soft, receptive.
"Thank you for coming," she said, playing her part. "It means a great deal to have your support during this difficult time."
"Always." He pulled her close again, wrapping an arm around her waist. "We're partners in everything. I want you to remember that, especially with all these other men suddenly showing such interest in your affairs."
There it was, the real reason beneath the devotion act.
"Political alliances serve our house," she said carefully. "Nothing more."
"Good." His grip tightened briefly. "Because tonight, I want to remind you exactly what we have together. No distractions, no politics. Just us."
Her stomach twisted. Hours, maybe just a few hours before dinner, before he would expect her in those chambers with no servants, no witnesses, no escape.
I need a way out. Any way out.
She turned toward him, ready to speak, and stopped.
Hoofbeats thundered into the courtyard and a rider dismounted, nearly stumbling in his haste. He approached with a sealed message, expression grim.
Alaric released her, irritation flashing across his face at the interruption. He took the message and broke the seal.
His expression changed as he read, the calculated devotion cracking completely, revealing something between shock and fury underneath.
"What is it?" Seraphina asked, heart pounding with hope she didn't dare show.
Alaric stared at the message, his knuckles white where he gripped the parchment.