••{AZRAEL'S POV}••
I stand surrounded by nobles, their voices overlapping as they circle closer, wine glasses in hand, smiles sharpened by intent.
"Your Majesty," one of them says, inclining his head just enough to be polite. "Your union is… unprecedented."
Another chuckles softly. "A human Empress. No one saw that coming."
"Tell us," a third presses. "Is she frightened? Or has she already learned to rule us?"
I answer them with measured words and a steady tone, offering nothing of substance. I keep my expression carefully neutral, my posture relaxed, my hands folded behind my back. This is familiar territory. Politics always is.
But every time one of them calls her my wife, I feel this something in my chest.
Rhiannon…. My wife.
Everytime I hear it being said out loud, I feel the faintest pull at the corners of my mouth, a traitorous urge to smile that I have to suppress. I tell myself it's nothing more than a reflex.
But still, it happens time and time again.
