Caelan hadn't planned to return to the North that night, but the beasts he and his soldiers had slain were fewer than expected.
It was a suspiciously small horde, but due to their own overwhelming numbers, they were able to secure the borders faster than they'd genuinely anticipated.
He dismounted from his powerful black steed after crossing the gates, rolling his shoulders and massaging the back of his neck to ease the stiffness from a long ride. One of his captains approached him.
"Your Grace, news of your wedding has reached the crown," the man reported. "They send their well-wishes."
"Who cares about their well-wishes," Caelan muttered, dismissing his words with a flick of his fingers before shifting topic. "At first dawn, send a couple dispatchers south to guard the trading routes. You will be escorting them with a few of our legions. The beasts have been multiplying, and reports say some have the ability to shapeshift. We may have dealt with a small horde three days ago, but no one should grow complacent. We still don't know for sure how many are roaming."
The captain bowed deeply. "I'll see to it at once, Your Grace."
"Inform the new warden that I need to see him immediately," Caelan added. "Send a messenger. I've no strength left for letters."
With that, he strode into the fortress.
Those damned councils…
They were really starting to get on his nerves. He knew he'd been cornered the moment they offered him a bride as tribute. The southern routes had been tampered with for years now, leading to ambush after ambush. He had lost far too many good soldiers because of it.
When the situation finally spiraled out of control, and when the incompetence of the current southern wardens became undeniable, he'd indeed taken matters into his own hands. But the crown, of course, were far from pleased. They knew exactly which leverage to use, and offering him a bride was a move he could not refuse.
Marrying the girl meant he would legally gain authority over the southern crossings. Her father, Late Aeren Vale, had been the warden of the South, and through her, that title could shift into his hands. It was too valuable an advantage to decline, and also, refusing would have jeopardized his authority over the realm.
No matter how he looked at it, there had never been a true escape from this alliance.
But now that he was officially married to her… what exactly was he supposed to do with her?
Getting married had never been a part of his life's goal. He had beasts to hunt, borders to secure, and soldiers to command.
If only the crown hadn't dragged him into this mess.
He exhaled sharply, rubbing at his brow.
A wife. Saints help him.
"Your Grace, you're back?"
Steward Cedric appeared at the top of the stairs, bowing as Caelan approached.
"Mm," Caelan hummed faintly in acknowledgement. "Have the servants prepare a bath for me."
"Right away, Your Grace."
"And…" he added before Cedric could turn away, an uncharacteristic hesitation creeping into his voice. "Is she… in there? In my chambers?"
Cedric blinked at him, momentarily taken aback.
Oh?
Why was the Duke hesitating to ask about his own wife? Cedric wondered.
"She's in your chamber, Your Grace," he answered carefully. "Resting, I believe. I informed her that you would return by dawn."
Oh.
That was perfect.
"Good," Caelan's gaze softened, barely, but unmistakably. "I'll head there as well. I'm not in the mood to see my aunt tonight, so don't inform her of my return. I'll speak to her in the morning."
Cedric inclined his head in acknowledgement, and Caelan continued down the corridor.
When he reached his chamber, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
He shrugged off his fur-trimmed cloak, the heavy fabric falling across the armchair. He removed the clasp that held his dark hair in a loose bun, and the freed strands fell down his back, brushing the top of his broad-shoulders.
He expected to find his wife lying on the bed, asleep as Cedric had told him, but the massive bed was conspicuously empty. The sheets looked freshly laid, without the slightest crease to suggest anyone had rested there.
The thought made him frown.
Instead, rose petals were scattered across the surface, arranged carefully, almost ceremonially, like a scene from those absurd romantic traditions that servants refused to abandon.
Northwind custom.
It was a ritual upheld for every newly married couple, whether the Duke cared for such things or not.
But if she wasn't here, then where was she?
Caelan's gaze swept across the expansive chamber, irritation flickering in his amber eyes. He has just returned from the borders, he didn't have the energy for these hide-and-seek games.
Yet the irritation faded when he stepped into the adjoining parlor.
Curled up on his chaise lounge, fast asleep, and with a pillow clutched tightly to his chest, was the woman he had married. Her raven-black hair spilled down her shoulders, the soft waves framing the half-mask that still covered the side of her face. She looked almost far too timid to belong in a place like this.
Caelan exhaled slowly.
…Of course she'd fall asleep on a piece of furniture rather than a perfectly good bed.
And she wasn't even using a blanket.
Saints above.
For someone who clearly hadn't spent much time in the north, she'd freeze before dawn. It would take days, weeks even, before her body adjusted to the northern cold.
Was she planning to freeze to death under his roof?
He wouldn't let that happen.
To prevent that outcome, naturally, since she was his responsibility now, he stepped forward, intent on carrying her to the bed. But the moment he leaned over to reach for her—
Steel kissed his throat.
A knife, fast and precise, appeared from nowhere, pressed firmly beneath his jaw.
Caelan froze, more startled than threatened by it.
Well… that wasn't what he expected.
His gaze dropped, and a pair of crimson eyes were staring back at him, wide, sharp and shimmering like rubies in the dim light.
Alarm flickered there first, then bloomed into outright fear.
The sight of him made Lilian gasp in disbelief, and she instinctively pushed herself away from him. Her heart drummed so loudly that it almost left her breathless, and the knife in her grasp was threatening to slip to the floor.
Caelan crouched beside the chaise lounge, moving with the cautious steadiness of a man approaching a startled fawn. Lilian turned her head to the other side, refusing to look at him.
"We just got married," he said dryly. "Isn't it a bit early for blood? And on our wedding night, at that."