The wedding festivities faded one by one, the noise dimming, the guests departing with carefully measured smiles. Alira felt each goodbye like a rope slipping from her neck, easing the pressure a little—but not enough to breathe freely.
Not while Damon still stood beside her.
Not while the truth still clung to her skin like a brand.
The last group of guests bowed politely before exiting the hall. The heavy doors shut with a deep thud, and suddenly the room was too big, too quiet, too empty. Only Damon and Alira remained in the cavernous space, the golden light casting long shadows across the marble floor.
Alira didn't dare move.
Damon stood perfectly still, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture straight, regal, but cold enough to make her bones ache. His gaze swept over the now-empty room, lingering on the remnants of the ceremony—a fallen rose petal, a blown-out candle, the faint echo of music that no longer played.
Then his eyes found her.
"You survived the ceremony," Damon said, voice calm, almost conversational.
Almost.
Alira forced herself to inhale. "Yes."
"It wasn't perfect." He stepped closer—unhurried but deliberate. "But you didn't collapse."
Her pulse quickened. Was that… praise? No, the curve of his mouth made it clear it wasn't. Damon didn't praise. Damon evaluated. Measured. Calculated.
And right now, he was calculating her.
"You're quieter than I expected," he continued, his tone cool and analytical. "More timid."
She bowed her head slightly, hoping humility could hide fear. "It was a long day."
Damon stopped in front of her. Too close. Close enough that she could see the fine scar by his jaw, the subtle twitch in his fingertips—movement controlled so tightly it bordered on suppressed energy.
"Don't mistake exhaustion for an excuse," he said.
Alira swallowed. "I won't."
"Good."
Silence stretched between them—thick, tense, suffocating. Damon didn't break eye contact, and Alira had the frightening sense that he could see every lie she wasn't speaking.
Then, without warning, he reached for her chin.
Alira flinched—tiny, involuntary, but enough.
Damon froze.
His fingers hovered just above her skin, not touching now. His eyes narrowed the slightest bit.
"You're jumpy." His voice dropped lower, quieter, far more dangerous. "Helena never flinches."
Alira's stomach dropped.
"I'm just… overwhelmed," she whispered, hating how small her voice sounded.
"Overwhelmed." His lips barely moved. "Another word you've used tonight."
He let the silence stretch again, strangling her. Then he stepped back, giving her space, though his gaze never softened.
"You need to understand something," Damon said, hands sliding into the pockets of his tailored suit. "I don't care about the gown. Or the vows. Or whether you walk like a bride or a terrified deer."
Her breath stalled.
"But what I do care about," he continued, "is loyalty."
Alira's heart thudded painfully against her ribs.
"I value loyalty above everything else." Damon began pacing slowly around her, like a panther studying a creature that might be prey… or might be something far more interesting. "Loyalty is what preserves survival. Betrayal is what ends it."
He stopped behind her.
She couldn't see him, but she felt him. His presence pressed at her back like a shadow, cold and immense.
"I expect your loyalty," he said softly. "In every breath, every step, every word."
Alira shut her eyes. She couldn't even lie properly without revealing herself—how could she survive being loyal to a man she'd deceived?
"And loyalty," Damon continued, "is not something I take lightly. You should already know that."
His voice was closer now. She felt warmth at her shoulder—he had stepped so near that his breath grazed her skin.
"When I give my name to someone," Damon said, "I expect absolute faithfulness in return. No secrets. No hesitation. No divided loyalties."
Her lungs burned.
"I—" She tried to speak, but her voice cracked. "I understand."
"Do you?" His tone sharpened. "Because earlier tonight, when you struggled to say your vows, I wondered if you understood anything at all."
Her pulse spiked dangerously.
Damon walked around her again until he stood facing her once more. His expression remained unreadable, but his eyes… his eyes had tightened at the corners, the only sign of the storm behind them.
"Look at me," he said.
She lifted her gaze, trembling.
"Your loyalty," Damon said slowly, "is not just expected. It is required."
She nodded quickly. "I'll prove it."
"Prove?" Damon echoed. "Words are cheap. Anyone can speak loyalty."
He took another step, invading her space until her back nearly brushed the cold marble pillar behind her.
"What matters," he murmured, "is action."
Her breath stuttered.
"Tomorrow morning," he said, "I will give you your first responsibility as my wife."
Alira's blood froze.
Responsibility.
She wasn't ready for that. She didn't even know Helena's routines, her habits, her role in Damon's life. She didn't know who she could talk to, who she must avoid, what she must pretend to know.
"What kind of responsibility?" she whispered.
Damon didn't answer right away. He was studying her again, dissecting her, peeling layers with his stare. His hand rose, as if to touch her again, but he stopped at the last second—as though deciding she didn't deserve the contact.
Or as though unsure how much he wanted to touch her.
When he finally spoke, his voice was a quiet threat wrapped in velvet.
"One that will show me whether you are loyal."
A pause.
"Or a risk."
Alira's throat tightened painfully. "I won't be a risk."
Damon's lips curved, not into a smile but into something sharper.
"We'll see."
He stepped back, giving her air for the first time in minutes.
"Get some rest," he said coldly. "You will need it."
He turned toward the door, stopping only briefly to add, without looking back:
"And Alira—"
Hearing her real name in his voice made her heart threaten to stop.
"—do not test me."
The doors closed behind him with a heavy thud.
Only then did Alira let her shaking knees collapse beneath her.
Tomorrow, Damon would test her loyalty.
But she wasn't Helena.
She wasn't the bride he expected.
And if he ever found out…
Loyalty wouldn't matter.