The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut, the sound echoing like a guillotine blade through the silent hallway of the Duke's private wing. Galen didn't let go of my wrist. His grip wasn't bruising, but it was absolute—a silent reminder that while I had won the battle in the ballroom, I was now a prisoner in his sanctuary.
The bedchamber was vast, lit only by the flickering orange glow of a dying fireplace. It smelled of sandalwood, old parchment, and the cold metallic tang of magic.
Galen finally released me. He didn't turn around. He walked toward the hearth, his golden-embroidered coat casting a distorted, monstrous shadow against the stone walls.
"You're a very good actress, Cherise," he said. His voice was no longer a growl; it was a smooth, lethal silk. "The tears, the trembling lip... even I almost believed you were heartbroken."
I stood my ground, smoothing the skirts of my white wedding gown. My heart was thundering, but I made sure my breathing remained shallow and delicate. "A woman in my position doesn't have the luxury of being anything but a good actress, Your Grace. In this palace, honesty is just a faster way to the grave."
Galen turned then. He had loosened his cravat, and the flickering firelight caught the sharp angles of his jaw. He looked like a god of war resting before a massacre.
"You insulted Elena. You destroyed a relic of the Fénix. And you dared to claim a place in my life that no one has occupied for a decade," he stepped closer, the floorboards groaning under his weight. "Did you think that little show would make me forget why you're here? You are a spy for the crown, sent to keep me on a leash."
'So that's what he thinks,' I realized. In the original book, Galen suspected his bride was a spy, which is why he never hesitated to dispose of her.
"If I were a spy," I said, tilting my head back to meet his violet eyes, "I would have worn that dress. I would have played the part of the grieving, obedient doll. I wouldn't have provoked the man who holds my life in his hands."
"Then why do it?" He was inches away now. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, a stark contrast to the icy aura he projected. "Why the defiance?"
"Because I want to live," I whispered. I reached out—a bold, dangerous move—and placed my palm flat against his chest, right over his heart. I felt the steady, powerful thrum beneath his ribs. "And I cannot live as a shadow of a dead woman. If you want a corpse, Galen, there are plenty in the crypts. But if you want a Duchess... you're looking at her."
Galen's hand shot up, catching my chin. His thumb pressed against my lower lip, mirroring the gesture from the ballroom, but this time, there was no audience.
"A Duchess?" He chuckled, a dark, dry sound. "A Duchess shares her husband's bed. She shares his secrets. She shares his curse. Do you have any idea what happens to those who get too close to me?"
"I know the stories," I replied, refusing to flinch. "They say the Fénix burns anyone who touches the Duke. They say you're a monster."
"I am a monster," he snapped, his eyes flashing with a sudden, violent violet light. The temperature in the room plummeted. Frost began to creep across the windowpanes. "The Fénix isn't a story, Cherise. It's a parasite. And right now, it wants to tear you apart for even standing in this room."
I felt the pressure of his magic—a heavy, suffocating weight that made my lungs ache. This was the moment. The original Cherise died here because she screamed. She begged. She showed him her fear, and the monster inside him fed on it.
I did the opposite. I stepped into his space, forcing him to either crush me or pull back his power.
"Then let it try," I challenged, my voice a soft, melodic contrast to his rage. "I am fragile, Galen. I am breakable. But I am the only thing in this kingdom that isn't afraid of you. Doesn't that make me the most valuable weapon you have?"
The frost stopped advancing. The air grew still. Galen looked down at me, his expression unreadable. For a long, agonizing minute, the only sound was the crackle of the fire.
Suddenly, he let go of my chin and stepped back, the tension snapping like a bowstring.
"You're insane," he muttered, though the edge of his anger had been replaced by a strange, sharp curiosity.
"I'm a survivor," I corrected him.
He walked to a small table and poured two glasses of dark, amber liquid. He handed one to me. "Drink. You're pale enough to pass for a ghost already."
I took the glass, my fingers brushing his. This time, he didn't pull away.
"The dress Elena gave you," Galen said, his back to me again. "It wasn't just a relic. It was enchanted. If you had put it on, the Fénix's essence would have recognized you as an intruder. You wouldn't have made it through the first dance."
A chill that had nothing to do with magic ran down my spine. Elena hadn't just been trying to insult me; she had been trying to trigger an automatic execution.
"Thank you for burning it," I said softly.
"I didn't do it for you," he replied, though the lie was obvious even to him. "I did it because I hate being manipulated by a Saintess who thinks she owns my past."
He turned to look at me, his gaze sweeping over my white silk gown, now wrinkled and stained at the hem from the night's events.
"Sleep on the sofa," he ordered, gesturing toward the velvet settee by the fire. "Tomorrow, the rumors will say we spent a night of passion. The court needs to believe I am enchanted by my new, 'fragile' bride."
"And if I prefer the bed?" I asked, a playful, dangerous spark in my eyes.
Galen paused, his hand on the buttons of his shirt. He gave me a look that would have withered a lesser woman. "If you sleep in my bed, Cherise, I cannot guarantee you will wake up. The Fénix doesn't sleep."
"Neither do I," I murmured, sitting down on the settee and watching him. "I'll be too busy planning our next move. Elena won't stop at a dress."
Galen didn't respond, but as he blew out the candles, leaving the room in shadows, I saw him glance back at me. It wasn't the look of a man seeing a spy. It was the look of a man who had finally found a puzzle he couldn't solve.
I leaned back against the cushions, the heat of the fire warming my face. I had survived the wedding. I had survived the Duke's bedroom.
'Watch out, Elena,' I thought, closing my eyes. 'The fragile bride is about to break your world.'