The heavy oak door closed behind us with a final, resounding thud that echoed through the bedchamber like the sealing of a tomb. The room was vast, lit by a low fire in the massive hearth and clusters of candles that cast warm, flickering gold across everything. In the center stood the bed—enormous, draped in deep crimson velvet and white furs, piled high with embroidered pillows and scattered rose petals. It was unmistakably a marriage bed, decorated for consummation. The sight of it made my stomach twist into knots.
This was it. Right now. My people's last, desperate attempt to bind me to Grimshaw before the truth came out—that I wasn't the mate the king had requested, that perhaps the entire alliance rested on a lie they hadn't even bothered to warn me about. If I slept with him tonight, if I carried his scent and his mark, maybe they thought it would be too late for him to send me back. A cruel, calculated insurance policy.
I stood frozen just inside the threshold, veil still pushed back from my face, cheeks stiff with dried tears and ruined makeup. My hands trembled at my sides.
"Are you all right?" The voice was low, careful—Gideon's.
I flinched hard, startled. I had forgotten he was there. Forgotten, for one stupid heartbeat, that I was no longer alone.
He stood a few paces away, still in his black velvet doublet, silver wolf fur at the collar catching the firelight. Those obsidian eyes watched me with quiet concern, no trace of impatience or demand.
"Are you all right?" he asked again, softer this time.
"Y-yes," I managed, the word barely a whisper.
"Are you sure?" He took one small step closer, then stopped when I tensed. "You were crying earlier."
I opened my mouth, closed it. What could I say? That the tears weren't for him, or for this marriage, but for Caleb—for the friend I might never see again, for the one person who had made this wretched palace bearable? The truth felt too raw, too dangerous to speak aloud to a stranger who now legally owned me.
Before I could find words, the door opened again.
"You may now consummate your marriage," Mariam announced, stepping inside without knocking. The same maid from earlier—sharp-faced, thin-lipped, the one who had always taken special pleasure in making Caleb's life hell.
I froze. Was this truly happening? Was I expected to—to do this with him while she watched? I had never even kissed anyone properly before tonight. Caleb had explained things to me in hushed whispers once —how heats worked, what knotting felt like, what an alpha's touch could do—but explanation was not experience. My heart slammed against my ribs. Fear clawed up my throat.
Gideon's expression darkened instantly.
"Give me a little time with my mate," he said, voice flat but edged with steel.
Mariam bowed her head, but did not move. "Your Highness, I have been sent by the king and his consort to ensure the marriage is consummated. I cannot leave."
Gideon's eyes narrowed to slits. The air in the room seemed to thicken, his alpha pheromones rising—cedar smoke and winter frost, now laced with something sharper, more dangerous. He looked at her as though imagining exactly how her head would look separated from her shoulders.
"Out," he said, the word vibrating with restrained fury.
"Your Highness, I cannot. I have direct orders from the king and his consort of Valerion—"
Is she stupid? The thought flashed through my mind before I could stop it. This was the height of disrespect. To treat a foreign prince—now a foreign consort—like this? To spy on the bedding like some perverse chaperone? What if it had been the actual king standing here? What kind of message was Valerion sending? That they didn't trust Grimshaw, or that they didn't value me enough to care if I was humiliated?
"Out!" Gideon barked again, louder this time. The word cracked like a whip.
"Your Highness, I—"
"Mariam," I said.
My voice came out steadier than I felt. She flicked her eyes to me, then away again, dismissing me as she always had.
"Mariam," I repeated.
"What is it?" she snapped, irritation bleeding through her deference.
"I would like some time alone with my mate. Is that not acceptable?"
"I was sent—"
"We've heard you say that a million times," I cut in, surprised at the calm edge in my own tone. "Can you please leave us alone? Just for a little while."
"I cannot. The king and his consort have ordered me to observe every movement until you depart tomorrow."
Fool.
I tilted my head, studying her. The old fear—of her fists, her sneers, her casual cruelty toward Caleb and me—felt distant now. I wasn't that boy anymore. I wasn't part of Valerion anymore. I didn't have to pretend politeness for scraps of food or a corner to sleep in.
"Could it be," I asked slowly, "that the king and his consort are suspicious? That they believe the same man I have just married—for the sake of peace—would harm me if left alone with him for even a minute?"
Mariam's eyes widened. Terror flashed across her face, raw and unguarded. She had always hated me, and I had never cared enough to fight back. But now? Now I wore the title of consort to a foreign prince, and her orders suddenly looked very fragile.
She swallowed hard.
"I'll… give you a minute," she muttered, bowing stiffly. She backed out of the room without another word, the door closing softly behind her.
Silence fell.
I almost laughed—sharp, incredulous, bubbling up from somewhere deep and reckless. I wished Caleb were here to see the look on her face. The way her smug certainty crumbled when I spoke to her not as a beaten omega, but as someone who no longer feared her.