She slipped from the sheets while his back was turned and went to the antechamber where her mother waited.
The same mother who had embarrassed her.
Her mother’s face was hard, eyes cool with disappointment.
No embrace.
No soft words.
She simply pushed a thick envelope into Lauretta’s hands.
It felt heavier than paper alone — something small and solid shifted inside with the letter.
“Take this,” her mother said curtly.
“Read it when you are alone.
It concerns what is expected of you now.” That was all.
She turned away without another glance, leaving Lauretta standing there without any consolation or greeting, as if she didn’t care that her daughter was about to leave and might never see her again.
“Mom,” Lauretta called out.
Her mother turned.
“I’ll come visit you when you get pregnant.” Lauretta flinched as if she’d been hit.
She tucked the envelope deep into her clothing and returned to the main chamber, jaw set.
Malachi turned at her entrance.
His eyes flattened with disgust.
She had changed back into her old dress — the same worn, patched rag from before the ceremony.
Faded fabric hung loose and shabby on her frame, hem frayed, elbows thin from years of use.
It screamed poverty.
“What is this?” His voice was low and venomous.
“These are my clothes,” Lauretta said quietly, stubbornness flashing in her eyes despite everything.
His anger rose, cold and biting.
The memory of last night made it sharper — her making him hesitate, making him feel lesser.
“You will not wear these disgusting rags ever again.
I forbid it.
You are my wife now, and you will not shame me with your filth.” He stormed to the door.
“Maid!” A young northern woman hurried inside.
“Strip her of that rag and dress her properly.
Northern wool.
Fur cloak.
Make her look like something worthy of standing beside me.
Do it quickly.” The maid obeyed without question.
Lauretta stood stiff and silent as her old dress was pulled away and replaced with heavy crimson wool and a thick fur-trimmed cloak.
The fine fabric felt foreign against her skin, warm but suffocating.
It clung to her curves, but she took no comfort in it.
Malachi watched the entire process with flat, hateful eyes.
No desire.
Only resentment that this woman had exposed his weakness.
When the maid finished pinning a simple silver brooch at her throat, Malachi gave a curt nod.
“Better.
Now move.” They descended to the courtyard in heavy silence.
The southern court watched their departure with curious eyes.
Malachi gripped Lauretta’s arm tightly, steering her toward the car.
His touch was bruising, impersonal.
Inside the enclosed space, the air felt thick with sandalwood, Furs lined the seats making it the most comfortable thing she had ever sat on.
“Act like a Luna,” he said flatly, voice edged with ice.
“You are not some poor southern girl anymore.
Do not embarrass me when we reach the North.
Speak when spoken to.
Hide your weaknesses.
The court will be watching, and I will not tolerate shame because of you.” Lauretta’s hands clenched in her lap.
The envelope pressed against her side.
“And if I cannot pretend?” His eyes narrowed.
“Then you will learn.
I have no patience left for you after last night.
You will obey or suffer the consequences.” The car rode on, wheels bumping over uneven roads.
The landscape slowly changed from green southern fields to harsher hills and thick forests.
Wind whistled through the trees, carrying the promise of colder lands ahead.
Lauretta pressed her lips together hard, refusing to let any sound escape.
Malachi sat opposite her, silent and brooding.
His gaze flicked to her occasionally, noting the tension in her posture, the way she held herself rigid.
It only deepened his resentment.
This woman and her stubbornness had already cost him his pride.
He would not allow her to cost him more.
The journey grew harsher as they crossed into northern territories.
Snow dusted the ground in patches.
The air turned biting.
Lauretta pulled the new cloak tighter, but the cold still crept in.
She closed her eyes, focusing on the rumble of the car rather than the man watching her with such open disdain.
By the time the mountain stronghold came into view, dusk had fallen.
Black stone towers rose against a gray sky, wolf banners snapping fiercely in the wind.
A large crowd had gathered in the lit courtyard — lords, warriors, and servants.
At the center stood Malachi’s mother, regal and sharp, the same woman who had witnessed the wedding.
Malachi stepped down first, then pulled Lauretta out beside him.
His grip remained tight and unforgiving as they approached the assembly.
Whispers spread through the crowd at the sight of the new queen in northern finery.
His mother stepped forward, her voice ringing clear and cutting for everyone to hear.
“Welcome home, my son.” Her gaze swept over Lauretta, taking in the fine clothes, the pale face, the slight stiffness in her stance.
A thin, mocking smile curved her lips.
“And welcome to you too.
Though I must say… she does not look like a woman who was properly bedded on her wedding night.
Have you grown soft already, Malachi?
Or has this southern girl proven too much trouble even for you?” The words dropped into the silent courtyard like stones into still water.
Heads turned.
Eyes widened.
Lauretta felt heat flood her face, humiliation burning through her.
Malachi’s grip tightened painfully on her arm, his entire body rigid with fresh rage.