She hoped—oh, how she hoped—that they might be kind.
Or if not kind, then at least indifferent.
Anything would be better than the constant contempt she’d endured here.
Kat rolled onto her side, curling into herself beneath the thin blanket.
And what would her days be like?
Would she have duties, responsibilities?
Would she be expected to manage the household, to oversee servants, to host gatherings?
Or would she simply be…
there?
A wife in name only, kept out of sight, given no purpose beyond producing an heir?
She’d read about the duties of a lady—managing the household accounts, overseeing the servants, planning meals and events, tending to the sick and injured, teaching the children.
Would she be allowed to do those things?
Would anyone teach her how?
Or would she be left to figure it out on her own, the way she’d figured out everything else in her life?
Tomorrow, the Archduke’s representative would arrive.
She would meet him—or her, she supposed, though she imagined it would be him.
A soldier, perhaps, or a steward.
Someone practical and efficient who would see her as a duty to be discharged, nothing more.
And the day after, she would leave.
What would they think when they saw her?
Would they be disappointed?
Would they wonder why the Archduke had agreed to this match, why he’d accepted a cursed bride when he could have had someone beautiful and accomplished?
She would walk out the front door of Ashford Manor for the first time in her life.
She would climb into a carriage and ride away, watching her prison shrink behind her until it was nothing but a speck on the horizon.
And then…
The thought made her heart race with a mixture of terror and exhilaration.
She’d never been beyond the estate walls.
Never seen another town, another house, another landscape.
The world beyond Ashford Manor was a complete mystery to her, known only through books and stories and her own imagination.
What would it be like to see new places?
To meet new people?
To experience things, she’d only read about.
Then she would belong to Theron Blackwood, the Shadow Lord, the Archduke of the North.
Monster or man.
Nightmare or salvation.
She wouldn’t know until she met him.
Until she looked into his eyes and saw what lay behind them.
Would he be cruel?
Would he hurt her, as her family had?
Or would he be…
something else?
Something she couldn’t even imagine, because she’d never known anything but cruelty.
The possibilities spun through her mind like leaves in a storm, each one as terrifying and thrilling as the last.
Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed midnight.
What would his voice sound like?
Deep and rough, like thunder?
Or smooth and cultured, like the nobles who sometimes visited her father?
Would he speak with a northern accent, his words shaped differently than the southern speech she was used to?
Would he be tall?
The rumors said he was large, imposing, built like a warrior.
But how tall?
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She was small herself, barely reaching her father’s shoulder.
Would Theron tower over her, make her feel even smaller than she already did?
And what would he say to her when they first met?
Would he be formal, distant?
Would he look at her with disgust, with disappointment?
Or would there be something else in his eyes—curiosity, perhaps, or even kindness?
She tried to imagine their first conversation, but her mind kept stumbling over the details.
Would she stammer?
Would she be able to meet his eyes, or would she stare at the floor the way she’d learned to do with her father?
Would he expect her to speak, or would he prefer her to be silent?
And then, unbidden, another thought struck her—one that made heat flood her cheeks even in the darkness of her room.
The sound echoed through the quiet, marking the end of one day and the beginning of another.
Her last full day at Ashford Manor.
Her last day as simply Katriana Ashford, unwanted daughter.
Tomorrow night, she would be on the road.
And soon after that, she would be Katriana Blackwood, Archduchess of the North.
The thought was surreal, impossible to fully grasp.
Once they were wed, they would…
they would consummate the marriage.
Kat’s breath caught.
She’d read about it, of course, in some of the novels she’d smuggled from the library.
She understood the mechanics of it, in an abstract, theoretical way.
But the reality of it—that she would share a bed with this man, this stranger, that he would see her body and touch her and—
Her face burned hotter.
She pulled the blanket up over her head as if that could hide her embarrassment from herself.
And children.
She might carry his child.
Might grow round with it, might bring a new life into the world.
A baby with her red hair, perhaps, or his dark coloring.
A child who would call her mother.
What would it be like?
What would it be like to be a mother?
To hold a tiny life in her arms, to be responsible for another person’s wellbeing?
Would she be good at it?
Would she know what to do?
Or would she be like her own mother—cold, distant, cruel?
No.
She wouldn’t be like that.
She couldn’t be.
She knew what it felt like to be unloved, unwanted.
She would never make a child feel that way.
But to have a child, she would have to…
to do that with Theron first.
The books had been vague, speaking in euphemisms and metaphors.
“He claimed her.” “They became one.” “She surrendered to his passion.” Pretty words that told her almost nothing about the actual experience.
Would it hurt?
She knew it would, at least the first time.
She’d overheard the maids talking once, giggling about their wedding nights, and one had mentioned pain.
“Just a bit of discomfort,” she’d said, her cheeks pink with embarrassment.
“And then it gets better.
Much better.” The other maids had laughed and agreed, sharing knowing looks that Kat hadn’t understood.
But what did that mean?
How much pain?
Would it be like the pain of her father’s beatings—sharp and overwhelming?
Or something different, something she couldn’t imagine?
And what did “better” mean?
Better how?
Kat’s heart raced, her thoughts spiraling into territory she’d never allowed herself to explore before.
Theron was a warrior, a man who’d fought in battles and survived.
He would be…
large, wouldn’t he?
Tall and broad and strong.
She’d seen men from her window—soldiers passing through, workers on the estate—and she knew they came in different sizes.
But Theron was an archduke, a lord, someone who commanded armies.
He would be bigger than most, surely.
More imposing.
How big would he be?
And…
and his…
Her face flamed so hot she thought she might catch fire.
She couldn’t even form the word in her mind, but the question burned there anyway.
How big would it be?
Would it hurt because of the size?
Would he even fit?
The thought seemed impossible, anatomically absurd, but the maids had laughed about it, so it must work somehow.
Would he be gentle with her?
Or would he be rough, taking what he wanted without care for her comfort?
Her father had never shown gentleness.
Marcus had never shown mercy.
Would Theron be the same?
Would he see her as something to be used, a duty to be performed, a body to claim because it was his right as her husband?
The thought made her stomach twist with anxiety.
But then…
what if he wasn’t like them?
What if he was careful?
What if he took his time, made sure she was…
ready?
Whatever that meant.
She’d read about men who were brutal with their wives, who took their pleasure without thought for the woman’s pain.
She’d read about women who dreaded their husband’s touch, who endured rather than enjoyed, who saw the marriage bed as a place of suffering rather than intimacy.
Would that be her fate?
The novels had mentioned something about that—about a woman needing to be “prepared,” about a man who knew how to “please” his wife.
But they’d been frustratingly vague about the details.
What did it mean to be prepared?
How did a man please a woman?
What did that even feel like?
Kat squeezed her eyes shut, her whole body hot with embarrassment.
She shouldn’t be thinking about this.
It was improper, unseemly.
A proper lady wouldn’t let her mind wander to such things.
A proper lady would approach her wedding night with modest ignorance, trusting her husband to guide her.
But she wasn’t a proper lady, was she?
She was a cursed daughter being sent north to marry a pagan lord, and in a matter of days—maybe a week, maybe two—she would be in his bed, and he would…