Esmira (Enora)
We returned to the palace moments later, and Lord Aven handed me over to the maids, instructing them to prepare me for my wedding night with Roderic.
They stripped me in silence, peeling the blood-crusted dress from my body as they led me to the bathtub.
The bathwater was scalding, but I didn’t flinch.
I couldn’t feel anything except the hollow ache behind my ribs where my heart used to be.
When they pulled me from the bath, they dried me and dressed me in the royal mating attire.
A gown of sheer ivory silk that clung to every curve of my body and left almost nothing to the imagination.
Then, they led me to the King’s chambers.
The room was enormous, twice the size of the queen’s quarters, with heavy curtains drawn across the windows and a bed so vast it could have fit my entire family.
My entire family that was now dead, and every trace of Enora Hale eliminated.
The maids left, and I was alone.
I couldn’t bring myself to sit on the bed.
Instead, I lowered myself to the floor near the foot of it and drew my knees to my chest.
I pressed my forehead against my knees and closed my eyes.
But I couldn’t keep them closed for long because I kept seeing my mother reaching out for me.
Darya and Nelle’s lifeless bodies sprawled on the ground.
I pressed my fists against my eyes until I saw stars, but the images wouldn’t stop.
Suddenly, the door burst open, and I scrambled to my feet as Roderic stumbled into the room.
I curtsied on instinct.
“Good evening, Your Majesty,” I greeted.
He swayed on his feet, one hand braced against the doorframe.
His coat was half-undone, his dark hair dishevelled, and the sharp smell of wine rolled off him in waves.
His eyes were glazed and unfocused.
But beneath the wine, I could feel something else, that same restless energy from the chapel, his wolf stirring under the surface, dulled and sluggish from whatever Lord Aven had been feeding him but never fully asleep.
He staggered into the room toward the bed and collapsed face-first onto the mattress.
I stood there, frozen, not knowing what to do.
He didn’t even know I was in the room.
His breathing slowed, and I thought — hoped — that he had passed out.
While I was wondering about that, the door opened again, and Lord Aven stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him.
His pale eyes swept the room, taking in Roderic sprawled across the bed and me standing rigid near the foot of it.
“You will consummate the marriage tonight,” he said without preamble.
“The union must be sealed, and beyond that, your next priority is to produce an heir.”
I risked a glance at him.
“But my Lord, he’s—”
“Drunk. Yes. That was by design.” He cut me off.
“An heir binds you to the throne permanently, Esmira. A child carrying the Bloodright of House Valdren, even one born from a common womb, would be untouchable. If the truth ever surfaces, if your identity is ever revealed, that child is the only thing that might keep your head attached to your neck. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
“Good. Now undress.”
I started to reach for my robe but stopped, looking at him expectantly, but he just stood there, hands clasped behind his back, waiting.
“My lord, will you—”
“Get on with it, Esmira, or do you want me to do it for you?”
I lowered my gaze as my fingers found the clasps at my shoulders.
They trembled so badly that it took three attempts to undo the first one.
The silk loosened and slipped down my body, pooling at my feet.
I wrapped my arms around myself instinctively, tears blurring my vision.
Lord Aven walked towards me.
He produced a small glass vial from his coat and uncorked it.
A soft, feminine scent hit my nose.
Then he began to dab the liquid on my wrists first, then the sides of my neck, then between my breasts.
His eyes were cold, and there was nothing intimate in his touch.
When he finished, he nodded towards the mattress.
“Climb onto the bed,” he said.
“When he reaches for you, respond and do whatever he wants. His wolf will respond to the scent before his mind does. Do not, under any circumstances, correct him.”
I didn’t understand the last instruction until I was lying beside Roderic on the silk sheets, my body rigid, my hands flat at my sides, tears sliding silently into the pillow, and then he stirred.
He rolled toward me, his eyes still heavy with wine.
His hand found my waist, and he inhaled deeply, his nose grazing my neck where Lord Aven had applied the scent.
A low, involuntary sound emanated from deep in his chest, and his body curved toward me as though pulled by a force.
“Lysara?” he breathed.
I shuddered and looked toward Lord Aven, who stood by the foot of the bed, arms crossed.
He rolled his eyes and gave me an impatient nod.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“It’s me.”
The hard lines, the fury, the cold mask that Roderic had worn all day immediately crumbled, leaving him with raw, unguarded emotion.
He pulled me against him, wrapping his arms around my body and pressing his face into my hair.
“You’re alright,” he murmured.
“Thank the goddess, you’re alright. I was so scared, my love. When they told me what you did, I thought I’d lost you.”
He sounded nothing like the man who had thrown his ring across the chapel and promised to make my life a living hell.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I’m so sorry for what I said before the announcement. I didn’t mean it. I was angry, and I took it out on you, and I’ll never forgive myself if—” His arms tightened around me.
“I won’t let them hurt you. I swear it. I’ll find a way out of this. I’ll find a way back to you.”
Tears streamed down my face, not for me but for him.
For the woman he thought he was holding.
I glanced toward the foot of the bed.
Lord Aven watched for a moment longer, then turned and left the room without a sound, pulling the door shut behind him.
The soft click of the latch was the loneliest sound I had ever heard.
Then Roderic kissed me.
It was gentle at first.
Tentative, searching, then his lips moved against mine slowly, tasting, savouring.
His hand cupped my face, and his thumb traced the line of my jaw.
Suddenly, the tenderness shifted.
His mouth pressed harder against mine, and his tongue parted my lips, deepening the kiss until I couldn’t breathe.
His hands slid down my body, one gripping my waist, the other tracing the curve of my hip, pulling me flush against him until there was no space left between us.
He was still fully clothed, and the rough fabric of his shirt scraped against my bare skin as he rolled on top of me.
He broke the kiss long enough to pull the shirt over his head, and then his mouth was on my neck, giving me hot, open-mouthed kisses, trailing from my jaw to my collarbone to the hollow of my throat.
I gasped, my body responding before my mind could stop it.
I shouldn’t be enjoying this.
My back arched into him, my fingers gripped his shoulders, and he groaned against my skin, the sound vibrating through my chest.
His mouth moved lower, and his lips closed around one breast.
I bit down on my knuckle to keep from crying out.
His tongue circled slowly while his hand found the other, kneading and stroking until my breath came in ragged, broken pieces.
“Lysara,” he murmured against my skin.
“I’ve missed you.”
Every word was a knife, and a lie, and my treacherous body responded to all of it.
To his warmth, to the weight of him above me, to the desperate tenderness of a man making love to a ghost.
His hand trailed down my stomach, past my navel, until his fingers found the heat between my thighs.
I tensed, and he felt it.
“It’s alright,” he whispered, kissing the tears on my cheeks without understanding them.
“I’ll be gentle.”
He was.
He positioned himself between my legs, his forehead resting against mine, his dark eyes searching my face in the candlelight.
Then he pressed forward slowly, and a sharp, tearing pain ripped through me.
I cried out, my fingers digging into his back, and he stopped immediately, holding himself still, pressing soft kisses to my temple.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed.
“I’m sorry — I’ll wait—”
He waited until my body softened around him and the pain dulled into a deep, unfamiliar ache, and then he began to move.
Slowly at first, his hips rocking gently against mine.
His breath was hot against my ear, his hands bracing on either side of my head, and with every thrust, he whispered Lysara’s name.
The pleasure built despite everything.
Slow and awful, rising through the grief and the horror and the numbness until my body trembled beneath him and my lips parted and sounds I didn’t recognise escaped my throat.
He buried his face in my neck, and his rhythm quickened.
He went deeper, harder, his control fraying at the edges.
His groans grew louder, his grip on my hips tightened, and when he finally shuddered above me with a broken gasp, he held me so tightly I thought my ribs would crack.
Afterwards, he pulled me against his chest and fell asleep within minutes, his arm draped over my waist and his breath warm against the back of my neck.
I lay in the dark, my body aching, the space between my thighs sore and slick, the scent of him everywhere.
He had been gentle and loving.
He had whispered promises and apologies and held me like I was the most precious thing in his world, yet none of it was for me.
I pressed my face into the pillow and, finally, for the first time since the clearing, I wept.