The Court Wedding
The courthouse smelled faintly of old paper and polished floors. A dull hum of distant conversation lingered in the halls, but the room they stood in was mostly quiet—sterile, sunlit, and plain.
Anacelia stood still, her fingers cold despite the warm spring morning. Her hair was swept into a low bun with soft strands curling down the sides of her face. The simple white dress she wore hugged her delicate frame, cinched at the waist with a modest ribbon. It wasn't extravagant—but she looked breathtaking. Her skin glowed like honey under the sunlight filtering through the high windows, and her violet eyes, unreadable as ever, kept flicking to the heavy courthouse door.
She hadn't seen him yet.
Not the man she was about to marry.
Her heart thudded as the door finally opened.
And in walked Darius Vale.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in an immaculately tailored black suit that fit like it had been sewn onto his body. His shirt was crisp white beneath a black vest, the top button undone just enough to show a smooth expanse of skin and the hint of a chain resting against his collarbone.
His dark hair was pushed back, though a few strands rebelliously curled at his temple. Eyes the color of storms met hers—cold, unreadable, and ancient. His jaw was sharp, the faintest shadow of stubble giving him a dangerous edge, like a villain in a myth come to life.
Theo followed behind, more relaxed, in a dark gray suit and a crooked grin on his face. He gave Anacelia a wink.
Darius said nothing. He simply looked at her—and for a moment, she felt like the only person in the world.
Her breath caught.
She hated how attractive he was. How magnetic. It made this feel worse.
"This is him?" Brielle whispered from behind her.
Her tone was low, almost inaudible, but Anacelia didn't miss the sharp edge of surprise in her voice.
Brielle's eyes scanned over Darius again, slower this time. Her painted lips parted slightly, brow furrowing just enough to show confusion… and something else. Her gaze shifted between Darius's expensive shoes, his expensive suit, the sleek car she had seen him step out of.
This wasn't some desperate middle-aged man clawing at a second chance. This was power in human form. This was wealth. Prestige. Danger.
And he had picked Anacelia.
Something inside Brielle shifted—just a flicker—but it was enough.
The officiant cleared his throat, snapping the room back into motion.
Marcus gave Anacelia a tight, apologetic smile as he gently placed her hand in Darius's. She didn't look at her father. She didn't look at anyone.
Only at Darius.
"Let's get this over with," she said flatly.
His lips twitched—barely.
"As you wish," he replied.
The vows were short. Mechanical. No poetry. No rings. Just names on paper and a signature that bound her to a man she still didn't know.
But she felt it when his fingers brushed hers, signing beside her. A strange warmth spread up her wrist like a brand.
She pulled away quickly.
"Congratulations," the officiant said, not unkindly. "You're now legally husband and wife."
Anacelia didn't smile.
Darius didn't blink.
Theo clapped once. "Romantic."
Brielle stood stiffly to the side, arms crossed. Her gaze didn't leave Darius.
He didn't glance at her—not even once.
.........
In the car
…
The car was too quiet.
Anacelia sat with her hands folded tightly in her lap, staring out the tinted window as the city slipped past in streaks of sunlight and shadow. The interior smelled like expensive leather and cologne—clean, masculine, cold.
Darius hadn't spoken since they left the courthouse.
He sat beside her, silent as stone, one arm resting casually on the door, the other on his thigh. His posture screamed confidence—ease—but she could feel the tension beneath it. Or maybe it was just her own nerves bouncing off him.
She exhaled shakily, her chest tight beneath the thin white fabric of her dress.
Seventeen.
She was seventeen. Married. Legally bound to a man she didn't know.
A stranger.
A very rich, very dangerous stranger.
Her jaw clenched as her thoughts turned to her father. He didn't even try that hard to fight for her. He had looked her in the eye and handed her off, begging her like she was his last coin to spend. He said it would save their family. He said she was strong.
But she wasn't.
Not really.
She was just tired. Tired of pretending not to be afraid. Tired of being quiet while everyone else made decisions around her.
She glanced sideways at Darius. He didn't look at her.
He hadn't smiled once.
Hadn't congratulated her. Hadn't said a single comforting thing.
Not that she expected him to. But still.
"You really don't talk much, do you?" she mumbled without thinking.
Darius's gaze shifted to her, slow and deliberate.
"Is that what you want?" he said, his voice low and smooth. "Small talk?"
She looked away quickly. "Forget it."
"You're seventeen," he said then.
Her heart skipped. "So?"
"Nothing," he said, looking back out his own window. "Just surprising how much fire your father packed into someone so small."
Her spine stiffened. "He didn't pack anything into me. I didn't do this for him."
Darius didn't respond.
And somehow, that made her feel more alone than if he'd yelled.
The silence returned, thick and heavy, humming beneath her skin.
The city outside kept moving. Life went on, and here she was—newly married to a man who hadn't looked her in the eye more than twice.
Maybe he's angry too, she thought bitterly. Maybe he didn't want this either.
"I didn't," he said quietly.
Her head snapped toward him. "What?"
Darius didn't turn. His gaze was on the road ahead, his profile sharp and unreadable. "Want this," he said, voice low. "In case you were wondering."
She blinked, throat dry. "Are you—can you—?"
"Not your thoughts," he murmured. "Just your silence. It's loud."
Anacelia flushed, embarrassed and confused. She curled her fingers tighter in her lap.
"Great," she muttered. "So I'm loud even when I'm quiet."
A corner of his mouth lifted. Not quite a smile, but something close.
"You were crying," he said after a pause.
Her face burned. "You didn't even look at me."
"I didn't need to."
He said it like a fact. Like he just knew her.
She turned away again, chin lifting stubbornly. "Well, I'm fine now."
Darius hummed, unconvinced. "Sure you are."
The silence stretched again, and Anacelia tried not to let it press down on her chest. She had never felt smaller. Never felt younger.
A flash of memory: her mother brushing her hair as a little girl, saying how she'd marry someone gentle. Someone who would love her with soft hands and kind eyes.
That dream was already dead.
She looked back at Darius again. He hadn't changed his expression.
"Why me?" she asked suddenly. "You could've had anyone. Why a girl from some forgotten debt?"
His jaw ticked. "Because it didn't matter to me."
Her stomach dropped.
"But now…" he added, quietly. "I think it's starting to."
He didn't explain further.
And she didn't ask.
The car made a final turn, gliding onto a narrower road. The pavement gave way to gravel, the soft crunch beneath the tires breaking the silence.
Anacelia blinked against the sunlight filtering through the dense canopy of trees. The forest here was unlike anything she had ever seen—older, darker, its towering pines rising like watchful sentinels. Shafts of light broke through in patches, spotlighting moss-covered stones and clusters of wildflowers that looked untouched by time.
Then, the trees parted.
And the estate appeared.
Her breath caught.
It wasn't a mansion in the typical sense. No, this place—whatever it was—looked like something out of a forgotten era. Stone and timber, towering arches, ivy clinging to the walls. Tall windows glinted in the sunlight, some half-covered by thick vines. It felt ancient. Regal. And wild.
It didn't belong in this world.
She leaned forward slightly in her seat, eyes wide. Where are we? The city was long gone. This was somewhere deep in the wilderness. She didn't even remember how long they'd been driving.
A tall iron gate came into view. This time, she noticed two guards flanking either side of it, dressed in sleek black with silver pins at their collars. They didn't move—not until the car rolled to a stop.
One stepped forward and gave a deep, respectful nod toward the passenger side.
"Welcome home, Alpha," the guard said clearly.
Anacelia blinked.
She glanced at Cedric. Then at Darius, who hadn't responded beyond a silent nod of acknowledgment.
The gates creaked open, smooth and controlled.
As they drove through, she caught sight of more people near the estate—two women trimming hedges, a man carrying wood, another tending to flower beds. All of them paused.
Heads lowered. Bows were given.
"Welcome, sir," one murmured.
"Glad to have you back, Alpha," said another.
No one looked her way.
All eyes were on him.
The car slowed as they pulled into a circular drive lined with black lanterns. The main house rose before them like a stone fortress, beautiful and intimidating. Two tall wolf statues flanked the wide stair, their eyes carved with eerie precision.
Anacelia's gaze lingered on them. They looked too real.
The car came to a smooth stop.
The door beside her opened.
Standing outside was a woman—elegant and commanding. Silver hair braided neatly down her back, and a dark emerald dress that shimmered like leaves under stormlight. Her posture was perfect, her expression warm but poised.
"You must be Anacelia," she said gently, her voice soft but threaded with authority.
"I'm Elira. Welcome."
Anacelia stepped out slowly, gravel crunching beneath her shoes. Her legs felt unsteady, her heart beating too fast. She looked around. Everyone she'd seen had greeted him with a reverence that left a weight in the air. It wasn't just respect.
It was something else.
Elira gestured toward the house.
"You've had a long day. Come, let's get you settled."
But Anacelia didn't move. Her eyes swept over the towering stone, the balconies, the way the light flickered from lanterns despite the fading sun.
"This isn't… anywhere near the city," she murmured.
"No," Elira said simply. "It isn't."
Somewhere in the forest beyond the estate, a distant howl echoed—lonely and wild.
Anacelia swallowed and followed.