Ronan lay on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, staring at the ceiling. The candlelight had dimmed, leaving the chamber in a soft golden haze.
The room smelled of wine and burning wax, rich and heady, but the only thing occupying his mind was the woman lying at the very edge of the bed, as if she wanted to put as much distance between them as possible.
Selene was curled onto her side, her back facing him, her breathing slow but uneven. She was still awake.
He smirked to himself.
This was his wedding night. He was married. He, King Ronan of the seven Kingdoms, had a queen sleeping just inches away from him, yet she treated him like he was a monster lurking in the shadows.
He supposed he couldn't blame her.
Selene intrigued him in ways no other woman ever had. She was stunning, yes—but it wasn't just that. There was something in the way she carried herself, in the way she spoke, in the way she had climbed into his lap earlier with such boldness.
Ronan turned his head slightly, watching her from the corner of his eye. The moonlight spilled through the window, casting a soft glow on her profile. Her dark hair pooled over the pillow, her features delicate, almost peaceful.
She looked like something carved by the gods themselves.
And yet, she lay as far from him as possible, her body stiff, as if the mere thought of touching him repulsed her.
He exhaled, a mix of amusement and frustration curling in his chest.
Would she fight him forever? Would she deny him until the end?
Ronan wasn't a patient man, but tonight, he had given her what she wanted. Space. Time. His first act of love, if it could even be called that.
But how much time would she need?
Because no matter how strong his self-control was, lying next to a woman like her, smelling her delicate floral scent, knowing she was his wife in every way but one… was nothing short of torture.
Still, he would endure it. For now.
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to sleep.
---
Selene stared at the wall, her heartbeat steady but her mind racing.
She couldn't sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes of fire. Her father's face. Her home burning to the ground. The screams. The blood.
And the man responsible for it all lay just behind her, breathing evenly, his presence a heavy weight in the room.
Her fingers curled into the sheets.
She had prepared herself for this mission, trained for it, accepted that it would be the hardest thing she had ever done. But nothing—nothing—had prepared her for the moment her power failed her.
Why?
Her ability worked on everyone. She could make soldiers drop to their knees with a whisper, make men obey her without question, make them weak with the barest touch.
But not him.
Why?
What was he?
The thought made her stomach twist. If she had no control over him, how could she ever hope to complete her mission?
She needed time to think. Time to figure this out.
And time to delay the consummation.
Her chest tightened at the thought. She was lucky—Ronan hadn't forced himself on her tonight. She had expected him to. She had braced herself for it. But instead, he had given her space, even when she knew it had cost him.
She should be grateful.
But all she felt was dread.
Because how long would his patience last?
She swallowed, her throat dry. She had to find another way. A way to get close to him, to learn his weaknesses, to destroy him the way he had destroyed her family.
But tonight, she could do nothing.
Tonight, all she could do was wait.
Selene closed her eyes, praying for morning to come faster.
---
When the first rays of sunlight spilled through the windows, Selene was already awake.
She had barely slept, her body too tense, her mind too restless. The warmth of Ronan's presence behind her had been a constant reminder of where she was, of what she was up against.
But now, the sun had risen. And with it, her chance to put some distance between them.
Slowly, carefully, she shifted, preparing to slip out of bed without waking him.
But the moment she moved—
A hand shot out, wrapping firmly around her wrist.
Selene froze.
Ronan's grip was firm but not painful, his skin warm against hers.
"Running away already?" His voice was husky with sleep, deeper, rougher.
She swallowed, forcing her expression to remain calm. "I wasn't running. I was just…"
His fingers tightened slightly. "Just?"
She turned to face him, keeping her features carefully neutral. His dark hair was tousled, his bare chest partially exposed beneath the sheets, and his golden eyes—still heavy with sleep—watched her with something burning at their depths.
"I wanted to get dressed," she said softly. "Start the day."
He hummed, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against her wrist. "And here I thought you might want to stay in bed a little longer."
Selene forced a small smile. "I'm not much of a morning lounger."
Ronan smirked but released her. "Fine. Go, then. But don't avoid me all day, wife."
She nodded, slipping out of bed before he could change his mind.
But just as she reached the doors, a sharp knock echoed from the other side.
She froze.
Ronan exhaled heavily, already knowing who it was. "Come in," he called, his voice carrying that lazy authority that made it impossible to disobey.
The doors creaked open, and a group of elderly maids shuffled inside. Their movements were practiced, their expressions neutral—but Selene noticed the way their eyes moved to the bed with expectation.
The oldest of them, a sharp-eyed woman with silver-streaked hair, stepped forward. She approached the bed with slow, deliberate steps, then stopped, waiting.
Ronan sighed and pushed the covers aside, rising to his feet with a stretch. He knew the drill. It was tradition, after all.
The maid—Greta, swiftly pulled back the sheets, her gaze scanning the white fabric. Her expression barely changed, but Selene didn't miss the way her fingers curled slightly at her sides.
Her eyes darted to Ronan, wide with disbelief.
Ronan ran a hand through his hair, clearly unbothered. "We were tired, Greta," he said casually. "Don't make a fuss over it."
Greta's lips thinned, her disappointment evident.
It was only then that realization slammed into Selene.
The blood.
A wedding night was supposed to be witnessed in this way. The sheets would have served as proof of her virtue, a sign that the marriage had been properly consummated. It was a sacred tradition—one that would have been celebrated.
Her stomach twisted.
Greta turned sharply, her gaze settling on Selene. For a moment, there was nothing but silence—thick, suffocating. Then, Greta let out a huff of disapproval before storming away, her presence leaving an air of quiet judgment in its wake.
The other maids followed, whispering amongst themselves as they exited.
The doors shut, leaving Ronan and Selene alone once more.
Ronan let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Strange tradition," he mused. "But important."
Selene swallowed, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "I know."
Then, without another word, she bolted for the exit, her heart hammering in her chest.