The heavy oak door of the bridal chamber clicked shut behind Magna, sealing away the last echoes of the banquet's distant murmur and the oppressive weight of Lucien's final, piercing gaze. Alone now, in what was ostensibly her new bridal suite, Magna's fingers tightened around the delicate stem of her wine glass, its crystal cool against her trembling hand.
The room was grand, perhaps intended to impress, but to Magna it felt like a gilded cage. A massive hearth dominated one wall, its fire roaring too brightly, casting dancing shadows that swallowed the corners and made the intricate tapestries lining the walls seem to writhe.
The air was thick with the lingering scent of moonflower garlands, the cloying sweetness of Xianthos' traditional death bloom, a morbid irony for a room meant for new beginnings. And then there was the bed—a colossal four-poster, draped in dark velvet hangings, too large, too opulent, too terribly present in its unspoken purpose.
Magna walked to the arched windows, her shimmering gold gown, its black beadwork glinting, feeling like a costume, not her skin. Moonlight streamed in, painting silver streaks across the polished marble floor. She pressed her palm against the cool glass, staring out at the formidable silhouette of the Moon Tower, its spiral stairs a grim reminder of the solitude she'd endured in her first life. Even though Lucien had declared she would be housed in the Jade Wing, the proximity to the Moon Tower felt like a looming shadow.
She was utterly alone. No, not entirely. She was alone with her thoughts, alone with the chilling memories of what this wedding, this prince, this palace had once meant for her. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. She had escaped Lucien's direct claim, yes, but at what cost? She was now bound to Leolvhant, a prince whose true intentions remained a delightful mystery shrouded in witty barbs. He was her shield, her means to an end, but how much could she trust him? The thought of navigating this new deceit, this elaborate charade, filled her with a profound weariness.
A sharp rap, then a soft click, announced a presence at the door. Magna instinctively stiffened, her hand tightening around her wine glass.
The heavy oak door swung inward, revealing Leolvhant. He stepped into the chamber, his royal blue robes flowing elegantly around him, the intricate jade and turquoise embellishments on his shoulders catching the moonlight. His honey-gold hair seemed to glow, and his piercing emerald green eyes, which had been sharp and focused at the banquet, now held a softer, though still watchful, intensity. He closed the door quietly behind him, sealing away the last sounds of the distant court.
He didn't speak immediately, but set his glass aside on a small, ornate table with deliberate care. Then, he turned to face her, his gaze sweeping over the room, assessing its grandiosity, before settling on her.
In the quiet intimacy of the chamber, without an audience to perform for, he looked different. The careful charm he wore like armor in public, the playful nonchalance that had just defied a king and queen, had slipped. Beneath it, something sharper, more guarded, and intensely focused was revealed. His emerald green eyes were darker now, more fathomless, reflecting the flickering firelight with an almost preternatural depth. The candlelight caught the honey-gold of his hair, turning it molten where it brushed his shoulders, accentuating the natural waves.
She realized with sudden discomfort that he was studying her just as intently, his gaze tracing the delicate line of her throat down to where her fingers worried compulsively at the bangle on her wrist. He wasn't just looking; he was seeing, dissecting her reactions, reading her unspoken thoughts.
"Stop that," she muttered, taking a too-large sip of the rich red wine, the unexpected tartness a jolt against her tongue.
"Stop what?" His voice was softer now, devoid of its public theatricality, a low, resonant murmur.
"Looking at me like you're trying to solve me."
A ghost of a smile, fleeting and almost sad, touched his lips. "Perhaps I am. You are, after all, a most intriguing puzzle, Princess. One intricately tied to my own."
The silence stretched, thick with unspoken assessments, the unspoken agreement that a strange, dangerous alliance had just been forged between them. The air thrummed with a nervous energy, like two predatory creatures assessing each other before an uneasy truce.
Leolvhant moved first, breaking the spell. He crossed to the carved table where a servant had left a decanter of amber liquor, rich and dark. He poured two measures, the liquid catching firelight as it splashed into crystal tumblers, the clink of glass surprisingly loud in the quiet room.
"We should establish boundaries," he said, his back to her, his voice carefully neutral. He turned, holding out a glass.
Magna took it, their fingers brushing. A spark, sharp and startling in its intensity, jumped between them, a sudden jolt of unexpected awareness. She covered her reaction with a too-quick sip, the potent liquor burning a fiery path down her throat, a welcome distraction from the unexpected contact.
"First," he began, leaning casually against the robust, dark wooden bedpost, "whatever is said between us in this room, stays between us. No matter what happens beyond these walls, no matter who questions us, no matter the future."
"Agreed." The word came easily, a truth ingrained in her very being. Secrets were the one currency she understood, the only way she'd survived her previous life.
"Second—we trust each other's plays in public. Even when every instinct screams otherwise. Even when it makes no sense, or seems to put us in greater danger."
Her grip tightened on her glass, the crystal almost protesting. That one would be harder. Her instincts had been sharpened by betrayal; trusting anyone felt like a death sentence.
Leolvhant watched her struggle, his emerald eyes unreadable, yet patient. He didn't press.
"Third—either of us can walk away from this... arrangement. No explanations owed, no lingering resentments. If one of us wishes to end the pretense, the other will respect it."
The fire popped, sending embers skittering across the hearth, a tiny, harmless explosion.
"Fourth," Magna countered, meeting his gaze, her voice firm despite the burning in her throat. "No physical pretense in private unless mutually agreed. And wine doesn't count as agreement." She emphasized the last part, a challenge, a subtle warning against any presumption of intimacy.
His lips quirked, a genuine flash of amusement reaching his emerald eyes. "Fair enough, Princess. My virtue, though long-suffering, thanks you for the consideration." He pushed away from the bedpost, moving to stand a few feet from her.
"Fifth—we sell the romance outside this room. Every glance, every touch, every whispered word must convince the court. We must be the very picture of newlywed bliss, and our unity must be absolute."
"Sixth," she said, meeting his eyes squarely, her own resolve hardening, "our families are off limits. No matter what. Their past actions, their true loyalties, remain unspoken between us unless absolutely necessary for survival." This was a safeguard, for both of them, against the inevitable truths that might emerge.
Leolvhant inclined his head, the motion making moonlight slide along his strong jawline, illuminating the delicate curve of his ear and the jade earring that shimmered there. "A wise boundary, Princess. Indeed."
"And seventh," he finished softly, his emerald eyes holding hers, their depths seeming to reflect the heavy secrets they both carried, "we don't ask why the other is really here. We're both using this marriage for our own purposes. That's all that matters. No probing questions about how we know what we know, or why we seek to change it. We act, and we trust the other's action in the moment."
The words should have felt cold, pragmatic, devoid of emotion. Instead, they settled between them like a challenge—or a strange, fragile promise of understanding that transcended their bizarre situation.
Silence stretched, unexpectedly comfortable in a way that defied reason. They should have been strangers, thrust into an impossible situation, and yet... there was an unspoken recognition, a shared burden that forged an immediate, if precarious, bond.
Magna set her glass down with a decisive click, the sound echoing in the stillness. Leolvhant raised a brow, a silent question.
"That bed could fit five people," she continued, gesturing to the massive four-poster with its dark velvet hangings. "We'll draw a line down the middle if you're so worried about your virtue, Prince."
His startled laugh was warmer than she expected, rich and unguarded, filling the room with an unexpected lightness. "My virtue, Princess," he said, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye, "was sacrificed to politics long ago. But the offer of ample personal space is indeed tempting."
They ended up lying stiffly side by side, Magna on the side closer to the windows, Leolvhant on the side closer to the door, a careful foot of space between them. The fire burned low, casting long, dancing shadows that stretched across the ceiling. Somewhere beyond the arched windows, an owl called, its mournful cry a stark counterpoint to the uneasy quiet within.
It was Leolvhant who broke the silence first, exhaling sharply through his nose, a sound of almost comical exasperation. "This is absurd."
Magna turned her head on the soft pillow, finding him already looking at her, his emerald eyes crinkled at the corners with lingering amusement. Something in her chest, wound tight with tension, loosened, a small, unexpected release.
"I've slept in war tents surrounded by enemy soldiers," she admitted softly, her voice barely a whisper in the dark. "And yet this feels..."
"More dangerous?" he finished, his voice equally quiet, understanding.
The word hung between them, charged and fragile, a shared truth.
They fell asleep like that—separate but together, two sharp-edged pieces finding an unexpected fit in the precarious landscape of their new reality. And for the first time since her rebirth, Magna didn't feel entirely alone in the dark.