When Eleanor woke, it was to the sound of paper turning.
Not hurried. Not restless. Just a steady, deliberate rustle, each page moved with the same care as a sword being drawn from its sheath.
For a moment she didn't know where she was.
The world swam — the heavy velvet canopy above her, the faint scent of leather and lavender, the distant crackle of a fire somewhere to her right. Her body felt heavy, a bone-deep fatigue wrapping around her like a second set of blankets.
Then it came back to her.
The bite.
The heat in her skin.
The way her knees had buckled before everything had gone black.
Her fingers curled into the bed linens. She pushed herself up, slow and shaky, her gaze darting around the room.
He was there.
The Grand Duke Casimir sat on the sofa by the fire, one leg crossed over the other, a stack of papers in his lap. His coat was off, shirt sleeves rolled neatly to the elbow, exposing forearms marked with faint scars. His butler — silent as always — stood a few paces away, having moved a small writing desk into the chamber. A pot of ink sat on one corner, flanked by an untouched cup of coffee that had long since gone cold.
Casimir's eyes were on the papers, but Eleanor felt, with an uncomfortable certainty, that he had known she was awake from the moment her breathing changed.
She shifted against the pillows, the movement drawing his gaze.
Just like that, the papers ceased to exist for him.
He set them aside, leaning back slightly, his red eyes tracking her like a hawk watching something it owned.
"You're awake," he said, his voice low — not warm, but… focused. As though her consciousness had just rearranged his priorities.
Eleanor swallowed, her throat dry. "Why… am I here?"
It wasn't the question she had meant to ask. But it was the only one her mouth could form.
"You fainted," he said simply. "I wasn't going to leave you on the floor."
The memory of his mouth on her neck flared hot and unwanted in her mind. She pressed her lips together, searching for something to anchor herself with. "I didn't ask to—"
"I'm not here to discuss that," he cut in, his tone a razor's edge wrapped in velvet. "And I'm not here to play at court games."
Her stomach knotted. "Then what—?"
"I will not break our engagement," he said, each word delivered like a verdict. "Nor will I officially announce anything regarding it."
The breath left her lungs in a slow, unsteady sigh. For a heartbeat, she had thought… No. She shouldn't have thought anything. But the ache behind her eyes was sudden and sharp all the same.
Her mind reached for reasons — political, personal, anything that could make sense of this. And then it struck her, as sudden and sour as spoiled wine.
The emperor.
The rumors.
She had heard them whispered in drawing rooms and market stalls alike — that the emperor had once tried to marry his daughter to the young Grand Duke. That Casimir, at seventeen, had refused outright. That the refusal had been an insult so deep, the emperor had exiled him to the bloodiest fronts in the empire's wars. The battlefields had been his home for years. The exile, his punishment.
And now, if the emperor meant to secure that same marriage for her sister, then—
Her chest tightened. "So that's it," she said quietly. "You're protecting her."
Casimir's gaze didn't flicker. He didn't confirm it. He didn't deny it. He simply regarded her in silence, and that silence told her more than words ever could.
She let out a brittle little laugh. "It makes sense. The emperor has wanted that match for years, hasn't he? And if marrying me keeps him from forcing your hand again, then—"
"I said I wouldn't discuss it," he interrupted, his voice flat.
The weight in the air pressed harder against her ribs. She wanted to keep pressing — wanted to demand the truth — but she saw it in his face: the wall he had no intention of letting her climb.
Her hands clenched in the blankets. "Then solve this," she said finally, the words coming out sharper than she'd planned.
He didn't answer. He simply picked up another paper, the rustle of it louder than the fire's crackle. The dismissal was clear.
She stared at him, her pulse a restless drum in her ears. If he wouldn't end it, then… fine. She would change the rules herself.
"I have another proposal," she said, her voice cooling. "A contract marriage."
His hand stilled over the paper. He looked up at her slowly, and something in his expression shifted — a faint spark, as if she had just said something that amused him.
"A contract," he repeated, as though tasting the word.
"Yes," she said. "For both our sakes. You maintain the alliance. My family gets protection from the loan sharks circling us. And I…" Her voice almost caught, but she forced it steady. "…I keep my freedom."
His mouth curved in something that wasn't quite a smile. "And what do I get?"
"You get the same thing I do," she said. "Personal space. Privacy. And… chastity."
That pulled a soft, low chuckle from him. He rose from the sofa with unhurried grace, his height suddenly filling the room as he crossed to the bed. The firelight caught in his hair, in the faint red glint of his eyes.
Eleanor's pulse stuttered as he stopped at the edge of the bed, close enough that the scent of him — leather, steel, and something darker — pushed into her lungs.
He extended his hand. "Give me yours."
She hesitated. "Why?"
"Because," he said, his voice a quiet command, "contracts are sealed with hands before they're written in ink."
Her gaze flicked to his, holding it. "If we do this, then we respect each other's boundaries. No… incidents."
The faint smirk tugged at his mouth again. "We'll see."
She didn't take his hand right away. It hovered between them — long fingers, the faint sheen of calluses, a grip she knew could break bone if he chose.
Her pulse beat against her ribs. "If we do this," she said again, "it will be clear. Written. Signed. Respected."
He studied her face like he was reading a new language. "You're certain you want to bargain with me?"
"Yes."
"I've always liked your stubbornness."
She ignored the remark and lifted her chin. "Do you agree?"
Instead of answering, Casimir stepped closer — not around the bed, but onto it. The mattress dipped under his weight, tilting her slightly toward him. He came to sit at the edge, their knees inches apart.
She froze.
The air shifted — thicker now, her breath catching in her throat. He didn't touch her, not yet, but his presence pressed in on her until it felt like leaning back was the only way to keep from drowning in it.
"Tell me the terms," he said softly.
She steadied her voice. "We will present ourselves as husband and wife in public. No public disputes, no scandals. In private, we keep separate rooms — when possible. We do not interfere in each other's personal matters."
His eyes glinted faintly in the firelight. "And?"
"And no… intimacy," she said, her cheeks warming despite her best effort. "Not now, not later. This is a marriage on paper, not in practice."
He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. "No intimacy?"
"None."
A pause — and then a quiet laugh, low enough to send a shiver up her spine. "You set your boundaries boldly, Princess. You've forgotten something important, though."
Her brows knit. "What?"
"That a contract is only as strong as the will to enforce it."
Before she could reply, he reached forward and took her hand. His palm was warm, his grip firm without hurting. Her breath hitched — not from the contact itself, but from the way his gaze locked on hers as he held it.
"Do you think," he said slowly, "that paper and ink will keep me from crossing a line if I truly wish to?"
She tried to pull her hand back, but he didn't let go. "If you want me to believe in this, you'll respect it," she said, matching his gaze with her own.
Another pause. His thumb brushed lightly across her knuckles — an almost gentle motion, though it felt less like affection and more like possession. "Perhaps I will. Perhaps I won't."
Her frustration sparked. "Then why agree at all?"
"Because you intrigue me." His voice was low, almost conversational. "Because you've walked into my mansion and tried to make rules for the grand duke. And because… your idea has merit."
He finally released her hand, but only to lean back and study her anew. "Very well. We'll have your contract marriage. But understand something—" His tone sharpened. "It will be on my terms as well as yours."
Eleanor steadied herself. "Then name them."
"One," he said, holding up a finger. "You will remain here until the contract is signed, sealed, and witnessed. No visits to the Marquis. No letters to him, either."
Her breath caught, but she forced herself to nod slowly.
"Two — in public, you will play the part of my wife convincingly. No whispers of discord, no suggestion that our union is anything less than strong."
"That was already my intent."
"And three…" He let the pause stretch until her pulse was loud in her ears. "…you will come to me when I call you. No excuses."
She stiffened. "For what purpose?"
He only smiled — a slow, knowing smile that gave away nothing. "For whatever I decide is necessary."
She opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again. If she refused now, the entire fragile possibility of this contract would vanish. And she needed it — for her father's debts, for her family's safety, for the thin shield it would place between her and the Emperor's schemes.
Finally, she said, "Agreed. On the condition that you do not break the personal boundaries I've set."
That earned another quiet chuckle. "We'll see how long those boundaries last."
Her pulse stumbled, heat creeping up her neck. "Then… we have an agreement?"
Casimir reached forward again, and this time when he took her hand, his grip was almost gentle. He held it for a long moment, then lifted it slightly — not to kiss it, but to press his thumb into the soft skin at the base of her palm. It was a strangely intimate gesture, one that felt like both a seal and a warning.
"Yes," he said finally. "We have an agreement."
When he released her, she exhaled slowly, feeling the phantom weight of his hand linger even as he rose from the bed.
"I'll have the terms drafted tomorrow," he said over his shoulder as he returned to the sofa. "Until then, rest. You look ready to faint again."
Her teeth clenched. "That only happened because—" She stopped herself, biting back the accusation.
He glanced at her, that faint smirk tugging at his mouth again. "Because what, Princess?"
She said nothing.
Casimir turned back to his papers, but she knew his attention hadn't truly left her. And as she lay back against the pillows, staring at the flickering shadows on the ceiling, she wondered if she had just trapped herself in something far more dangerous than she'd intended.