The chamber glowed with muted candlelight, the rose-scented air heavy with unspoken expectations. For a moment, silence hung between them, fractured only by the sound of Alexander's measured breathing.
At last, he called in a firm, steady voice:
"Damien."
The door creaked, and the loyal knight stepped back into the chamber. "My prince?"
"Assist me to bed." Alexander's tone carried finality.
Damien moved forward, his hands already reaching to steady the chair. But before he could touch it, Sophia's voice rang clear.
"No."
Both men froze.
Sophia stepped forward, her gown trailing against the polished floor, dark eyes set with quiet determination.
"He is my husband now," she said softly but firmly. "This is my duty. I will care for him tonight."
Damien's brows furrowed, confusion warring with instinctive respect. His gaze flicked to Alexander, awaiting command.
Alexander's storm-gray eyes hardened instantly. His hand clenched on the armrest of the chair. "Do not mistake this marriage for license, Lady Valehart," he said, his voice low and biting. "I will not be your charity project. If pity is all you bring, leave it outside these doors."
Sophia didn't flinch. "This is not pity, Your Highness. It is respect. And respect requires I do my part, not hide behind others while you endure alone."
For a brief second, something flickered in his gaze, an emotion too fleeting to name. Then, with cold finality, he spoke: "Enough. You will go to your chambers. Change into something befitting a bride and then return."
His words were not a request but an order.
Sophia's lips parted as though to argue, but she caught herself. His pride was a fortress she would not topple tonight. Lowering her lashes, she gave a graceful bow. "As you wish, my prince."
When she swept from the chamber, the air seemed to lighten, though only marginally. Damien's jaw tightened as he leaned down. "Forgive me, my lord. She meant no insult."
Alexander's expression was unreadable, but his voice was softer than before. "It does not matter. Assist me."
Damien obeyed, lifting him with practiced care, helping him change into his night attire and settle onto the bed. A bath had already been prepared, steam rising in the adjoining chamber; the ritual of cleansing was done swiftly, Damien moving with discretion and loyalty.
By the time Sophia returned, hair unbound and clad in a silken robe of pale ivory, Alexander was already reclined against embroidered pillows, his hair damp from the bath, his sharp features softened by flickering candlelight.
Her steps faltered. He looked more like a fallen god than a crippled prince—untouchable, distant, yet breathtaking.
His eyes opened as she entered, sweeping over her in silence. No words of welcome, only acknowledgment. She walked to her side of the bed, her heart pounding in quiet rebellion against her calm exterior.
They lay separated by space, yet the tension bridged every inch between them.
Alexander's thoughts were a storm. She thinks me fragile. No… she thinks me human. Dangerous, either way.
Sophia's mind raced. He sees my actions as pity. How can I show him it is not? How can I make him trust me?
Minutes stretched into hours. The scent of roses mingled with the faint musk of his freshly washed skin. The warmth of his body seeped into the air between them, pulling at her like a tide. More than once, she caught her breath at the brush of his sleeve, at the awareness of him only an arm's length away.
Alexander turned once, his storm-gray eyes catching hers in the dim light. For an instant, the heat of unspoken possibility clouded the air. Her pulse quickened, his breath stilled—then both turned away at once, pretending indifference.
It was a long night. A restless night. And yet, for the first time, neither slept alone.