Elowen had always understood what marriage required of her. The lessons were woven gently into her upbringing, spoken of in careful terms, and finished with reassurances about duty and continuity. Still, now that the word belonged to her future, it felt heavier than it ever had before.
Consummation.
The thought followed her as she moved through the hall, quiet but insistent. It was not fear of the act itself that unsettled her most, but the man bound to it.
Prince Cassian did not strike her as patient.
Everything about him suggested command, expectation, and certainty. Men like that did not wait.
They took.
She wondered briefly and unwillingly, whether tenderness had ever been demanded of him or whether obedience had always sufficed.
The court's final formalities blurred together as they made their way outside. The evening air was cool, the sky bruised with the promise of night. Torches lined the stone path leading to the carriages that would take them from Aurelian and toward Solcar toward the life she was meant to accept without hesitation.
Cassian walked ahead of her, his presence unmistakable even in silence. The guards flanked them, armour glinting softly.
One misstep was all it took.
The sound was small. A scrape of a boot. A sharp intake of breath.
The guard froze, horrified, having stepped on the prince's foot in his haste to fall back into line.
"I beg your pardon, Your Highness," the man stammered.
Cassian stopped.
The world seemed to still be with him. He turned slowly, his expression unreadable, his voice calm enough to be terrifying.
"You will not touch me again."
The guard dropped to one knee at once. "Mercy, my prince."
Cassian did not raise his voice. He did not hesitate.
"Take him."
The order was given as if it meant nothing at all.
Elowen's breath caught as the guard was dragged away, his protests cut short, the meaning of what would follow unmistakable. No trial. No delay. Just consequence.
Her stomach twisted, not only with horror but with clarity. This was the man she was to share a bed with. A crown did not make cruelty softer. Power did not excuse it.
Cassian resumed walking as though nothing had occurred.
When he reached the carriage, he turned at last, his gaze settling on her. Up close, his authority pressed against her like heat, deliberate and unyielding.
"You look unsettled," he said. "I suggest you grow accustomed to how things are done in Solcar."
Elowen lifted her chin.
"If that is how justice is measured in your kingdom," she said evenly, "then I wonder how many men die simply to remind others where they stand."
For a moment, something flickered across his face. Surprise, perhaps. Or interest.
"You would do well to remember where you stand," he replied.
"I know exactly where I stand," she said. "Beside a man who confuses fear for loyalty."
Silence fell between them, sharp and exposed. Cassian studied her as though seeing her for the first time, his jaw tightening, his eyes darkening with something far more dangerous than anger.
He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, could sense the weight of his expectation pressing down.
"You will learn," he said quietly, his voice low and controlled, "that I do not tolerate defiance. Especially not from my wife."
His gaze lingered, slow and deliberate, leaving no doubt as to what he meant.
Then he turned, dismissing her with a single motion, and entered the carriage.
Elowen followed, her pulse racing, her fear sharpened by something else entirely.
He had made his dominance clear.
And she had made it clear she would not be easy to break.