The moment the ceremony ended, silence filled the chapel.
No one rushed forward.
No eager congratulations followed. No smiling nobles approached to offer blessings.
Freya blinked, glancing around.
Everyone watched.
But no one moved.
No one dared.
The nobles stood frozen in place, some forcing awkward smiles, others pretending sudden interest in anything but the newlywed couple before them.
As if approaching Soren Beaumont himself might somehow cost them their lives.
Freya slowly looked toward her husband.
Soren didn't seem surprised in the slightest.
In fact—
he looked bored.
As though this reaction was expected.
As though he had seen it a thousand times before.
That unsettled her more than if they had screamed.
Because no one feared a man like that without reason.
Finally, one trembling noble stepped halfway forward.
"Y-your Majesty, congratulations on—"
Soren looked at him.
And the man immediately paled.
Then stepped back.
"Never mind."
He practically fled.
Freya blinked.
"Cowards." he muttered.
She stared at him.
Then before she could stop herself—
"Do people always react like that around you?"
His crimson gaze slid toward her.
"Yes."
Freya frowned slightly.
"That must get exhausting."
That made him pause.
As if he hadn't expected pity to be her reaction.
Then his lips curved faintly.
"It used to."
Something about that answer made her chest tighten.
Because suddenly—
for just a moment—
he didn't seem terrifying.
He seemed…
lonely.
The thought vanished as quickly as it came when Soren gestured toward the chapel doors.
"Come."
Freya hesitated before following.
No one stopped them.
No one approached.
The crowd parted immediately as they walked, leaving an almost absurd amount of space around them.
Like Soren carried plague instead of a crown.
Freya kept noticing the way everyone avoided his eyes.
Avoided his presence.
Avoided even breathing too close.
Yet beside her—
he simply walked forward like he no longer noticed.
Or perhaps no longer cared.
By the time they reached the royal carriage, Freya's mind spun with questions.
The door shut behind them.
And suddenly—
it was quiet again.
Freya sat rigidly on one side of the carriage.
And across from her—
sat her husband.
Soren looked entirely too relaxed for a man who had just gotten married.
One arm draped lazily against the seat, crimson eyes watching her openly.
Studying her.
Freya avoided his gaze.
The carriage jolted forward.
Soren watched her from across the carriage, crimson eyes gleaming with quiet amusement as she sat stiff-backed and clearly plotting something behind those pretty green eyes.
Until—
"You're thinking very loudly."
Freya blinked.
Then slowly looked at him.
"What?"
Soren's lips curved faintly.
"You have the expression of someone planning a crime."
Her stomach dropped.
Her face remained calm.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Mm."
He leaned back further.
"You're a terrible liar."
Freya folded her hands in her lap.
"And you're insufferable."
A low chuckle escaped him.
Why did he seem entertained by everything she said?
Silence passed again.
Then—
"Are you afraid of me?"
The question caught her off guard.
Freya blinked.
Her eyes met his.
He was watching her carefully now.
Not teasing. Not smiling.
Actually waiting.
She hesitated.
Then answered honestly.
"A little."
Soren's brow lifted slightly.
"Only a little?"
Freya crossed her arms.
"You're less frightening than people make you sound."
That startled him.
His brows lifted faintly.
Then amusement slowly spread across his face.
"Is that so?"
Freya shrugged.
"You're intimidating," she admitted. "But people speak of you like you're some kind of monster."
Soren tilted his head.
"And you disagree?"
Freya studied him for a long moment.
Then quietly—
"I think monsters are usually cruel for fun."
His smile faded slightly.
"And you don't think I am?"
Freya shrugged again.
"You haven't given me reason to yet."
A strange silence.
One that made the air shift.
Because something in Soren's expression darkened—not with anger.
With fascination.
She truly was different.
No trembling. No desperate fear. No blind obedience.
She judged him by what she saw.
Not by what she heard.
And Soren liked that more than he should.
Far more.
His gaze lowered slightly, lingering on her face.
"You're bold."
Freya frowned.
"You say that like it's a flaw."
"It is," he murmured. "For your own safety."
Her eyes narrowed.
"I've survived this long with it."
A pause.
Then Soren smirked darkly.
"Yes," he murmured.
"You have."
And then his gaze sharpened.
"But you're still planning to run."
Freya froze.
Damn it.
Soren chuckled lowly.
"There it is."
She glared.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You're thinking too hard," he said lazily.
"You glance at the windows every few minutes."
"You keep measuring the distance between us."
"And every time the carriage slows, your shoulders tense."
Freya stared.
Soren smiled wider.
Then leaned forward slightly.
Voice low.
"Tell me, little bride…"
Her pulse skipped.
"Were you planning to run before or after we reached the palace?"
Freya's jaw tightened.
She said nothing.
Soren laughed softly.
God, he was enjoying this.
His crimson eyes gleamed.
"You really were."
He looked almost delighted.
Freya crossed her arms harder.
"You say that like it's amusing."
"It is amusing."
He leaned closer.
Dangerously close now.
"Because you're the first person bold enough to marry me and think of escape in the same hour."
Freya glared.
"I didn't choose this marriage."
"No," he agreed softly.
"But now you're mine."
Her breath caught.
The words weren't loud.
But something about the certainty in his tone sent a chill through her.
His eyes darkened as he looked at her.
"And I think," he murmured,
"I'm going to enjoy taming you."
Freya's stomach flipped.
Her glare sharpened.
"I'm not something to tame."
Soren smiled.
Dark. Slow. Thrilled.
"That," he whispered,
"is exactly why I want to."
***
The carriage slowed.
Then stopped.
Freya felt it immediately.
Her fingers tightened faintly in her lap before she could stop herself.
Soren noticed.
But he said nothing.
Instead, he simply watched her with quiet amusement as the door opened.
Cold air swept inside.
Freya stepped out first—
and froze.
The palace rose before her like something carved from shadow and stone.
Massive towers stretched into the night sky, dark banners rippling in the wind. Hundreds of glowing windows lit the structure, yet somehow none of it felt warm.
Like the entire building was aware of her arrival.
Behind her, Soren stepped down from the carriage.
He barely looked at the palace.
At the top of the grand staircase stood a man already waiting for them.
Tall, composed, dressed immaculately in dark formal wear.
His sharp features remained calm, though his eyes immediately flicked toward Freya with quiet assessment before settling respectfully.
He bowed his head.
"Your Majesty."
Then his gaze shifted to her.
"And welcome home, my queen."
Freya blinked.
The title felt strange.
Soren gestured lazily toward him.
"Freya, this is Eugene Drosser. My advisor, chancellor, and perpetual source of unwanted common sense."
Eugene sighed.
"And the only reason this kingdom has not collapsed due to your impulsiveness."
Freya blinked again.
Then glanced between them.
Soren smirked.
"We've known each other since childhood."
Eugene offered her a polite nod.
"My apologies in advance, Your Majesty. He becomes more intolerable when he's amused."
Freya stared.
Then before she could stop herself—
"That explains a lot."
Eugene looked surprised.
Soren looked delighted.
A low chuckle escaped him.
"Oh, I like her."
Freya immediately regretted speaking.
Eugene, meanwhile, looked between them carefully.
Then gave Freya a small, almost sympathetic smile.
"My condolences, Your Majesty."
Soren narrowed his eyes.
"Careful."
Eugene ignored him entirely.
Servants stood lined across the entrance steps, stiff and silent.
The moment Soren approached, every head lowered instantly.
Freya noticed it immediately.
No smiles. No warmth. Only fear.
She followed Soren through the palace.
The halls were vast and cold, every sound echoing against marble floors and towering ceilings.
Freya's eyes drifted instinctively to the doors. The windows. The exits.
Soren noticed.
"Already planning your escape route?"
Her stomach dropped.
"What?"
He glanced at her.
"You keep looking for exits."
Freya straightened.
"I'm observing my surroundings."
Soren hummed.
Eugene hid a smile behind them.
Eventually they stopped before enormous double doors.
Soren pushed them open.
Freya stepped inside—
and froze.
The room was massive.
Luxurious.
A fireplace crackled softly in one corner. Moonlight spilled through towering windows. Velvet curtains framed an enormous bed at the center of the room.
Freya stared.
Then slowly turned.
"This room is enormous."
Soren smirked.
"Yes."
She blinked.
Then frowned.
"Wait…"
Her eyes narrowed.
"This is your room."
"Yes."
A horrible realization dawned on her.
Freya stared.
Then—
"And where exactly am I sleeping?"
Soren looked at her like the answer should be obvious.
"Here."
Her eyes widened.
"In your room?"
"In our room," he corrected.
Freya immediately stiffened.
"No."
Soren's brow rose.
"No?"
"You expect me to sleep in here? With you?"
His smirk widened.
"Where else would my wife sleep?"
Freya looked horrified.
"You cannot be serious."
"I assure you," he murmured, stepping closer, "I am very serious."
Eugene cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Well—on that note, I shall leave you both to settle in."
Freya looked toward Eugene desperately as if hoping he might save her.
He offered only a pitying look.
"My deepest sympathies, Your Majesty."
Then promptly left.
The doors shut.
Freya slowly turned back toward Soren.
"You planned this."
He looked amused.
"Of course I did."
Her jaw dropped.
"I am not sleeping beside you."
Soren stepped closer.
Until he stood directly before her.
His voice lowered.
"You are my wife."
Her pulse quickened.
His eyes darkened with amusement.
"And unless you intend to sleep on the floor…"
He leaned closer.
"…you will be in my bed tonight."
Freya's face burned.
She glared.
"You are unbearable."
He smiled.
"And yet here you are."
Then he stepped past her casually, already beginning to remove his gloves.
"Relax, little bride."
His voice turned velvet-soft.
"I do not plan to take you tonight."
Freya froze.
He glanced at her over his shoulder.
A dark smile curling his lips.
"But…"
Her stomach flipped.
"That does not mean I won't have some fun playing with you first."
Freya stared at him—
heart pounding.
And suddenly knew—
this night was going to be unbearable.