VALORIA WILDEROSE
I dread the morning that cos after barely three hours of sleep.
I feel sick—aside from the nauseating feeling of marrying that man today, I am physically sick.
Deep exhaustion has settled in my bones from constant life-threatening situations and wound upon wound without a mont of rest.
But I cannot fall apart. I have to prove to everyone, and to myself, that I will not be broken.
Yue dresses in the ceremonial red dress—lavish and extravagant, nothing compared to what I had worn on what was supposed to be my wedding weeks ago.
Those were outdated rags; this is a dress fit for a princess. Yet, I was more comfortable in the forr. This one feels like pain and regret weighing down on my shoulders.
"You look beautiful," Yue comnts from behind , trying to lift my mood.
I smile, trying to hide the fact that I don’t believe her—though I do look different despite the minimal makeup.
My thick, wavy brown hair is pinned in a ssy bun, with a few loose locks hanging down.
My makeup is light, enhancing what little I can offer, visible through the sheer red veil covering my face. It matches the ceremonial robe-like gown adorned with intricate patterns.
"Let’s g-get this o-o-over with," I exhale, summoning the courage to face the day.
The hall is filled to the brim with guests and important people by the ti I arrive—all watching and waiting, along with every other concubine ready to bear witness to the new addition to their ranks.
Like a typical Tuesday, considering how often the man gets married.
What I’m most grateful for, however, is my family’s absence, as Yue reported. I doubt I’d be able to handle them too today.
For the first ti, I’m grateful for their complete devotion to treating like I’m not part of the family.
At the altar in the center of the room stands Azrael, wearing a matching robe. His face is also hidden behind a veil—ant to symbolize a heart closed off until opened by one’s mate.
I’m surprised he’s even participating in this part of the ceremony. Most families have long since excluded it, seeing it as unnecessary. But good for him, I suppose—for being old-fashioned.
The mont I reach the altar, standing opposite him, I feel his gaze—sharp, piercing, and heavy. The silence that follows is even more unnerving.
He watches like a hawk watching its prey, while I do my best to hide behind my veil. I would rather be swallowed whole by the earth beneath my feet than stand in front of him like this.
"Today, we bind these two beneath the gaze of the Goddess’ light," the officiating priestess begins, drawing closer.
Dressed in a pale white gown that matches her long gray hair, she raises her hands toward the open ceiling that lets the sky’s light pour into the room—and directly onto us.
"They will be tied by the red cloth that signifies the binding of fates," she declares, just as the junior priestesses step forward with a long red cloth, approaching the center.
"Stretch forth your hands."
Azrael raises his without hesitation, and I follow slowly, intertwining my fingers with his much larger ones.
The events of this mont mirror too closely the most defining one of my life—the day I realized I would never be loved by anyone in my family.
My supposed wedding to my mate.
Ronan’s words still echo freshly in my head, as does the mockery that followed.
I can almost see Marcella by the door again, her rounded belly mocking for being a fool who never noticed.
"You should be focusing on ," Azrael’s voice cuts into my thoughts.
I look up at him for the first ti, eting his partially shielded eyes just as the priestesses tie the cloth around our outstretched arms.
For a mont, I’m speechless—his eyes are strikingly blue, even through the veil. I snap out of it quickly, feeling that sa wave of sickness crawl up my throat.
"Tha-that isn’t n-necessary for this ceremony," I say coldly, looking away.
This is just a formality, after all—one he doesn’t respect. One that will be repeated with the next girl after ... and the one after her.
I sense him frowning beneath his veil, though he stays silent. Surprisingly silent. I expected a snide remark, so kind of taunt. But today, he’s quiet.
"And now, they will walk around the flas of life three tis to ensure that their bond will endure through all hardships they will face."
A pit of fire is lit in front of us, and we surround it while our hands are still tied. Above the fla, very slowly, we begin to circle the golden light.
My gaze remains fixated on the fire, trying not to think about that day — though the mories keep flashing in my mind over and over again.
Father’s piercing words of rejection resound in my head, reminding that I am unwanted and unloved, a disgrace that should never have existed.
I don’t know if it’s the sickness, but my head begins to spin, hallucinating images that aren’t really there.
Along the line, I lose my footing from the spinning world and fall for a mont — but then he holds up with ease, by the hand intertwined with mine, so smooth and fast that hardly anyone notices.
Again, I look at him, tempted to show gratitude, but I hold my tongue.
"Your mind is elsewhere again."
He’s frowning deeper than before, his eyes staring into my soul.
"W-W-Why does that bo-bother you? Are y-you an-noyed that I’m too distracted to be te-terrified right now?"
"I’m annoyed by the fact that you can focus on anything other than what’s going on right now," he says — the strangest thing, catching off guard for a mont just as we pause.
The walking is over, and now he fully faces in front of everyone. Yet it doesn’t feel like there’s anyone else but him and .
That’s just how commanding his aura is — demanding my dull attention, canceling out my spatial awareness, and trapping with his eyes.
It’s annoying how he makes my blood boil, tempting to yell and scream about all the wicked things he’s done — while daring to marry the next day like it’s a perfectly fine thing to do.
How selfishly arrogant he is, without fear, even when I know how easily he could flick my head off.
It’s a mystery how, with a man so dangerous he could make pee my pants, I sohow find my voice — and yet, in a ho I’ve lived in all my life, I could hardly voice my thoughts.
Sohow, that fact alone makes all the more resentful.
"The veils will be pulled off now."
I slowly raise my hands high enough, and he leans closer to make it easier. Not like I asked for his fucking help.
His face is instantly revealed to — inches away from mine — holding my gaze intently again. I’m forced to recall our night of conversation, the human vulnerability that I had witnessed that night.
The illusion of a man stares back at , stunning again, as any spell would.
"Tell ," he urges, with bland curiosity.
I almost fall for it again — a mont of weakness before her face filters into my mind, and I rember. I wait till he pulls my veil off before I speak.
"I’m th-thinking about Ivana," I tell him as plainly and clearly as I can so he knows it — daring to defy him so openly and to his face, with a rush of bravery and confidence in my blood.
"I’m th-thinking ab-bout what you d-id. How you t-tricked int-to falling for your trap. I-I’m thinking ab-bout how you s-sleep well at night after playing ga-gas with p-people’s lives like they -an nothing to you."
I speak as if he could ever care about any of that. Yet my heart might explode if I don’t say it.
He looks at — not bored, but with cold, distant eyes. A hint of tiredness only now noticeable in his sunken gaze.
With a cold emotion, he confesses, "Ivana is dead."
I pause like a block of ice, holding back my shock while sucking in my breath. Of course, I expected it.
"And I sleep very soundly, in case you’re wondering," he adds with no remorse or emotion.
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