The door clicked shut behind them with a finality that echoed louder than the ceremony itself.
The wedding suite was silent — too silent.
Soft candlelight flickered against polished stone walls. Rose petals were scattered across the bed, arranged like a battlefield pretending to be romantic. A silver pitcher steamed gently beside a goblet, and the air smelled of crushed herbs, warmth, and… expectation.
Rhea stood frozen near the door.
She'd seen scenes like this in dramas. In books. Even in A Moonlit Oath.
But none of those had her heart thundering like this.
Cyrien removed his gloves with slow precision, letting them fall onto a chair beside him.
He didn't look at her right away, not until the silence stretched enough to make her shift nervously.
Then he turned.
"You're quieter than I expected," he said, voice low and silk-smooth.
Rhea cleared her throat. "It's been… a long day."
He studied her — the way someone might examine a blade they suspect is poisoned.
"Mm. And here I thought you were eager to begin your duty. Isn't that why you're here?"
Her stomach twisted. "What duty?"
He tilted his head, one dark brow lifting in mock surprise.
"Don't play innocent, Lady Rhea. The Queen wouldn't go to such lengths unless she trusted you. You're her favorite little hound, aren't you?"
Rhea blinked. "I—I don't know what you're talking about."
A faint smirk curved on his lips — not warm.
Dangerous.
Like he was testing her with every word.
"Is that how it starts? Earn my trust. Climb into my bed. Whisper sweet nothings while reporting every breath I take?"
"I'm not a spy," she blurted, too fast.
He stepped closer.
"No?" he murmured. "Then what are you, Rhea Valencia? You stare at me like I'm a stranger. You flinch at the wrong things. And earlier when the priest called my name you looked like you were about to run."
Rhea's mouth went dry.
He was watching her too closely.
"I don't want to lie to you," she said softly, "but I can't tell you the truth either. You wouldn't believe it."
Something flickered in his expression — not quite shock, not quite understanding. But he stepped back.
"Then we're even," he said at last. "Because I won't lie to you either. But I won't give you the truth."
He moved to the bed — not to her, but to the far side. Unfastened the outer coat. Rolled up his sleeves. Climbed under the covers without ceremony.
Rhea stood there, still frozen in her ceremonial gown.
"You thought I'd take you tonight?" he asked suddenly, voice quiet but piercing. "Ruin the Queen's pretty little puppet on the first night?"
Heat bloomed in her cheeks. She turned away instinctively, heart pounding in her ears.
"I-I didn't assume anything…"
"Good."
A paused.
"Because I don't take what's been handed to me like a leash."
He rolled onto his side, facing away from her now.
"Sleep, Rhea. Tomorrow, the court will expect you to smile beside me like you're already mine."
She swallowed and moved to the edge of the bed, keeping a cautious distance as she slipped beneath the covers, still tense, still in half of her dress. She lay on her side, eyes wide, staring into the dark.
Two strangers.
One bed.
And too many secrets between them.