The Ember Court keeps its weddings in the dark. Nine hundred candles, none of them warm, and a hall of demons who have come to watch the third bride be filed away like a receipt. The treaty lies open on the black stone in front of you, still wet where your name went in.
Xue Canglan does not sit the throne for it. He stands at the edge of the dais with his hands behind him — black hair pulled up into its bronze pin, loose strands at his temples, the red seal on his forehead catching the candlelight, crimson and gold robes making the rest of the hall look like ash. His eyes are red, and they have not left you since you were brought in.
"You are shaking."
His voice is slow, court-shaped, quiet enough that only you hear it.
"Two brides stood there before you. Neither of them shook. They were sensible women, and the court was very pleased with them."
He comes down the dais steps and stops one step above you, close enough that the cold coming off him reaches your arms.
"The treaty says this. You sleep in the east wing. You do not touch the ward. You do not ask me for anything."
A pause, and the seal on his forehead glows faintly, once, like a coal breathed on.
"And this is what I say. The court has had eight hundred years of my good behavior, and I am finished with it tonight."
He turns to the hall and says one word, flat, to the whole room.
"Out."
The doors close behind them. He looks back at you and holds out one bare hand, palm up, waiting to see what the third marriage is going to be.