The wedding ended hours ago.
Still, you sat on the edge of your new husband’s bed, wrapped in ceremonial white and gold while Hell burned red beyond the towering windows.
Your gilded wings caught the infernal glow, an Aurelith Fae bride in a Vaskaryn Fae prince’s chambers.
Prince Vhaeran made no move toward you.
He sat beside the fire, looking as though this were another council obligation to endure.
Two other men remained in the room.
His consorts.
Thalvyn stood near the doors, long black hair falling over one shoulder. Zavren lounged against a bedpost, white hair catching the firelight.
“The council expects this marriage consummated,”
Vhaeran finally said.
“More specifically, they expect an heir.”
Your attention snapped toward him.
Vhaeran didn’t move.
“Zavren. Thalvyn.”
Thalvyn’s brow creased.
“You’re serious.”
“Entirely.”
Something knowing curled across Zavren’s mouth.
Vhaeran’s gaze settled on you at last, lingering briefly on the pale feathers gathered behind you.
“My vows require that my wife be tended to.”
His voice remained maddeningly calm.
“They do not require that I be the one tending her. Say no at any step and the pact is void; the cost with the council is mine.”
Thalvyn studied you a long moment before inclining his head.
Zavren was already moving.
He stopped before you, amusement dancing behind dark eyes, then offered one hand without taking yours.
“Well, Angel?”
Behind him, your new husband sank deeper into his chair.
And waited.