The shadows of the balcony felt too exposed, the distant music of the wedding feast a mocking reminder of the crown she wore.
Valerius didn't speak; he simply grabbed her by the wrist, his grip like a shackle, and led her through the labyrinthine servant passages he knew better than anyone.
He shoved the door to his private chambers open and kicked it shut, the heavy thud echoing with finality. The room was sparse—cold stone, dark furs, and the scent of iron and cedar.
"You had every chance to run, Little Bird," Valerius growled, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. He didn't wait for her to respond. He reached out, his large hands finding the delicate silk of her bodice. With a single, violent jerk, the seams groaned and gave way, exposing her breasts to the frigid air of the room.
Seraphina gasped, her back hitting the rough stone wall. Her nipples were already peaked, betraying her. "I don't want to run," she hissed, her eyes defiant even as she trembled. "I want to be marked."
Valerius let out a sound that was half-groan, half-snarl. He descended upon her, his mouth crashing against hers. This wasn't the chaste, performative kiss Malakai had given her at the altar. This was a conquest. His tongue invaded her mouth, tasting of wine and hunger, while his calloused hands roamed downward.
He hiked her heavy wedding skirts up to her waist, his fingers finding the thin silk of her drawers. He tore them away with the same ruthless efficiency he used on the battlefield.
"You want a monster, Seraphina? You've found one," he muttered against her throat. He bit the sensitive skin of her shoulder, hard enough to leave a darkening bruise—a brand for a King to see.
He lifted her, her legs instinctively locking around his thick waist. The cold iron of his breastplate pressed against her bare chest, a jarring contrast to the heat radiating from his body. Valerius moved to the heavy oak table in the center of the room, clearing the maps and daggers with one sweep of his arm. He slammed her down onto the wood, her skirts a chaotic mess of white and gold around her hips.
Valerius fumbled with his belt, his breathing ragged. When he freed himself, Seraphina’s eyes widened. He was massive, a testament to his primal nature. He didn't use oils; he didn't use soft words. He used his thumb to spread her moisture, finding her already drenched and aching.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a raw authority.
Seraphina gripped the edges of the table, her knuckles white, as she stared into those lead-colored eyes. Without another word, he drove into her.
The fullness was staggering. Seraphina let out a high, sharp scream that was lost in the rafters of the room. He filled her completely, his girth stretching her to the point of pain before it melted into a white-hot, localized fire.
"You are mine now," Valerius hissed, beginning a punishing, rhythmic thrust. "Not his. Mine."
Every time his hips collided with hers, the heavy table groaned. Seraphina arched her back, her hair spilling across the dark wood like silk. She felt the rough texture of the table beneath her and the crushing weight of the Duke above her. He was relentless, his movements devoid of the courtly grace she was used to. He was a butcher, just as she had asked.
"Harder," she sobbed, her nails digging into the muscles of his forearms. "Make me forget his touch! Destroy it!"
Valerius obeyed. He reached down, his fingers finding her clit and grinding against it with a harsh friction that sent electric shocks through her spine. He ramped up the intensity, his thrusts becoming shallow and rapid, hitting a deep, sensitive spot that made Seraphina’s vision go dark.
She reached her climax first, her body convulsing around him, her internal muscles clenching his length in a desperate, rhythmic grip. She cried out his name—not "Duke," but "Valerius"—as the waves of pleasure shattered her resolve.
The sound of her voice seemed to break his final restraint. With a gutteral roar, Valerius buried himself as deep as possible, his body tensing as he spilled his heat inside her—a final, silent act of treason against the King.
He stayed there for a long moment, his forehead pressed against hers, both of them gasping for air in the dim light. The scent of sex and sweat hung heavy in the room.
Valerius pulled back slowly, his eyes scanning the marks he had left on her—the bite on her shoulder, the handprints on her thighs.
"He will see these," Valerius whispered, his voice returning to its cold, steady rumble.
Seraphina sat up, her torn dress hanging off her frame, a predatory smile touching her lips.
"That is the point, Valerius. When he sees them, he will know that even his Hound has teeth. And I will be the one holding the leash."
She stood up, ignoring the ache between her legs. "Now, clean me up. We have a Kingdom to burn."
