CHAPTER 3

Rosalia POV

The silence stretched between us like a wire pulled too tight.

Dante had not moved. He had not spoken. He had not even blinked. The mighty Lycan King, the most terrifying man in every room he had ever walked into, stood at the foot of my bed looking like someone had driven a sword straight through his chest and forgotten to pull it out.

I kept my expression flat. Arms folded. Chin lifted. Everything about my posture screamed that I was serious, that this was not some emotional outburst from a scared bride, and that I had thought this through carefully.

Which I had. Three years of misery gave a woman plenty of time to think.

"Well?" I let the word drop between us like a stone into a frozen lake. "Do we have a deal?"

Say something. SAY SOMETHING. Open your mouth and say something before she thinks you agree. Why can't I move? Why can't I breathe? She's leaving. My wife is LEAVING. On our WEDDING NIGHT.

His jaw worked silently, the muscles along his neck coiling and flexing as though his body was physically fighting against the paralysis of his own shock. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his voice came out low and rough, scraping against the quiet of the room.

"You want to leave." It was not a question. His tone was flat, dead, the kind of calm that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"Yes." I did not hesitate. Not even for a second.

She didn't hesitate. She didn't even HESITATE. Does she truly hate me that much? What did I do? I haven't done anything yet. We just got married THREE HOURS AGO.

"And you want your dowry." His eyes were locked on me, and if I didn't know what was happening inside his head, I would have sworn that the look on his face was pure indifference. Like he was reviewing a trade deal instead of listening to his wife ask for a divorce on their wedding night.

"Every coin," I confirmed, keeping my voice smooth and unbothered. "I will need enough to start over somewhere far away from here. Somewhere no one knows who I am."

Somewhere far away. FAR AWAY. How far? Which direction? Does she already have a place in mind? Has she been planning this? Did she walk down the aisle today knowing she was going to ask me this tonight?

The panic in his thoughts was reaching a fever pitch, and honestly, a small, terrible part of me was almost enjoying it. Not because I wanted to hurt him. Not really. But because I had spent three years believing this man felt absolutely nothing for me, and now his mind was falling apart at the idea of me walking out a door.

"The dowry was a gift from my father to your crown," Dante replied, each word landing like something heavy being placed on a table with extreme care. "It was meant to seal our union."

"Our union." I let out a short, humorless laugh. "What union, Your Majesty? You won't touch me. You won't look at me. You walked into this room and stood as far from me as physically possible. You haven't asked me a single question about who I am or what I like or whether I'm even comfortable here."

Because I'm terrified of you! Not OF you. FOR you! If I touch you, I'll break you. If I look at you too long, I'll lose control. I haven't asked you questions because every time you speak, your voice does something to my chest that makes it hard to think!

I almost faltered. Almost. The raw, screaming honesty in his thoughts was hitting me in places I didn't want to feel anything, and I had to remind myself very firmly that understanding his fear did not erase my pain. He had been afraid of hurting me. Fine. But his solution had been to abandon me completely, and that had hurt me worse than any bruise ever could.

"If you truly don't want me here," I continued, pushing harder, refusing to let the softness in, "then why keep me? Your people already despise me. They call me the Human Stain behind your back. They whisper about how a queen with no beast blood has no right to sit beside you."

His expression flickered. Just barely. A tiny twitch at the corner of his left eye, a slight tightening of his lips. On any other person it would have been nothing, but on Dante Castellano, it might as well have been a scream.

Who called her that? WHO called her a stain? I want names. I want every single name. I will personally drag them into the courtyard and...

"They whisper about whether you even consummated the marriage," I added, twisting the knife a little deeper, watching his frozen composure crack one millimeter at a time. "They bet on how long it will take before you replace me with a proper Lycan bride."

REPLACE HER?! I waited twenty nine years! I fought a war! I threatened to burn the Governor's compound to the ground! There is no replacement! There has never been anyone else! She is the ONLY...

"So let me go." My voice softened just a fraction, and I hated myself for it. "You lose a wife you never wanted. I gain a life worth living. Everybody wins."

The room went so quiet I could hear the candles flickering on the nightstand. Dante's ice blue eyes were burning into me with an intensity that made my skin prickle, and for one terrifying second, I thought he might actually agree.

Then his thoughts hit me like a wall of fire.

I would rather tear my own heart out of my chest and feed it to the wolves than let this woman walk away from me. I don't care if she hates me. I don't care if she's afraid of me. I don't care if I have to stand outside her door every single night for the rest of my life without ever touching her. She is my mate. MY mate. And she is not leaving this territory. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

But outside, on his face, there was nothing. Just the cold, empty mask of a king who had spent his entire life hiding every emotion behind a wall of stone.

"I will consider your proposal," Dante said finally, his voice as flat and lifeless as a winter sky.

I will NOT consider her proposal. Not now. Not in a thousand years. But if I tell her no right now, she'll panic. She'll try to run. She'll hurt herself trying to climb out a window or bribe a guard. I need time. I need a plan. I need to figure out how to make my own wife not hate me without accidentally killing her with my bare hands.

He turned toward the door, his massive frame cutting through the candlelight. Each step he took away from me was slow and measured, like a man walking through pain he refused to show.

"Get some rest," he said without looking back, his voice low and rough at the edges. "We will discuss this in the morning."

The door closed behind him with a quiet click, and I was alone again.

I stood there for a long time, staring at the door, my mind a mess of conflicting emotions I had not expected. Anger was still there, burning steady and strong. Resentment too, deep and familiar, like an old wound that had never properly healed.

But underneath all of it, buried so deep I almost missed it, was something else entirely. Something small and stubborn and infuriating that had apparently survived three years of neglect and a literal death.

Because the mighty Lycan King, the man I had convinced myself felt nothing for me, had just walked out of my bedroom with his heart shattering into pieces behind a face of stone. And his only thought, his very last thought before the door closed between us, had been about keeping me safe.

If she leaves, I can't protect her. The Governor's men will find her. They'll drag her back to Silverton or worse. I need to keep her here. I need to keep her close. Even if she hates me for it.

Dante stood paralyzed on the other side of that door, completely overwhelmed as every thought in his mind screamed in absolute disbelief at the idea of losing the mate he had been too terrified and too awkward to properly claim.