Chapter 4

ROSALIA'S POV

Morning came, and with it, the Lycan King returned.

I had spent the entire night tossing and turning, my mind replaying every thought I had pulled from Dante's head like a broken record that refused to stop spinning. He loved me. He was terrified of me. He wanted to hold me but was convinced his hands would crush my bones. It was the most ridiculous, heartbreaking, infuriating thing I had ever heard, and I still hadn't decided whether to feel sorry for him or strangle him with the bedsheets.

When the door opened and he walked in carrying a tray of breakfast, I blinked in genuine surprise. In my first life, I hadn't seen this man at a meal table in my presence for six straight months. Now here he was, awkwardly holding a silver platter of fruit and bread like a soldier who had been handed a baby and had no idea which end to support.

"You brought me breakfast," I observed, sitting up against the pillows.

"You need to eat." His voice was stiff, clipped, completely devoid of any warmth. He set the tray down on the nightstand without meeting my eyes.

Is this too much? Is bringing food too forward? Will she think I'm trying to buy her forgiveness? Should I have sent a servant instead? No, a servant might scare her. She's human. Humans are fragile. Everything scares them. I should have brought tea. Do humans like tea? Do humans like ME?

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

"About last night," I started, and his entire body went rigid. "I asked you a question, and you never gave me an answer."

"I said I would consider it." His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscles jumping beneath his skin.

"You considered it all night." I tilted my head, studying him. "So what's your decision?"

"You're not leaving." No hesitation. No pause. The words came out hard and final, like a gavel slamming down.

"Excuse me?" I narrowed my eyes.

"I reject your proposal." His ice blue gaze finally met mine, and the look in those eyes was something between desperate and terrifying. "You will remain in this territory as my queen. That is final."

Please don't cry. Please don't cry. Please don't cry. If she cries, I will literally die. My heart will stop beating and I will collapse right here on this floor and the servants will find my corpse next to an untouched breakfast tray.

"And if I refuse?" I pushed the blanket aside and stood up, the sheer purple nightgown clinging to my body in the early morning light. "What will you do, Dante? Lock me in a tower?"

A tower?! I would NEVER. Towers are cold and damp and there are spiders. She would hate spiders. Does she hate spiders? I should have the towers cleaned just in case. No, I should have them demolished entirely.

"If you try to run," Dante spoke slowly, his voice dropping into something low and dangerous that sent a shiver straight through my spine, "I will break your legs myself."

My mouth fell open.

WHY DID I SAY THAT?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?! I just threatened to break my wife's legs! On our first morning as a married couple! She's going to hate me! She already hates me! Now she's going to hate me AND be afraid of me, and she'll never let me within ten feet of her ever again!

The sheer horror in his inner monologue was so violently at odds with the cold, threatening words that had just left his mouth that I almost laughed out loud. Almost. I caught myself just in time, pressing my lips together so hard they ached.

But even as his ridiculous threats echoed through the room, a darker realization was settling into my mind. One that had nothing to do with Dante and everything to do with the man who had sold me to this territory in the first place.

My father. The Governor of Silverton.

He had arranged this marriage as a political move, a way to tighten his grip on Ravenmoor through blood and alliance. I was not his daughter in any way that mattered. I was his chess piece. And if that chess piece suddenly disappeared from the board, the Governor would not mourn me. He would hunt me.

His spies were probably already planted throughout this estate. If I ran, if I vanished in the middle of the night, it would be seen as treason. Not against Dante, but against the Governor's carefully constructed web of control. And the punishment for treason in Silverton was not a trial or a prison cell. It was a shallow grave in a field where nobody would ever think to look.

I couldn't run. Not yet. Not until I had a plan that accounted for every spy, every exit, and every contingency.

Which meant I was stuck here. With him. With this enormous, overgrown, emotionally constipated wolf man who had just threatened to shatter my kneecaps while internally panicking about whether I was afraid of spiders.

Fine. If I was going to be trapped in this territory, I was going to make it entertaining.

"You know," I began, taking a slow step toward him, watching his eyes widen almost imperceptibly, "threatening your wife with physical violence on the first morning of your marriage is not exactly the best way to make her want to stay."

"I didn't mean..." He stopped himself, his jaw working. "It was not a threat. It was a... statement of consequence."

STATEMENT OF CONSEQUENCE?! That's the best I could come up with?! I sound like a damn contract negotiator, not a husband!

"Mhmm." I took another step closer, and I watched his breathing change. Faster. Shallower. His massive hands curled into fists at his sides like he was physically fighting the urge to reach for me. "Well, if you won't let me leave and you won't let me run, then maybe I'll just have to make myself so ugly that you beg me to go."

"What?" A crack in his composure. His brows furrowed.

"Maybe I'll scar my own face." I shrugged casually, watching the blood drain from his cheeks. "If the Lycan King's bride is hideous, surely the political value drops to nothing. My father won't want a disfigured daughter representing his name. You won't want an ugly queen sitting beside your throne. Problem solved."

SHE WOULD NEVER. She wouldn't dare. Would she? She looks serious. Why does she look serious?! I need to hide every sharp object in this entire estate. Every knife. Every letter opener. Every decorative sword on every wall in every hallway.

I watched him spiral for a few more delicious seconds before deciding to test just how far I could push him. Slowly, casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world, I let one thin strap of my nightgown slip off my shoulder.

Just one. Just enough to expose the bare curve of my collarbone and the soft beginning of my upper chest. Nothing scandalous. Nothing outrageous.

But the effect on Dante was catastrophic.

DON'T LOOK. DON'T LOOK. DON'T LOOK. WHY IS THE STRAP FALLING? IS IT BROKEN? SHOULD I FIX IT? NO, FIXING IT MEANS TOUCHING HER SHOULDER. IF I TOUCH HER SHOULDER I WILL TOUCH HER NECK. IF I TOUCH HER NECK I WILL...

NO!

THINK ABOUT WAR. THINK ABOUT TAXES. THINK ABOUT THE TRADE REPORTS FROM LAST MONTH. THINK ABOUT LITERALLY ANYTHING EXCEPT THE WAY HER SKIN LOOKS IN THIS LIGHT.

I couldn't hold it. The laughter came bubbling up from somewhere deep in my chest, and I had to clamp both hands over my mouth to keep it from escaping. My shoulders started shaking, my eyes watered, and I bit down on my lower lip so hard I tasted copper.

Dante's eyes snapped to my trembling shoulders. His face shifted instantly from barely contained lust to absolute, gut wrenching guilt.

She's trembling. She's SHAKING. Oh God, she's terrified of me. She thinks I'm going to force myself on her. She thinks I'm a monster. She's afraid. My wife is AFRAID of me because I threatened to break her legs and now I'm staring at her bare shoulder like a starving animal.

"I won't touch you." The words came out so abruptly that they almost startled me. His voice cracked at the edges, raw and rough with guilt. He took a full step backward, then another, putting as much distance between us as the room allowed. "Not tonight. Not ever, unless you ask me to. Put your clothes back on. Please."

His face was turned away from me now, his jaw clenched so hard the veins in his neck stood out like ropes. Every line of his massive body was rigid with self control, and his thoughts were a hurricane of shame and regret and desperate, aching love that he had absolutely no idea how to express.

And there I stood, his confused, emotionally constipated wife, shoulders still shaking, hands still pressed over my mouth, completely and utterly blind to him as tears of barely contained laughter streamed silently down my cheeks.