Chapter 4: Insufferable Husband

Pierce’s mouth curved, though there was nothing warm about his amusement. It only left the depths of my stomach cold.

“I’m only asking, princess. You’re my wife now. Surely that gives me the right to know who I married.”

The word wife tightened something in my chest. It didn't sit right with me.

His eyes remained fixed on mine. They were an unusual shade of amber, darker near the pupils, almost molten beneath the muted lights of the room. The longer he stared, the more I felt as though he could see past my expression, past my rehearsed manners, and straight into every secret my family had buried.

Perhaps he already knew.

The thought sent a cold rush through me.

Had the Ashcrofts discovered the truth before agreeing to the marriage? Had Pierce known from the beginning that Estia’s blessed heir could not cast a single spell since birth?

I curled my fingers into the soft fabric at my hip, forcing myself not to look away.

“I understand,” I said. My voice came out quieter than I intended. “I shouldn’t have reacted so defensively. I’m sorry.”

My mother’s instructions returned. 

Be agreeable. Do not provoke him.

Whatever happens, remember that this marriage protects Estia’s lands.

Pierce’s brows drew together.

For one dreadful moment, I wondered whether I had said something wrong again. Perhaps apologizing had made me appear dishonest. Perhaps men like him preferred confidence. I had read enough books to understand how husbands and wives were expected to speak to each other, but books had never prepared me for standing alone in a bedroom with a man whose family ruled an entire city of werewolves.

Especially not a man like Pierce Ashcroft.

“There’s no need to apologize,” he said at last.

His voice was calm, almost gentle, but the air around him remained sharp with restrained danger. Even sitting still, he seemed to take up more space than he should have. There was something predatory in the way he watched me, a quiet awareness that reminded me he was not entirely human.

“I expected the question to put you on guard,” he continued.

Relief began to loosen the knot inside me.

Then he added, “What I want to know is why.”

My breath caught.

Pierce tilted his head. “Tell me, Ruelle. How did a man manage to compromise the sacred princess of the Estia clan?”

There was a trace of mockery beneath his politeness. I pretended not to notice.

The story had been created by my parents after the truth about my lack of powers could no longer be hidden, and when they finally found a way to get rid of me in the most convenient way possible. It was an elegant lie. Cruel enough to explain my failure. Shameful enough to keep people from asking me questions directly.

My reputation had been sacrificed to preserve my family’s, and my parents couldn’t care less how it would affect me.

A proper wife remained amiable, my mother had said. A proper wife did not argue with her husband, especially on their wedding night.

But Pierce’s question scraped against something raw inside me anyway.

I had spent most of my life isolated, not ignorant. I knew what people said about women who had been “compromised.” I knew the careful way servants avoided mentioning the scandal in my presence, as though even acknowledging it would stain the air.

A considerate man would have left the subject alone.

Pierce appeared to have no interest in being considerate.

“I…” I lowered my eyes, hoping discomfort would persuade him to change the subject. “I would rather not talk about it tonight.”

“Would you?”

The playful tone made me look at him again.

“Don’t misunderstand me,” he said. “I don’t particularly care whether another man touched you before this marriage.”

His gaze moved over my face. “Most men would forgive nearly anything for a beautiful wife.”

Heat crept beneath my skin, though I could not decide whether his words were meant as praise or insult.

Perhaps both.

Pierce seemed like the sort of man who enjoyed leaving others confused.

“But you are my wife now,” he continued. “I intend to know what happened to you. Your injuries. Your supposed loss of power. Every affliction your family has tried so hard to keep out of the public eye.”

My stomach sank.

“Of course, Mr. Ashcroft,” I replied automatically.

Pierce’s eyes narrowed.

I realized my mistake a second too late.

Married couples did not address one another like strangers in a meeting room. At least, not according to the novels and etiquette manuals I had been given over the years.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “This is all unfamiliar to me, and I’m still trying to—”

“Relax, Ruelle.”

His voice softened so suddenly that I almost believed I had misjudged him.

He stepped closer and lifted his hand. I held still as the backs of his knuckles brushed my cheek.

The touch was light, barely there, yet every muscle in my body tightened. His skin was unnaturally warm, and the fleeting contact sent a strange current down my spine.

For a moment, he looked almost kind.

Then the corner of his mouth rose with mischief. “You can correct the mistake now.”

I swallowed. “Should I call you… Pierce, then?” 

The name didn’t sound right on my tongue.

Pierce withdrew his hand and moved past me. He sat on the edge of the bed, one ankle resting over his opposite knee, his posture loose and confident.

The wicked glint in his eyes returned.

“Master Pierce.”

I stared at him.

Surely I had heard him incorrectly.

He lifted one eyebrow, waiting. He looked entirely too pleased with himself, like a man who had been handed a new source of entertainment and intended to discover exactly how far he could push it.

My fear gave way, for the briefest moment, to disbelief.

The Ashcrofts had warned my family that Pierce was difficult.

Thought, they had neglected to mention that he was insufferable.