CHAPTER 8: Gobsmack

Earlene

I stared at Vane’s broad chest, my heart beating a rapid rhythm against my ribs. He did not budge. I could see the absolute determination set in the hard lines of his face.

He was a Vanguard. He only listened to Thorne. It was obvious I could not order him to do anything. And trying to push past him would be entirely useless.

I took a slow breath, attempting to change my approach and ease the tension in the corridor.

"Do you also stay in this fortress?" I asked, keeping my voice level.

Vane looked down at me. "No," he gave a clipped response.

"Then where do you stay?" I tried again. "The outer barracks?"

"No."

I pressed my lips into a thin line. His responses were short, flat, and completely unsatisfied my curiosity.

It was maddening. His attitude was frustratingly similar to his Alpha’s. They both communicated in walls of silence, refusing to yield an inch of information.

I realized he was never going to give me a real answer. He was just blocking my path to the courtyard doors.

"Leave my path," I told him, dropping the polite act.

Vane did not move a single muscle. "Where are you heading?" he asked, his tone demanding authority.

"Where I am going is none of your business," I snapped, my patience finally wearing thin.

I was a princess, even if my father rarely treated me like one. I didn't need to report my every step to a guard.

"You cannot go outside," Vane told me flatly. "The weather is not good. The Alpha's orders are to keep you indoors."

I glared at him, but his expression remained as carved in stone as the walls around us. Defeated, I realized I could not force my way through a trained warrior. I turned around on my heel and walked back down the hallway.

I was not going back to my chamber. If I was confined to this wing, I was going to see exactly what I was allowed to access.

I walked for several minutes, passing closed doors and empty sitting rooms. The silence of the North was a heavy weight on my shoulders. I needed a sanctuary, a place where I could at least pretend I had some control over my own life.

At the far end of the corridor, I found a set of tall, intricately carved wooden doors. I pushed the heavy iron handle and the door swung open smoothly.

I stepped inside, and the air instantly changed. It smelled of aged paper, leather, and woodsmoke. It was a massive library.

Rows of towering oak bookshelves stretched toward the high ceiling, filled with thousands of thick volumes.

In the South, the royal library was the only place I had ever felt safe. Seeing one here brought a sudden, desperate sense of relief to my chest.

I walked further into the room, running my fingers lightly over the spines of the books.

But then, I stopped. The room was not empty.

Sitting at a large oak table near the tall windows was Thorne.

He wore a dark tunic, his broad shoulders relaxed against the back of a heavy wooden chair. A large, leather-bound book was open in front of him.

He did not look like the terrifying warlord who had crushed my father's guards in the snow. He looked quiet. Focused.

He didn't lift his head, but his jaw tightened slightly. He knew I was there.

"You are not in your chamber," he said. His voice was a low, smooth rumble that easily carried across the quiet room.

"I was told I could remain in my wing," I replied, stepping out from behind the shelves. "Is the library off-limits?"

"No," he said simply. He turned a page of his book, his dark eyes tracking the text.

I stood there for a moment, watching him. He was completely unaffected by my presence. The frustration that had been building inside me since the morning finally boiled over.

"Why did you order the maids not to speak to me?" I asked, walking closer to his table.

He paused. He slowly lifted his head and looked at me. His expression was completely emotionally unavailable. "I ordered them to clean your room and bring your meals. I did not order them to entertain you."

"You ordered them to stay silent," I corrected him, my voice rising slightly. "Jane treats me like a burden, and Hannah is terrified to even look at me. You are deliberately isolating me."

"I am maintaining order," he stated calmly, leaning forward slightly. "You are a my bride but my people do not know you. There is tension. Silence prevents rumors and keeps you safe. I have provided you with a warm room, clothes, and more food than you could ever need. Your needs are entirely met."

"My physical needs," I argued, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the back of an empty chair across from him. "You feed me and clothe me, but you treat me like a piece of furniture. You treat me like a treaty requirement you can just lock in a box until you need it."

"You are a treaty requirement," he replied flatly, his dark eyes unblinking. "Your father need my help to secure his borders. I accepted. The terms of the agreement are being fulfilled."

His cold logic felt like a blow. He was reducing my entire existence to a business transaction.

"I am not a silent trophy," I fired back, my anger making me brave. "You demanded me in front of my entire court. You claimed me as your mate. Providing a fire and a few dresses isn't a partnership. If I am going to live in this fortress, I refuse to be ignored by the man who dragged me here."

Thorne stared at me. The silence in the library stretched, pulling tight like a drawn bowstring.

He slowly reached out and closed his leather-bound book. The heavy thud of the cover snapping shut echoed loudly in the quiet room.

Then he stood up.

The relaxed posture was gone instantly and his massive frame towered over the table. He walked slowly around the oak wood, his dark eyes locked onto mine. My breath caught in my throat, but I forced my hands to release the chair and I stood my ground.

He stepped directly into my personal space. The unnatural heat radiating from his body washed over the chill in my skin. He was so close I had to tilt my head up just to maintain eye contact.

"You demand a partnership," Thorne murmured. His voice dropped to a low, intense octave that vibrated right through my chest.

He didn't yell. He didn't scold me for challenging his authority. Instead, his gaze darkened, filled with a sheer, unapologetic possessiveness that sent a violent shiver down my spine.

"But tell me, Earlene," he asked softly, his eyes burning into mine. "How do you want me to treat you?"

My analytical mind completely blanked.

The question caught me entirely off guard. I had prepared myself for his anger, his cold logic, or his indifference. I had not prepared for the raw intensity in his voice.

My skin burned under his intent gaze. I opened my mouth, but no words came out.