Luciana could feel the warmth of his presence looming over her. His fingers traced lightly across the back of her neck, pausing momentarily as if assessing something. Then, without a word, he withdrew his hand and moved away from the bed, leaving her too frightened to rise.
"You should be thankful that the creature didn't lay a hand on you," he said, removing his blood-stained cloak.
A knock at the door interrupted him, drawing an irritated sigh.
"Can they not leave me in peace?" he muttered, clicking his tongue. He moved to the door, his frustration palpable.
"What is it now?" he demanded.
"Master, a soldier has come to deliver his report," Blake replied, bowing slightly.
"My lord, I have brought the men as commanded," another voice added. It was Ahriman, standing beside Blake.
"Tell them to rest. I will meet them in the armory later," he instructed, his tone curt.
"As you wish, my lord," Ahriman replied respectfully before exiting.
Turning back towards Luciana, who remained motionless, he smirked as she instinctively moved to cover herself with her clothes. His smile was wicked, his eyes predatory.
Discarding his shirt, he approached her with deliberate steps. As she fumbled for her chemise, he leaned in close, whispering against her ear.
"Serve me well tonight," he murmured, his fingers brushing her flushed cheeks. His breath was warm against her skin. Playfully, he bit her ear, causing her to shiver.
"There's only so much restraint I have left," he added, the threat veiled beneath his tone. Then, without waiting for her response, he retreated to bathe.
Luciana, trembling, pulled her chemise over her head, hugging herself tightly.
"What did he mean by that?" she thought, her mind racing. "He was only checking my wounds... wasn't he?"
Her thoughts spiraled, a tangle of fear and uncertainty. She had chosen this path the moment she had agreed to her father's plea, but the weight of that choice now felt unbearable. Escape seemed impossible. The only hope lay with the merchants, but the Blue Van hadn't come when she needed them most.
Tears welled in her eyes as she whispered a prayer.
"Oh God, if you're listening… please, help me. I can't bear this any longer."
She did not notice him returning until he was standing by the fireplace, his hair damp from the bath. He wore fresh woolen trousers and a heavy overcoat, the bandages on his shoulder freshly wrapped. He drank from her cup before sitting on the couch, his war axe resting on his lap as he sharpened the blade with a flint stone.
Luciana watched him warily, her every movement cautious.
"Come here," he said, his voice softer this time.
She hesitated, frozen in place until he stopped mid-motion, his eyes locking onto hers. The intensity of his gaze made her flinch.
"I may be a brute, but I won't harm my wife. You can relax."
Despite his words, her body remained tense. It was only when he set aside the axe that she dared move, sliding cautiously off the bed to sit by him.
"Not on the rug," he sighed. "Sit beside me."
Reluctantly, she moved to the far end of the couch, as distant from him as possible.
"Do you think I'm some kind of madman?" he asked, exasperated, before catching her arm and pulling her closer.
"I never imagined talking to my own wife would be this difficult," he muttered under his breath.
"Please," she whispered, her voice trembling, "please, let me go."
"You're thinking of running, aren't you?" His tone was cold, accusatory.
"N-no," she stammered. "I'm not."
He seemed to realize his grip was too tight, and he loosened it, though his expression remained hard.
"Are all of your kind this fragile, or is it just you?" he asked, his words edged with disdain.
"Women are naturally weaker," she replied quietly.
He snorted. "Mina's tough. So are the other women here."
Luciana bristled at the comparison.
"I've never done hard labor," she explained, trying to steady her voice.
"You seem used to raising children, though," he said bluntly.
She flinched at his crudeness.
"That's because I raised my younger sisters," she said, her voice growing faint.
"Aren't parents supposed to do that?" he asked. His casual ignorance of her situation stung.
There was a long pause before she responded.
"My mother… the Empress… died when my youngest sister was born," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I had no choice but to take her place."
"At least you still have family," he muttered, almost to himself.
She glanced at him, surprised by the unexpected vulnerability in his tone. His eyes, hardened by years of battle, looked distant—lonely.
"Are you alone?" she asked, regretting the question as soon as it left her lips.
He smirked, though the gesture was bitter.
"What do you expect from an abandoned war orphan and a former slave?"
Her heart tightened at his words.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"No need for that," he replied dismissively.
After a moment, his gaze turned to her again, sharper this time.
"What do you think of me?" he asked suddenly.
Caught off guard, Luciana said nothing.
"You detest me, don't you?" His tone was unreadable, but his eyes searched hers for an answer.
She looked away, her silence speaking louder than words.
His fingers brushed through her long white hair, which slipped effortlessly through his hands like silk.
"And yet you didn't resist my touch," he murmured, moving closer to her.
Luciana tensed, her instincts screaming to guard herself.
"You're doing this out of duty, aren't you?" he asked, his voice low. "Because you think it's what a wife should do?It is up to you to choose to stay."
"Will you really let me go if I asked you?" She leaned slightly towards him forgetting the very sight of her exposed skin maddened him making him lose the last bit of his restraint.
Luciana could still feel the echo of his words lingering between them.
I want you to choose to stay.
The confession unsettled her more than his anger ever had.
The room had gone quiet except for the crackling fire and the distant howl of wind beyond the stone walls.He cornered her like a beast that had successfully cornered his prey.
" Now then. What do you think? Hmm?"
His arms remained around her, though his grip had loosened, no longer demanding—only holding.
Carefully, she looked up at him.
The harshness in his expression seemed tired rather than cruel. The scars across his face and shoulders no longer looked like marks of intimidation alone, but remnants of a life spent surviving battles no one else could imagine.
"You speak as though no one ever has," she whispered.
His gaze darkened slightly.
"No one ever has what?"
"Chosen you."
The question caught him off guard.
A faint scoff left his lips, but there was no humor behind it.
"People obey me," he said. "Fear me. Need things from me." His fingers absently traced along the sleeve of her chemise. "That is not the same thing."
Luciana lowered her eyes again, uncertain what to say.
He watched her carefully, as though trying to decipher every thought hidden behind her silence. Then, unexpectedly, his hand rose to brush away the tears still lingering on her cheeks.
"You cry too easily," he muttered.
"You frighten me too easily," she replied softly before she could stop herself.
For a moment he simply stared at her.
Then, to her surprise, a quiet laugh escaped him—low and rough, but genuine.
"That," he said, "might be the first honest thing you've said to me all night."
A strange warmth flickered briefly across his features before disappearing again behind the familiar coldness.
The next silence between them felt heavier than before.
Luciana shifted slightly, intending to put distance between them again, but his hand closed gently around her wrist before she could move away completely.
"Still afraid," he murmured.
His thumb brushed against her pulse, slow and deliberate, as though he could feel every frantic beat beneath her skin. The firelight cast flickering shadows across his face, sharpening the hunger in his gaze until it became impossible to ignore.
"You keep looking at me like I'm about to devour you."
"Aren't you?" she whispered her thoughts unknowingly immediately stopping midway.
That dangerous smile returned.
"Perhaps I am."
Before she could answer, he pulled her closer again—this time until she was seated fully against him, her breath catching as his hand settled at the small of her back. Heat rushed through her instantly, overwhelming in its intensity.
"You don't understand what restraint costs me," he said quietly near her ear.
His voice had changed again—rougher now, worn thin by patience that was finally beginning to unravel.
"All night," he continued, "I've listened to you tremble every time I touch you. I've watched you look at the door as though escape still exists." His fingers tightened slightly against her waist. "And still I let you keep your distance."
Luciana could barely think beneath the weight of his attention.
He tilted her face toward him again, forcing her to meet his eyes.
"But I'm done pretending I don't want you."
The confession landed like a spark against dry tinder.
His mouth found hers again, slower this time but far more consuming, as though all the restraint he'd held back was pouring into the kiss instead. His hand slid carefully through her pale hair while the other kept her firmly against him, protective and possessive all at once.
Luciana's fingers instinctively caught against the front of his shirt.
That tiny movement seemed to affect him more than it should have.
A low breath escaped him as he rested his forehead briefly against hers, eyes half-lidded.
"There," he murmured. "You touched me first."
The satisfaction in his voice sent warmth rushing to her face.
And somehow, that terrified her more than his anger ever had.
He was already over her radiating dominance of a predator ready to savor his prey.
"Please..." She trembled. She felt pathetic that she couldn't even make a timely decision when she was given a chance.
"Please what?" He was already savoring her.
She gasped when he tore the thin chemise from the center revealing her heavy breasts.
"Beautiful" he grinned. He was already teasing her that made her mind go blank in both confusion and shame.
Her begging became cries and gasps as he continued while ignoring her plea.
Her cries and her sobbing didn't matter to him since with every passing moment as he completely became a beast devouring her and ruining her she was even more beautiful to her.
Her begging and her gasps. Every sound that came from her was a melody to his ears.
He didn't stop until morning.