The chambers glowed with a seductive hush for our wedding night, every inch transformed into an intimate den—fresh rose petals scattered like blood drops across vast silk sheets on the canopied bed, candles flickering warm amber from gilded sconces, their light dancing on velvet walls.
It was a full setting that will stimulate our minds to have sex. Incense wove lazy trails of jasmine and deep musk, crafted to stir primal ABO instincts—heats and ruts hovering unspoken.
Heavy brocade drapes muffled the distant cathedral cheers and tolling bells; a low fire crackled in the marble hearth, casting golden shadows that played across crystal flutes of untouched wine on a rosewood side table.
The air hummed thick, expectant.
I was a virgin in my previous life. Even though I seduced a lot of men and women, I didn't know much about sex.
Assassination was the only thing that I knew. That was my identity—Assassin Leon.
I sat tense on the bed's edge, long nightdress of pale silk clinging cool to my skin—sleeveless with delicate spaghetti straps slipping slightly, flowing loose to ankles in whisper-soft layers, sheer panels along the sides hinting at softened Omega curves without revealing.
My hair still weighed heavy with starlight lilies and satin ribbons from the ceremony, pins digging like threats.
Elaine lounged casually across from me on a chaise, her lean muscles rippling subtly under a loose black nightshirt unbuttoned at the collar and matching pants—taller frame dominating the space, Alpha presence filling the room like quiet thunder.
Why was she so cold to me? I am her wife, aren't I? It still feels so weird that I settled into the 'female' position so soon.
I glanced at her, breaking the silence. "Can you remove the flowers from my hair? They'll dig in if I sleep like this—hurt like hell."
She ignored me at first, staring into the fire's glow, ice-blue eyes distant and unreadable, handsome face shadowed.
"Hey! I'm talking to you."
She turned slow, deliberate. "Why should I help you?" Her voice cut cold as winter steel, laced with disdain.
"What?! I'm your wife. You married me today."
Elaine eyed me blank for a beat, then rose with fluid, predatory grace—long legs closing the distance in three strides. Her bare hands—gloves shed—unpicking lilies and ribbons deftly, petals drifting like pink snow to the petal-strewn rug.
Silver strands tumbled free in glossy waves down my back; I grabbed the ivory brush from the nearby vanity, its handle carved with vines, and combed smooth, relishing the release.
The discarded wedding gown lay in a shimmering pearl heap by the wardrobe—I'd escaped its cage gladly the moment doors shut.
"So, what are we going to do?" I asked, setting the brush aside with a clack, olive eyes meeting hers steady.
"I didn't ask to marry you," she said flatly, sinking back onto the chaise, muscles flexing under thin fabric—lean, powerful lines dwarfing my adjusted frame.
"I'm not asking that!" Frustration edged my voice.
"I love Count Gerald's son, Marol." Her blank eyes held mine now, daring a challenge, confession hanging like a gauntlet.
Who the fuck is Marol? Did I ask her that?
"I never asked." I jabbed a finger at the diamond choker, tight and unyielding around my throat, suppressants failing. "Just mark me, okay? Please."
"I don't want sexual relations with you." Ice in every syllable, but her posture shifted—wary. "My heart—"
"Fuck your heart1"
Elaine's eyes widened slightly. It was the first goddamn reaction that I got from her.
"I can't fulfil my duty as your husband—"
"Neither do I! Just mark me—I hate this damn thing. As an Omega, the restrictions choke worse than metal—scents leaking, eyes everywhere."
"You will make it difficult for me—I love—"
"Yes! You love someone! Look, I will be direct to you—I am thinking of forcing you to live with me and act as my husband."
"Will you let me complete my sentence?!" Elaine yelled.
I sighed, "Okay, finish whatever you want to say."
"If I mark you, I have to rut you to make it permanent." Her tone stayed frosted, but gaze sharpened, calculating risks. "And I can't do that."
"Then do it." I met her stare head-on, unflinching. "Look, I didn't want this marriage either. But here we are—bound by spectacle. Besides, I don't care what others think—it's just a mark."
"Its's a sacred mark."
"Like I said, fuck it. I don't give a damn, okay?"
"So?" She leaned forward slightly, pine-steel scent intensifying.
"It's one night only. I risk pregnancy—the disadvantage is all mine. Elaine, after this, we go our separate ways. No interest in this farce from me. Your mark gives me control—over heats, scents, the pull."
"You'll let me go? Truly free?" Interest flared up in her eyes.
"Yes. Love whoever you want—Marol, a dozen others. I don't care. I will divorce you, okay? But I want you to act alongside me—which is you acting like a husband."
"How can I believe you?" Scepticism etched her handsome features. "You are the emperor's daughter."
I pulled a blank vellum scroll from the nightstand drawer, palm glowing as my magic—Soul Weaving magic surged—prismatic light flaring brief and brilliant, etching words in permanent golden script—After one year, I, Crown Princess Alexander Farrel, divorce Elaine Klageter freely, no claims, no pursuit. I pricked my thumb on a hidden dagger pin, signing with a crimson drop that sealed it binding, magic humming approval.
"Here—take it. Proof." I gave her an honest look. "I don't have any interest in you. Just have sex with me—just for once."
She snatched the scroll, unrolling slow, ice-blue eyes scanning, thawing a fraction as realization dawned—handsome face shifting from doubt to sharp calculation under the candle flicker.
"What about your father? The emperor won't allow—"
"She'll understand," I cut in. "I will make her understand—my father will understand, okay? In the future? I might find someone too. So please—end this choker nightmare."
Elaine rolled the scroll tight, tucking it into her nightshirt, silence stretching as fire popped softly.
"Fine, I will mark you."