In Darian’s eyes, I had always been the one to fill the space Selara left behind. I knew this long before I pledged myself to him under the family seal. Back then, I had loved him fiercely and bound myself to his house with a solemn oath.
Once, I dreamed of bearing his heir, strengthening our lineage. But the loss of my son felt like a message from fate—perhaps a child tied to Darian would never have thrived under our watch.
After taking the doctor’s draught, sleep claimed me. Deep into the night, the door creaked open.
“What did the Don’s counsel reveal today?” Darian asked quietly, stepping close, brushing a hand across my hair.
A foreign scent lingered on him—a trace of another woman’s perfume, subtle but unmistakable. I turned my face away, refusing his touch in silence.
“Nothing of concern,” I said, forcing calm into my voice. “I am well.”
Darian nodded. “The family required my presence. Business became urgent.”
I didn’t challenge him. I rolled onto my side, closing my eyes. “Then wash away the day’s dealings before resting.”
For a moment, he hesitated. He said nothing. Soon after, I heard the basin fill and water splash—he washing himself in silence, a ritual of order in the chaos of our lives.
The next morning broke under a pale sky, and I rose before the first horn sounded across the estate. It was my turn to oversee operations at the doctor’s quarters near the western ridge, so I left early, not waiting for Darian to stir by the fire. After the council meeting wrapped at midday, a messenger arrived with a note—Darian sought me through our secure channel.
His message came sharp, tinged with irritation. Liora, why did you leave before dawn? You departed the estate without warning, and I overslept.
Once, I had tended to him with meticulous care. After our union was formalized under the Don’s seal and sworn before the family elders, I rose before him each day. I laid out his suit, prepared his morning meal, and sent discreet reminders to ensure he never missed his appointments. I had believed such devotion was the duty of a loyal wife.
Yet his tone now carried expectation, as if my loyalty were merely a contract etched in stone. As though affection were a service owed to him alone.
I was never his servant—I was his wife by oath. I had every right to refuse.
“If you are late, then rise quickly,” I sent in reply.
He asked again, What shall I wear to the gathering today?