Wedding Night
The bridal chamber was too quiet.
Evelyn lay atop the silken sheets, fingers knotting into the fabric. She had memorized every instruction the old maid at home had drilled into her—where to touch, how to breathe, what sounds to make—but none of it eased the tremor in her limbs. Skin to skin with a man she'd met twice. The thought alone made her shiver.
The door creaked open.
Werner strode in, his presence filling the room like a shadow. Without ceremony, he sat on the edge of the bed and studied her, his gaze sharp even in the dim light. "You know what to do, yes?"
Evelyn sat up hastily, bowing her head. "Yes, Your Highness."
He exhaled—almost a scoff—and reclined back, arms splayed wide in lazy command. "Then begin."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Her discomfort prickled at his tone, but disobedience wasn't an option. Not for a bride whose worth hinged on her compliance. Swallowing hard, she knelt beside him, her hands trembling as she undid the fastenings of his clothing.
Then—here comes Tanya's singing voice.
Her voice floated through the night, sweet and mournful, weaving between the notes of a lute. A love song, or perhaps a lament.
Werner went rigid.
Evelyn froze. Beneath her fingers, his muscles had turned to stone. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his face—
And found his eyes fixed on the window, dark with something far colder than indifference. He sighed before speaking coldly :"Continue."
Evelyn had no choice but obey....
Dawn crept into the chamber, pale and unwelcome.
Evelyn stirred, wincing as the ache between her thighs flared with every shift. Beside her, Werner slept soundly, his features softened in slumber. She pinched her own arm—real. This was real.
Her stomach growled, a hollow reminder of the wedding feast she'd been too nervous to touch.
Then—a knock.
Werner stirred, still half-lost in dreams. In one fluid motion, he dragged Evelyn against his chest, his voice thick and drowsy: "Sleep a little longer, Tanya."
Evelyn froze.
His arms tightened around her, warm and possessive—but the name on his lips wasn't hers.
A heartbeat passed. Then another.
Werner's eyes snapped open.
He recoiled as if burned, shoving upright with a glare that could cut glass. "You heard that, didn't you?"
Evelyn's pulse roared in her ears. There was no lying to that gaze.
"I heard you call for your maid." She admitted softly. "Tanya."
Before he could speak, she hurried on, her voice feather-light: "They say she stood by you after your mother's passing. A loyal servant like that… it's a blessing. I'll have her attend you this morning—she knows your ways better than I ever could."
Werner studied her, the storm in his eyes fading into something unreadable. Then, to her surprise, he laughed—a low, approving sound.
"A mere earl's daughter." He mused, "and yet you play the game like a queen. No more 'Your Highness.' Call me Werner."
Evelyn smiled. "As your command… Werner."
A lifetime under others' roofs had taught Evelyn immensely adept at reading people's words, and not expect anything from anyone. She understood her role perfectly—Crown Princess was a title, not a triumph. A part to play when required, a prop to adorn Werner's arm at banquets and ceremonies. Love? That childish dream had withered the moment the betrothal seal was stamped.
When Tanya was summoned in to serve Werner, her eyes were swollen, her lips pressed into a thin, trembling line—the very picture of a woman scorned. Ruth, Evelyn's maid, took one look at her and rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't stick.
The morning ritual passed in stiff silence. Once finished, the maids filed out like well-trained shadows—all except Tanya, who lingered, her gaze clinging to Werner like a starving child to a scrap of bread.
Ruth cleared her throat. "Tanya." She said, sweet as poisoned honey, "We're dismissed. His Highness has his wife—our Princess—to tend to him now. Your… concern isn't needed."
Tanya's head snapped around, her eyes sharp enough to draw blood. "She's just a stepping stone." She hissed, low and venomous. Then she spun on her heel and stormed off, skirts whipping like a banner of war.
Ruth stared after her, then spat on the ground. "Bah! The toad lusts after the swan!"
Inside the chamber, Evelyn pretended not to hear.
But her grip on the hairbrush tightened.