The northern lords arrived like a winter storm, their horses' hooves pounding against the cobblestones as they crossed the outer courtyard. Sera watched from the high arched windows of the grand hall, her fingers tightening around the emerald silk of her borrowed gown. The fabric was too tight across her ribs, the high collar scratching at the fresh bruises on her neck - marks left by Varian's teeth just hours before.
"Stop fidgeting," Varian murmured behind her, his breath warm against her ear. His hands settled at her waist, turning her to face the approaching retinue. "They'll smell fear like wolves scent blood."
The first rider dismounted with a clatter of armor. Lord Rolfe of the Black Cliffs stood a full head taller than his men, his silver-streaked beard carefully braided in the northern fashion. The stories said he'd personally executed three wives - the first for disobedience, the second for bearing a daughter instead of a son, the third simply because the winter had been long and he'd grown bored.
Sera's throat went dry as his gaze swept over her, lingering at the bruises peeking above her collar.
"Don't look so nervous, princess," Varian's voice was a dark caress as his hand settled at the small of her back. The heat of his touch burned through the layers of fabric. "He's imagining how you'd scream in his bed. Pity he'll never get the chance."
His thumb stroked once - a slow, deliberate caress that had no place in a room full of enemies - before withdrawing just as the great doors swung open.
The insult came during the feast.
Rolfe raised his goblet in a mocking toast, his voice carrying across the suddenly silent hall. "To the new empress! May she last longer than the last one."
The wine arced through the air in a crimson wave, splashing across Sera's bodice. The cold liquid seeped through the silk, clinging to her skin in a way that made her shiver. A calculated humiliation, designed to test both her and Varian's patience.
The hall held its breath.
Varian moved first.
"Clumsy." His voice was deceptively light as he pushed back from the table. The scrape of his chair echoed like a sword being drawn.
With deliberate slowness, he shrugged off his outer coat - black velvet lined with gold thread that shimmered in the torchlight. The heavy fabric whispered as he draped it over Sera's shoulders, his fingers lingering as he fastened the obsidian clasp at her throat.
His knuckles brushed the sensitive skin beneath her jaw as he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Let them see how thoroughly I cover what's mine."
The words sent an unwelcome shiver down Sera's spine. His hand slid down to trace the damp fabric over her breast, his touch just shy of indecent. "Though perhaps I should inspect the damage myself later."
Around them, the northern lords shifted uncomfortably. Rolfe's smile faltered as Varian's gaze locked onto his, the unspoken challenge hanging between them.
The priestess found her afterward in the shadowed gallery, where Sera had fled to escape the suffocating weight of Varian's gaze and the court's whispers. Moonlight streamed through the high windows, painting silver streaks across the ancient tapestries.
"Clever girl," Elyanna crooned, materializing from the shadows like a wraith. Her gnarled fingers pressed something cold into Sera's palm. "But blood calls to blood."
Sera unfolded her fingers to reveal a dagger, its blade etched with delicate Valtaris sigils that shimmered in the pale light.
"When you're ready to cut the pact—" the priestess began, only to freeze as a floorboard creaked behind them.
Varian leaned against the doorway, his scars pulsing faintly blue in the dim light. "Run along, crone. My wife requires... attending."
When the priestess had slithered away, he advanced with the quiet grace of a stalking predator, backing Sera against a marble pillar. His body caged hers, all heat and hard muscle, the scent of leather and winter pine enveloping her.
"Give me the dagger," he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
Sera tilted her chin up, meeting his storm-gray eyes. "No."
His laugh was dark velvet. One hand pinned her wrist above her head while the other slid up her thigh, finding the blade hidden in her skirts with insulting ease. "Predictable."
She gasped as his hips pressed forward, the hard length of him undeniable even through their clothes. The cold marble bit into her back as he leaned closer, his mouth skimming the frantic pulse at her throat.
"But this?" His teeth grazed just enough to sting. "This isn't."
Then he was gone, leaving her trembling - the dagger still clutched in her hand.
He'd let her keep it.
The realization burned worse than any touch.