Chapter 18 #3
The impersonal precision of her words—marked and lame—was an arrow to the heart. She had distilled his sprawling anger, his wounded pride, his political calculations into two stark, ugly truths. He hadn’t expected her to say it. Yet, he couldn’t deny it either.
She understood, more than he anticipated anyone ever could.
Her tone was level, her gaze steady, but in the firelight, he saw the slight tremor in her hand. The dignity was a shield, and it was costing her.
The sight of it shamed him. He wanted to argue, to deflect, to list the reasons his caution was justified. But the words died in his throat. To defend himself would be to attack the truth she’d just laid bare, made a mockery of her courageous candour.
So he answered with equal frankness. “I can’t afford to make choices from sentiment.” The justification sounded hollow even to his own ears. “I need a wife who strengthens my standing. One who can help me finish what I’ve started. I can’t risk a marriage that invites scorn.”
He told himself it was honesty, not cruelty. Yet, when silence stretched between them, he felt so small and cowardly, he couldn’t meet her eyes.
The rustle of fabric broke the stillness. He looked up. JingYi had risen, fingers clumsy at the ties of her nightgown. The linen slipped from her shoulder, firelight catching the pale slope of skin, the collarbone protruding sharply. Her hands trembled, but still, she tugged at the next knot.
“I know what it means,” she quavered, “if we do not consummate.”
For a heartbeat, all he could do was watch her determination, her fear. To her, this was survival: To remain in his house, she must bare herself.
The sight struck him harder than any battlefield blow. Even so, something primal stirred in him then—low, unwelcome, undeniable. Her Omega scent was subtle but present, sweet beneath the smoke and wine, brushing against instincts he’d fought to master all his life.
Nature told him to claim. Another fiercer part urged him to shield.
By the time he rose to his feet, the conflict roared through him. He caught her arms before the linen could fall further. Her pulse thudded fast under his grip. Close. Warm. The pull of her, the unmistakable tether of Omega to Alpha, coiled like smoke in his lungs.
He shook his head. “No,” he said, his voice firm, though he forced the sharpness from it.
Her lashes trembled. Confusion passed, then a flicker of shame, swift and cutting. Slowly, her hands dropped to her sides.
He released her and stepped back, putting distance he didn’t trust himself to keep otherwise.
“Rest, Princess,” he said, quieter now. “That is all I ask of you tonight.”
Her eyes held a maelstrom of emotions. He wanted to ease her, assure her, but what words could he give her when he felt like he was standing on shifting sands?
So he turned, left her in the glow of the hearth, already knowing she would take his refusal as another rejection.
Guilt pressed in, but he pushed it away. Emotions had no place in decisions of this magnitude. He had always been pragmatic, steadfast on his long road to redemption. He couldn’t afford to falter now.
She didn’t stop him.
The corridor beyond his chamber was cool and silent.
His footsteps echoed softly as he made his way to his study, where no servants had bothered to light a flame.
No one thought he would spend his wedding night in his study, alone.
But the darkness greeted him like an old friend, and he embraced it.
He crossed to his desk and lowered himself into the leather chair. The familiar creak grounded him, as did the scent of ink and old parchment that always lingered here.
He reached for a clean sheet of paper. Uncapped his inkwell. Dipped the quill. Each line dragged like a blade across skin. This annulment request would shatter everything—sever the tenuous thread tying JingYi to Tremore and undo the union.
It would ruin her. That thought stilled him.
He tried to justify it. She deserved someone who truly wanted her, who would cherish her. House Wulfbane couldn’t weather another scandal. Duty must come first.
He melted the wax. His hand paused at the tilt. The wax beaded and hovered. A molten drop hissed against the mahogany desk, hardening into an uneven blotch.
Alexander stared at it.
The parchment lay before him, the letter already written, the ink curling across the page—a betrayal already. His seal was the only thing missing. One press of his sigil on the soft wax, and it would be done.
Clean. Lawful. Irrevocable.
His heart pounded, his hand shook. He told himself it was fatigue, but the truth was heavier.
Honour seemed a cruel price to pay if it cost JingYi her own. Her father’s wrath would be merciless. Her court would shred what was left of her to ribbons.
The same way his court had shredded him.
With slow, deliberate moves, he folded the parchment. Once. Twice. Then, opening his desk drawer, he placed it inside and shut it with a soft, resolute click.
He leaned back and stared at the unlit hearth until the sun rose on a new day.