Then the cold, political reality crept in at the edges.
He could accept her courage. He could even come to accept the mark itself. But the court? The Nine Kingdoms? They would not be so charitable. He could already hear Bertrand’s voice rehearsing the whispers that would follow: ‘House Wulfbane, so diminished it must accept damaged goods. A princess with a flaw they’ll mock behind fans for generations.’
The words were not his, but they would be spoken. They would be believed. And House Wulfbane would bear the scorn—again.
He looked up at the window of his chambers, where he knew she was waiting, and felt his pulse thickened and slowed, the way it did before a battle he wasn’t sure he’d win.
She would never be one of them. She would be a curiosity at best, forever a laughingstock.
Krystoff rested a weathered hand on his shoulder. The weight was fatherly, firm. “She is your wife. Don’t let wounded pride set the tone for your first night. Go. Speak to her. Listen, even when it’s hard.”
“She’ll face enough judgment from the world tomorrow,” Darion pointed out. “She doesn’t need it from you tonight.”
Alexander’s gaze shifted between them—the mentor and the loyal right hand. The churning in his gut intensified. “And what if she was part of it?” he asked, the words bitter. “What if this was no mistake?”
Krystoff’s brows lifted. “You think she conspired to deceive you?”
“The veil. The portrait.” Alexander’s jaw worked. “It’s not just what was hidden. It’s that she never tried to explain.”
“What explanation could she give at the altar,” Darion countered, “with your guests watching?”
Alexander had no answer.
“One look at your wife,” Darion said evenly, “mark or no mark, tells me she’s not a woman of deceit.”
Alexander’s head snapped toward him. “You’ve known her for three days.”
“I’ve seen enough. The way she walks—guarded, but never scheming. The way she speaks—measured, but never false. That’s not deceit. That’s someone trained to keep her head down.”
“Trained?” Alexander shot back, the anger flaring again. “She let me believe her limp came from the ambush. She let me think she was whole!”
Darion’s voice hardened, cutting through the night. “Aye. Like any good soldier would! You hide your weak side so no one can use it against you. That’s not trickery. That’s survival. If a princess had to learn that, ask yourself what kind of life forced her to.”
Alexander opened his mouth to argue, but the words died.
Hide your weak side.
Hadn’t he been raised on the same brutal principle? Every hidden bruise, every concealed doubt, every moment of vulnerability buried deep so no rival could sniff it out.
The realization was a cold, sobering draft. He knew—had sensed from the start—she was no cosseted court flower. The things she’d let slip about her family, her startling modesty, the alarming frailty of her frame beneath the silks all pointed toward a life of hardship.
It unsettled him completely. It meant she hadn’t played him for a fool. She’d been doing what he himself had always done. What his House had done.
Surviving.
Krystoff placed a hand on his shoulder, the grip steady as iron.
“If you let anger blind you, you’ll throw away the one thing you’ve not had in years: a chance at something real. She may not be what you expected, but she may be what youneed.”
Alexander’s throat tightened. The torches crackled. His hands opened and closed again.
“What should I do?”
“Ask her what you need to know,” Krystoff said. “But ask her as a husband would. Not a judge.”
Darion nodded once. “Don’t look for reasons to resent her. Not when you haven’t even given her the chance to stand beside you.”
Alexander nodded.
