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As his wife, that was his right.
But she was a filthy fae whore, and he would never bed her. As a human, or another vampire, perhaps he would have.
Regardless of how much he wanted her, as much as his loins throbbed to take her, even if he could get over the fact that she was a fae, the enemy … he couldn't.
He’d come into this marriage with every intention of strapping her to a table and picking her apart piece by piece, seeing if he could turn her into the cure for his curse if the fae in his dungeons failed. But now, having met her, Vinir doubted those intentions. For all the claims of his cruelty, and the truth behind it … he was not sure he could bring himself to hurt her.
Beauty such as hers should be coveted, not crushed.
Touching her would only bring her closer to devastation. Kissing her would only be a gateway for him to act on his desires—if the kiss didn't hurt her first.
He wasn't even willing to take that chance. The curse written upon his body was strong, often manifesting in unexpected ways. And in too many pairs of burned gloves, now discarded.
"You have a lot to learn about men. I can see that," Vinir said, preparing to strike her back into her place. "Let me teach you your first lesson. Men don't take kindly to a woman's insolence. Disrespect me again, and you'll regret it. I am your king first and foremost, your husband second, and you are by the right of law mine to do with what I will. If that means I’d rather fuck a slave than you, there’s nothing you can do."
Aelwen paled, her angry flame replaced with the embers of hurt. He could see it in her eyes, which quickly lost their determined heat and flicked away from him.
A twinge of guilt twisted in Vinir's chest, but he shoved it away.
"What do I have to do?" she asked quietly.
Vinir paused for a moment, taken aback at the sudden change in her demeanor. He hadn't expected that. He had expected more arguments or demands. Instead, she had humbled herself before him, offering herself up as an empty canvas for him to paint what he willed upon it.
"Whatever do you mean?"
She lifted her chin, clear defiance shining in her golden eyes. "If you are not attracted to me as I am, then what do I need to do?"
He scoffed. "I didn't say that I am not attracted to you. You are beautiful. Otherwise, I wouldn't have agreed to marry you. But beauty is far from enough to win your way around here."
"But then I ... I don't understand. If you're attracted to me, and I am now your wife, why don't you want me?"
Vinir felt the weight of her questioning gaze, and his anger rose like a heatwave inside him. He knew she was only asking out of curiosity and a desire to please, but the way she pressed him for answers sent his temper into a frenzy. Why wouldn't she just leave him alone?
Most princesses in her position would be glad not to be forced into an unknown man's bed, taken against their will, and forced to bear children, but here Aelwen was, demanding why he didn't want to do that.
He wanted to lash out at her, to make her stop asking questions and leave him alone.
"Because I don't want you," Vinir snapped coldly. "I don't need anyone in my life, and I certainly have no interest in you. You place far too much stake in your importance. Yes, we are now bound by the laws governing our society, but that does not mean I suddenly care for you any more than I did two minutes before we were wed. You are a rebel princess married to me because your father saw you as too much of an inconvenience to keep any longer or because he believed you would be more useful in my bed than annoying him at home. Of course, now that means you're here to annoy me instead. Lucky me."
Aelwen's expression crumpled, hurt clearly visible in her eyes as she stepped back from him. "Very well, I suppose that is all there is to be said then."
She turned around, hoisted up her gown’s skirt again, and stormed off in the opposite direction.
Vinir watched her go, his satisfaction dampening when he saw the slump of defeat in her shoulders as she moved farther away from him. His words had been harsh—too harsh, perhaps—but effective.
A lazy smirk hung on Vinir's lips as he watched her sway away from him, her speed hindered by the constraining wedding attire. He hoped this simple act of cruelty would be enough to keep her away from him and accept that he didn’t want her. Right now he had changed his mind about cutting her up, but that could change again if she pissed him off and his current fae slave failed him.
***
Vinir extended a hand, and Roland handed him a crystalline wine glass filled with a deep crimson liquid. Vinir threw his head back and ravenously gulped the blood down, still hot and smooth as if fresh from someone's neck.
Roland smirked, watching Vinir lick every drop out of the glass. "You're fucked if she has you like this already."
"Quiet," Vinir snarled, throwing the wine glass across the room. It shattered against the worn stone floor, dribbles of blood spattering the floor. "You've been gone for months, and here you arrive with yet another problem for me to deal with. I've postponed this wedding for years, and the moment you walk back into my court, you come dragging my missing bride along with you."
"I assure you the trouble was unintended. Had I realized you were not, in fact, looking for your bride but rather preferringthat she stay tucked away somewhere out of sight, I would have acted to keep her well out of your way. Alas ..."
Vinir grabbed another wine glass from the sitting room table and filled the glass with more fresh blood. This time he sipped slower, enjoying the sweet taste.
