My heart flutters like their wings as I lift the lid. Inside, nestled among springs of lavender and roses, are the butterflies. They are gloriously colorful as they begin to stir. Their wings are painted in iridescent blues, golds, and violets. They’re like living jewels. Everyone else is waiting to see what’s in the boxes, and the air is thick with anticipation. For heartbeat, nothing happens. Then, sensing their freedom, they take flight. They rise in a swirling cloud of color, eliciting a chorus of appreciative murmurs.

  As they rise, swirling and flapping, they catch the light of the chandeliers and candles. The hall is filled with gasps as wings brush cheeks, hover over goblets, and trail a shimmer of color through the air. The few children present laugh and reach for them. Even the most bored find themselves enchanted. The butterflies circle the feast hall, weaving between the garlands and the banners before drifting upward, to the open windows and the night beyond. I watch them go, feeling the weight of tradition and hope that their flight represents.

  In Fey custom, releasing living creatures at a wedding is a blessing. The type of blessing is dependent on the creature. With butterflies, it is a wish for freedom, transformation, and joy. Here, in this hall of cold iron, sharp cut stone, and even more dangerous wagging tongues, the butterflies are a promise that beauty and wonder can still find a place, even in the heart of human ambition. As the last butterfly vanishes into the night, the musicians resume their song, and the feast continues.

  A little Fey magic and the memory of wings now touch our wedding feast. The night continues, and the feast becomes a battlefield where the weapons of war are words, glances, and the careful placement of allies and enemies. I am determined to navigate this successfully. I have not let my guard down, nor has Kenric, even though a drunken celebration rages around us. Finally, it's time for the true ordeal of today. We return to our chambers to find Kenric’s Barons and their wives assembled.

  Their faces are set, and all of them are aware of the political stakes. My ladies pull me into another room and remove my wedding dress. It’s been replaced with the special nightgown Jager made. It’s somewhat over-the-top with ruffles and lace, but I’m told it should be enough for Kenric to complete his task without anyone seeing too much. The wives of the barons are first, and they inspect me to make sure that I’m not carrying a vial of blood or anything else that might be used to deceive.

  I am not, but Kenric is, and no one’s bothering to search him. The whole thing is a sham. It’s an ancient ritual meant to reassure everyone that any child of the union is the noble male’s and that the entire thing is untainted by scandal. The women find nothing, so I am placed on the bed atop a linen pad. Kenric is wearing the special pants that Jager also made, with ruffles and lace meant to provide some privacy. Kenric approaches the bed and climbs onto it, before moving my legs into position.

  “I am sorry, love, that it's like this, but I will make it up to you. I swear it,” he says slowly. He’s tense but resolute. As he’s explained it to me, his honor is on the line as much as my own. The Barons and their wives are present to satisfy the court’s insatiable need for proof. The women murmur prayers and blessings as Kenric positions himself under the watchful eyes of his liegemen and their wives. It is a grim, public guarantee for something that should be neither grim nor public.

  Kenric meets my eyes as he drives himself home, once only, before whispering in my ear, “It’s done.”

  I pity any woman who loses her virginity in this way. This isn’t what a consummation should be. Kenric withdraws and hides himself, then helps me off the bed. He holds up the pad, and there is blood on it. I hate this thing and everything it symbolizes. This is the price I pay for my human husband, bending to these ridiculous traditions. The Barons and their wives observe the pad.

  A few check it closely to ensure that the blood is warm. Once they’re done and everyone is satisfied, they leave us. The proof is accepted. The marriage and the alliance it represents are now beyond question. Now comes the next humiliation. Kenric goes to the window, clips the pad to some hooks, and displays it for everyone to see. The ritual is barbaric, but I have endured it. Kenric approaches me, but I’m angry. I am a raging inferno at this moment and not interested.

  I confront him, “Among the Fey, marriage is a binding of souls. We celebrate it with song and light. Our first marriage was among the Fey. You have seen our wedding customs. This... This was horrible. It is a ritual of property. They’ve made a spectacle of something that’s deeply personal and should be completely private. What exactly does a human male do after he’s claimed his chattel?"

  Stolen story; please report.

  Kenric stops staring at me. "I knew that this would be difficult for you. It’s a stupid ritual. I only agreed to it to ensure your position, your safety, your status.”

  “Would passing on that really have been so terrible?"

  I ask. Kenric nods. “It would have given many of the more predatory lords cause to seek you and chase you, just as Oskar will. While you might be able to outmaneuver one or two, not flying the pad would give a dozen or more of them cause. I don’t know that even you could avoid all of them at once."

  I consider this for a moment and nod, conceding his point. "Now come here and let me start making all this up to you. I don’t plan to stop until the count hits at least four hundred and ten. It’s four hundred and three now.”

  “They don’t get to touch you again,” Kenric rumbles in my ear as he rips the nightgown away.

  His voice is rough, and there’s something dark in his eyes. The sounds of tearing fabric are sharp in the silence. The cool air rushes over my skin, and Kenric’s gaze is heated. Gods! He’s every bit as glorious as Fey male. His gaze drops to my breasts, and he steps toward me.

  “You’re mine,” Kenric growls, low and possessive, his palms sliding over my skin. “And I’m going to remind you of that until you forget every last one of their faces.”

  I should still be angry, but I can’t be angry at Kenric. He’s done his best to make it as bearable as possible. I still wish he’d told me about this before I got on a ship, but he’s being very persuasive at the moment. I reach out and pull the tie on his special wedding pants, letting them drop. Kenric laughs, a smoky, delighted sound before his mouth seizes mine. His tongue pushes past my lips like he owns them. By the rules of this place, maybe he does. Kenric lifts me effortlessly, and I wrap my legs around him.

  He carries me onto the bed, the mattress dipping under our combined weight. The kiss never stops, even as he rolls me beneath him.

  He pulls back and looks at me, “Right now, you’re thinking I let them have a piece of you, of us. And I won’t have that. You’re mine, Víl?. Not theirs. Never theirs. And I’m just as much yours.”

  For a moment, I think I should push him away, I should scream and cry, go home to Imelenora. Then his fingers find me, and gods help me, I’m writhing, grinding into his hand.

  It's like none of it ever happened. Kenric roams over me, his breath and kisses hot against my skin in the cold room, as his fingers keep driving.

  I’m starting to shake, and I hear him whisper, “There you are.”

  He shoves my legs apart and buries his face with slow, teasing licks combined with maddening precision. His fingers resume until I’m begging. Finally, he relents, and I fly apart with a ferocity that leaves me gasping and sobbing. He doesn’t give me time to recover. In one fluid motion, he flips me over and yanks me onto all fours.

  I haven’t even had a moment to catch my breath. “Tell me who you belong to,”

  Kenric demands, his voice harsh and almost unfamiliar. He’s busy taunting me. I bite my lip, refusing to be owned, to be property.

  My defiance roars back into life, and I say simply, “No.”

  Kenric’s laugh is a dark, triumphant thing as he slams into me in one brutal thrust. “Wrong answer,” he growls. His hand fists my hair, and he pulls my head back as he sets a punishing pace. He pulls up onto my knees, never stopping.

  His other hand finds its way to the sensitive nub, and he drives me over the edge again. I cry out, stretched taut between pleasure and the sting of his domination. Kenric is relentless, and I can feel his teeth graze my shoulder. “Who do you belong to?”

  Kenric demands again. This time, I refuse to answer. His fingers go back to work, and I’m screaming his name again. “Better,” he growls in my ear, “but not good enough.”

  His rhythm falters for a moment, “You’re mine. Say it.”

  “Yours,” I agree, screaming his name again as Kenric’s release triggers my own. Kenric collapses over me, chest heaving, still twitching. His lips find my ear again.

  Now his voice is soft, tender, “And I’m yours, you stubborn, infuriating, woman.”

  I swear I can feel him smirking against my skin as he rolls into his back, pulling me with him. I’m sprawled across him, and his hands roam over me, caressing.

  Kenric looks at me with a half smile, “If I thought we could burn this damn bed, I’d suggest it.”

  “I don’t think Oskar would be happy if I hauled it out to the gardens and set it on fire,” I reply.

  Kenric laughs, “No, he probably wouldn’t.”

  We are both quiet for a bit before Kenric sighs, “I still have some work to do. The count is only four hundred and seven. That’s not nearly enough. You know I don’t quit that easily.”

  He rolls to face me, and I’m cradled against him, like I’m something precious. The look in his eyes isn’t something I can label, but it’s the most absorbing thing I think I’ve ever seen.

  I’m locked into his gaze, and the corner of his mouth quirks. His fingers go back to work, and I still can’t look away. He starts saying some of the most deliciously filthy things to me. “Have I mentioned just how gorgeous you are when you’re screaming my name? How much I enjoy feeling you come apart? Especially when you come apart around me? How much I love being buried inside you? How much the scent of your arousal heightens my own? How damn delicious you are?”

  A few moments later, I’m screaming his name again, and Kenric chuckles, “Four hundred and eight.”

  His tongue joins his fingers, and I still can’t look away. I’m still screaming when he slams into me. The rumble of satisfaction from him is decadent.

  He growls into my ear, “I want you to remember who you belong to every time you move tomorrow. I want you to remember who I belong to every time you move tomorrow.”

  I want… No, I need this… A better memory of our second wedding night than that dusty, humiliating exchange of property.

  What do you think she's going to do to Oskar? No peeking at the next chapter!! Let me know in the comments...