Chapter 3 A Marriage of Fire and Frost

"Get out of my sight!"

The voice that tore through the stillness of the room was like a blade across soft skin. It was sharp, cold, and impossible to ignore.

Darius sat in the center of the dimly lit chamber, framed by shadows and silence. His brows were drawn into a stormy glare, and in one hand, he still held the silver-handled cane he had used to strike me only moments before. The steel glinted in the low light like it had a soul of its own, cold and unforgiving.

So this was my wedding night.

Married for just a few short hours, and already I was being cast out like a piece of rotting fruit. There was no warmth in his gaze, no gentleness in his voice, only hostility, raw and brimming with fury.

But I didn't run. I couldn't.

Darius Blackthorn was the only wall standing between me and the abyss I had barely escaped. If I failed here, if he rejected me, I'd be dragged back to Ashridge's estate. Back to the chains. Back to the bruises. Back to the silence that followed screams. I wouldn't survive that a second time.

I steadied myself, hiding the tremble in my hands behind the soft folds of my dress.

"Darius," I said softly, my voice more breath than sound. "My name is Ravyn. I'm... I'm your wife."

He let out a bitter laugh, though it held no humor. "Wife? Is that what they're calling it now?" His voice dripped with contempt. "You're not my wife. You're a burden they've shackled to my name."

He looked anything but the dying man I'd been told about. His body might be confined to a wheelchair, but there was no weakness in the way he held himself. His voice carried the weight of someone who had once commanded rooms and armies. If death was close, it had not yet reached his spirit.

A flicker of relief sparked in me despite his hostility. At least he wasn't dying. Not yet. That gave me time.

I reminded myself of the instructions I'd been handed upon arrival: a list, cold and clinical. Step one: assist Darius with his evening bath.

I cleared my throat and offered a small bow, keeping my tone respectful but firm. "Mr. Blackthorn, I was told that now would be a good time for your bath. I'll begin preparing the water and the oils."

He didn't speak. Just glared.

I turned and made my way into the adjoining bathroom. Only then did I allow myself to breathe. The walls muffled the sound of my heartbeat, but not the fear pounding behind my ribs.

I lit the oil lamps, watching the warm glow spread across the marble floor. With careful hands, I filled the tub, mixing in the herbs and oils as instructed. Lavender and rosemary. Their scent curled through the air like whispers of a life I didn't know how to live.

As I worked, a painful thought settled into my chest, I have never touched a man before, not even held one's hand. And now, I was expected to bathe one?

A heat crawled up my neck. I pushed it down.

The faint sound of wheels on stone reached my ears. He was coming.

I turned, forcing a calm expression onto my face. "The bath is ready, sir. You may come in now."

He stared at me, his eyes unreadable. There was no movement in his legs, which rested uselessly on the footrests of his chair.

I stepped forward slowly and placed my hands gently on the handles of the wheelchair, easing him toward the bath. Still, he didn't help. His body was heavy, uncooperative.

I hesitated. My fingers twisted in my skirt. "Would you... like help removing your clothes?"

The silence that followed was unbearable. I didn't dare meet his gaze.

"I mean," I added, my voice faltering, "if you're unable to... I can assist."

The look he gave me was withering. But then, a slow, cruel smile tugged at his lips. "So, you're going to undress me, little dove?"

The humiliation hit me like a slap. I bit the inside of my cheek, my pride screaming while my mouth stayed silent.

"...Yes," I whispered. "I'll help."

Kneeling before him, I reached for the buttons of his coat. My fingers shook as I undid them one by one, peeling away the layers of cloth that separated us. Each piece I removed made the air between us feel heavier, more intimate and unbearable.

When I reached his belt, I faltered. My hands hovered, uncertain.

"I'll remove your trousers now," I said softly, more to warn myself than him. The buckle fought me, stiff and unyielding. I struggled, my face burning with every second that passed.

Then he laughed. A low, cruel chuckle. My fingers froze.

He leaned forward just enough to grab my wrist. His grip was firm, his skin icy against mine. "Let me show you, if you're going to be this pathetic about it."

He guided my hand, showing me the motion. The buckle clicked loose beneath our joined hands.

I tried not to think. Tried not to feel. I moved closer, my knees pressing against the cool stone. I needed to shift him to remove the rest of his clothing.

"Mr. Blackthorn," I said, voice trembling but steady enough, "I need you to lean on me. Just for a moment."

But instead of complying, he leaned forward sharply, his face suddenly close to mine.

Too close.

I froze. His breath ghosted across my cheek. I tried to pull back, but his hand gripped my arm, anchoring me there.

"This close?" he murmured, his voice low and dangerous.

His eyes locked onto mine, dark as midnight storms. Then they dropped to my lips.

My heart thundered. I couldn't move. A foreign heat bloomed inside me, unwanted and confusing.

And just when I thought he might kiss me...

He shoved me backward.

I hit the floor hard, pain shooting through my tailbone. I gasped, struggling to breathe as I stared up at him in shock.

His voice sliced through the air. "Tell me the truth. Why are you here? Why did you marry me? What is it you want from Darius Blackthorn? What is your Secret Agenda?