Chapter 11: Separate Chambers
The door closed without a sound.
Elowen stood frozen in the center of the room, her hands clenched in the fabric of her borrowed nightdress, staring at the dark wood as though it might suddenly open again. The faint echo of Lord Kael Draven's footsteps faded down the corridor, leaving behind a silence so complete it felt heavier than any shout.
So this was it.
This was her wedding night.
Not a bed torn apart by violence, not a cruel laugh or a drunken hand grabbing at her skin. Not the fate her family had whispered about with thinly veiled satisfaction.
Just… quiet.
The chamber she had been given was far larger than any space she had ever slept in before. Tall windows rose along one wall, their heavy curtains pulled back just enough to reveal the night beyond Blackspire's jagged towers silhouetted against a moonless sky. A fire burned low in the hearth, casting warm amber light across stone walls and polished floors.
The bed was enormous.
Elowen swallowed and forced herself to breathe.
She had been prepared for pain. For humiliation. For fear so sharp it would hollow her out completely. She had rehearsed it in her mind on the journey here how she would endure it, how she would go still and silent and survive.
Instead, her new husband had looked at her with eyes like a storm held behind glass and said, in a voice that brooked no argument, You will not be touched unless you wish it.
She did not know what to do with that.
Slowly, as though afraid the room might vanish if she moved too quickly, Elowen crossed to the bed and sat on its edge. The mattress dipped beneath her weight, soft and yielding in a way that felt almost obscene. At Ashmere, she had slept on a narrow cot in the servants' wing, her blankets thin, her rest often broken by the sound of raised voices or worse.
Here, the silence pressed in around her, unfamiliar and unsettling.
Her body began to tremble.
She hadn't noticed when it started. Only that suddenly her chest felt tight, her breaths shallow. Her fingers curled into the quilt, clutching at it as memories surged unbidden her stepmother's cold smile, her half sister's laughter, her father's eyes sliding past her as though she were nothing more than a stain on the floor.
Sold for gold and safety, they had said.
Elowen bent forward, resting her forehead against her knees, and let herself shake.
She did not cry loudly. She had learned long ago that tears invited punishment. Instead, silent tears slid down her cheeks, dampening the fabric of her dress. Her shoulders trembled as she fought to keep her breathing even.
After a long while, she forced herself upright again.
"I am safe," she whispered into the empty room, testing the words. They felt fragile, like glass that might shatter if she pressed too hard.
She rose and crossed to the window, peering out into the darkness. Far below, torches burned along the fortress walls, their flames steady and disciplined. Guards patrolled in measured silence, their movements precise. Blackspire was not chaotic. It was controlled.
So was its lord.
The memory of Kael Draven standing before her earlier that evening surfaced unbidden. The way the air itself had seemed to bend around him. The weight of his presence not crushing, but absolute. He had looked at her not as a possession, not as an object to be used, but as… something to be protected.
You will have your own chambers.
She hugged her arms around herself, unsure whether to feel relief or disappointment.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
Elowen startled, her heart leaping into her throat. For one terrible moment, fear surged again irrational, but deeply ingrained. She crossed the room cautiously and opened the door just a crack.
A woman stood in the corridor, her posture straight, her expression composed but not unkind. She wore the black and silver livery of Blackspire, her dark hair pulled back into a severe knot.
"My lady," the woman said, inclining her head. "I am Mistress Virelle, steward of the inner keep. I wished to see if you required anything before the night deepens."
Elowen hesitated, then shook her head. "No. Thank you."
Mistress Virelle's gaze softened, just slightly. "If you change your mind, there will always be someone awake to attend you. You are not alone here."
Not alone.
The words struck something deep and aching in Elowen's chest.
"Thank you," she said again, more quietly.
The door closed once more, and Elowen leaned her forehead against the cool wood, drawing strength from the solidness of it. When she turned back into the room, she moved with more purpose.
She undressed slowly, folding each borrowed garment with care and placing them on the chair by the hearth. The nightdress beneath was simple and soft, its fabric brushing gently against her skin. She slipped beneath the covers and lay staring up at the ceiling, listening to the crackle of the fire.
Sleep did not come easily.
Every sound made her tense, every shift of shadow drawing her attention. She wondered what Kael was doing in his own chambers whether he lay awake as she did, or whether sleep came easily to a man rumored to have slaughtered entire armies.
Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to his hands.
They had not touched her, not even in passing, but she remembered them clearly. Large, calloused, marked with faint scars that spoke of battles fought and survived. Hands that could end lives with terrifying ease and yet had rested at his sides, restrained.
Why?
The question lingered, unanswered, as exhaustion finally dragged her under.
Kael did not sleep.
He stood at the window of his own chamber, one hand braced against the stone, staring out into the endless dark beyond Blackspire's walls. The void within him churned restlessly, responding to thoughts he did not allow himself to finish.
She had looked so small standing before him.
Not weak he had learned long ago not to confuse the two but fragile in a way that set his instincts on edge. He had seen fear before, had inspired it in countless men and women. Elowen's fear was different. It was old, ingrained, shaped by years of quiet cruelty.
And she had still met his gaze.
Kael exhaled slowly, forcing the surge of power within him to settle. The seal etched into his skin a pattern of ancient runes hidden beneath his clothing burned faintly, a warning. Strong emotion was dangerous. He knew this better than anyone.
He had taken her as his wife for political necessity. For leverage. For peace bought with gold and reputation.
He had not expected to feel this… tension. This need to shield.
"I will not break you," he murmured to the empty room. It was not a vow he had ever made before.
His power stirred, then stilled, as though listening.
Elowen woke to soft light spilling through the windows.
For a moment, she did not know where she was. Then the memories of the night before settled into place, and with them, a strange sense of calm. She had slept through the night. Truly slept. No nightmares. No sudden waking in fear.
She sat up slowly, the blankets pooling around her waist, and let herself savor that realization.
When she dressed and stepped into the corridor, servants bowed as she passed. Not exaggerated, not mocking. Respectful.
It made her chest ache.
Breakfast was served in a small solar overlooking the eastern cliffs. Kael was already there when she entered, standing by the window, his broad back to her. He turned as she approached, his gaze sharp but not unkind.
"You slept," he said, not a question.
"Yes," Elowen replied, surprised. "I did."
Something like relief flickered across his face before it vanished. He gestured to the table. "Eat. The day will be long."
She obeyed, settling into the chair opposite him. For a while, they ate in silence, the only sounds the clink of cutlery and the distant cry of seabirds.
"Did you… regret it?" The question slipped out before Elowen could stop herself.
Kael looked up sharply. "Regret what?"
"Giving me separate chambers," she said, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest. "Most men wouldn't."
His gaze held hers, intense enough to make her breath hitch. "Most men are fools," he said simply. "I will not take what is given out of fear."
Something warm unfurled in her chest, tentative but real.
"No one has ever said that to me before," she admitted.
Kael's jaw tightened. "Then they were unworthy of you."
The words lingered between them, heavy with meaning neither was ready to fully acknowledge.
Outside, the sun rose higher over Blackspire, casting light over stone and shadow alike. And for the first time in her life, Elowen felt the fragile beginnings of something she had never dared hope for.
Safety.