Eilika had waited over six hours for the first glimpse of her husband.
Six hours of uncertainty of wondering what kind of man the Duke truly was, of imagining what his voice might sound like, whether his eyes would hold warmth or at least indifference.
And this was what she received.
The moment Damian entered, he blew out the candles one by one, drowning the room in darkness. As if even the light was something he could not tolerate sharing with her. Then, without hesitation, he switched off the lamps as well, leaving only shadows, silence, and the suffocation.
Eilika's fingers trembled as she yanked off her veil. Her breath came uneven, and her chest tightened with a humiliation she hadn't expected to feel so sharply.
She looked toward him.
But in the darkness, she could barely make out anything, only a pair of icy blue eyes, glowing like frost in the night. They stared at her with a murderous intensity, as though she were not his bride, but his enemy.
"Give me the ring," Damian ordered.
His voice was cold.
Eilika had lived her whole life under harsh treatment; she had endured taunts, contempt, and cruelty from strangers and family alike. But hearing such coldness from her own husband, on the first night of their marriage, hurt in a different way.
She swallowed hard, forcing her limbs to move.
Slowly, she climbed down from the bed and reached for the ring box resting on the ornate wooden table beside her. Her fingers closed around it tightly, as though it might keep her steady. She opened it, revealing the rings, and stepped forward with cautious, hesitant movements.
But before she could reach him, Damian moved.
In a blink, he closed the distance between them like a flash of lightning. Eilika gasped softly, startled by how fast he was. She couldn't even see him clearly.
Then his hand seized hers.
His fingers were as cold as his voice, his grip firm, almost bruising her. Eilika stiffened, her heart pounding wildly against her chest.
But she didn't resist.
Damian took the ring from the box without ceremony. He grabbed her left hand, and without wasting even a second, slid the ring onto her fourth finger, finally completing the duty he was supposed to on the altar.
Eilika's eyes moistened. She reached for the other ring, trying to do the same, to fulfill her part, but before she could lift her hand, he snatched his ring from her grasp, as if he couldn't bear her touch. Then, without giving her the chance to complete the act, he slipped the ring onto his own finger himself.
"We have completed the main step of this marriage," Damian said at last, stepping away from her as though even the space between them mattered.
Eilika's fingers curled lightly into her palm. "No," she refused. "You never took vows with me."
She didn't call him Your Grace. She didn't call him My Lord. She refused to wrap her pain in courtesy.
A low, humorless sound left Damian. It was a half scoff and a half breath.
"I can't promise you a lifetime of togetherness. "This bed will remain cold until your last breath." Damian's voice boomed through the dark chamber.
Eilika didn't flinch at his words. Instead she replied gracefully this time, "I don't seek love, Duke. You can visit your secret mistress every night… Just don't come near me."
"Mistress?" Damian's voice lowered dangerously.
Before Eilika could step back, his hand shot forward, gripping her arm tightly. He pulled her toward him, hard enough that she stumbled into his chest, and his breath brushed her lips.
Eilika sucked her own breath.
His hold was too tight while his presence was overwhelming. She could feel the heat of him through his clothes. At that instant, the curtains shifted slightly. A sliver of moonlight spilled into the room, removing the darkness and illuminating their faces.
For the first time, Eilika saw him.
And she forgot how to breathe.
His features were carved with perfection: sharp jawline, commanding posture, and eyes so intensely blue they looked unreal, like the depths of the ocean trapped beneath ice.
He didn't simply look like a Duke.
He looked like a man born to rule.
Like someone who could crush others without even raising his voice.
They stared at one another, unblinking, both caught in an unfamiliar silence.
However, Eilika was the first to recover.
Realizing he was watching her like that, she quickly turned her face away, lifting her hand to her cheek as if she could hide the reaction she hated herself for having.
Her heart pounded.
But she forced her voice to stay steady.
"Weren't you with your mistress the entire day?" she asked. "If that is your life, then why did you even consider marrying me?"
Damian released her arm abruptly, as though even holding her had displeased him.
"Eat your dinner and sleep," he commanded. "You may not see me around, and you will not come to me unless it is absolutely necessary."
Eilika turned her head slightly, listening.
"If you need money," he continued, "ask my mother. Since you are the Duchess now, you will have unimaginable wealth starting tomorrow."
"I didn't marry you for your wealth," Eilika said.
"Why are you talking to me so casually?" Damian's irritation grew.
"Because I don't consider you a husband either," Eilika said, she gulped hard knowing he might hit her with another rumor she heard of him from one of the maids.
Damian laughed for a second. "That's better. Let's live like strangers then." But before leaving, he again closed the gap between them, his hand holding her arm fiercely and he whispered in her ear, "Don't come begging me to love you. Because that's the last thing this marriage will have."