The people of Saint Liora lined the palace gates, throwing flower petals and muttering prayers in a language I didn't understand.
"Are they blessing me or cursing me?" I asked him.
"A bit of both," he said waving.
There were no drummers, no dancers. Just a short priest in too many rings, reading from a scroll with all the passion of a man reading soup ingredients.
"By royal decree, Lady Yetunde of Oyo-Moba shall enter this house as bride to His Grace…"
Blah blah blah.
I kept my face neutral. But inside? I was screaming.
There were no blessings. No kolanut. No chants of welcome. No one sprinkled me with water to cleanse my spirit. The people bowed out of obligation, not celebration.
And Marcus? He didn't even look at me once during the ceremony.
"This is the least romantic kidnapping I've ever experienced," I muttered to myself.
---
Inside the marble halls of Valerian Castle, everything gleamed. Cold floors. Cold faces. Cold food. Even the tea tasted like regret.
"Do you have pepper soup?" I asked a servant.
He blinked. "Is that a spice or… a threat?"
I was given "spiced wine" instead. It tasted like sadness with a hint of cinnamon.
Tani later had to make proper food for us to eat.
That night, a servant told me Marcus "requested" my presence in the study.
"Requested," I repeated. "How noble of him."
The study was warm—surprisingly. A fire crackled, shadows dancing across shelves full of old tomes and grim secrets.
He didn't rise when I entered. Just nodded toward the chair opposite him, as if I were a visiting ambassador instead of his betrothed.
"Princess," he said.
"Ice King," I replied.
He blinked. "Pardon?"
"Nothing. Just admiring the room. So warm. Almost like emotions live here."
He smirked. A rare expression. Brief, like the sun on a rainy day.
"You have a sharp tongue."
"And you have sharp cheekbones. We're both dangerous."
A pause.
Then:
"This marriage isn't my choice," he said.
"You think I voted for it?" I asked. "I had plans, you know. Learn how to walk barefoot. Eat amala at a roadside stall. Maybe find someone whose ears don't point like disappointment."
He exhaled—half sigh, half laugh. Progress.
Then the chill returned to his face.
"You're not what I expected," he said finally.
"Good. Expectations are a trap."
He raised a brow. "You're… different from the other women they tried to send me."
"Let me guess. Quiet. Pale. And agreeable?"
"Pretty much."
"Well, I'm none of those. Except pretty. I'm very pretty."
He chuckled—barely—but it happened. A win.
Then, he grew serious. That distant, haunted look settling over him like a cloud."They say you've been… kept. Untouched. Pure."
"Do I look like palm wine to you?"
That got a real smile. Brief. But real.
And in that moment, something shifted between us.
Not warmth. Not yet.
But curiosity.
"There are things about me you don't understand. Things… you may not want to be near."
"You mean your personality?" I tilted my head. "Too late."
He stood, looming like storm clouds.
"This house holds secrets. My family is cursed. You are not safe here."
I stood too.
"My people say the child who was born during an eclipse was touched by both gods and ghosts."
"If curses are your burden…" I stepped closer, "then maybe I'm not just here to be your wife."
He looked at me—really looked, for the first time.
And I saw it.
Recognition.
Like he'd seen me before… in another life. Or another death.
---
Later That Night
Alone in my grand, freezing bedchamber, I stared at the ceiling and tried not to shiver. The blankets smelled like lavender and foreign magic.
A cold wind brushed my cheek.
"You've returned," a voice whispered—one that came not from the room, but from inside me.
My skin prickled. My heart thudded.
And in the mirror across the room, for just a second, I saw a flash of someone else's face.
Someone older. Fiercer. Powerful.
She smiled at me.
"You've come back, wife of thunder."
"Wake up, Yetunde. The past is not done with you yet."