Lucrezia watched his footstep fade, and a thought rushed, as dangerous as it was, moved past her lips before she could prevent it. "Aren't we… going to c-consummate… the wedding?"
And the creature stilled.
The air grew thick in defiance and something dangerous was clinging firmly in the room.
Unknowingly, every beat of silence that ensued between them sent a tremendous wave of heat through her, as though the world itself waited for his answer.
Lucrezia felt the darkness intensify cause of her words, especially when he seemed to remain in that position. A part of her felt alerted by the change in the atmosphere, but it was already too late to take her words back.
Lord Vaeron turned, ever so slowly. The shadows clung to his broad shoulders, the illumination catching his dark hair.
Something dark swirled in those eyes for a fleeting moment, so quick that Lucrezia failed to catch it until it returned unyielding.
With a voice born from ice, "No,"
She almost flinched from the intensity of the tone and rather opened her mouth to ask, "M-May I ask… why, Milord?" Her voice came in like a whisper, as she clutched the lace of her sleeve.
Lucrezia could swear she caught something flicker in those irises, and her breath hitched when he stepped toward her, his boots soundless on the marble floor.
"Do you even know what it is you ask of me?" he murmured with a voice as smooth as sin. Like the creature he is, born to lure, to tempt, and to destroy.
And he might as well carry out those ruses on the poor soul.
Her lips parted, but no words came. The ones she'd spoken a moment ago now trembled in her tongue. She'd been told it was her duty that a wife must give herself to her husband, and even read about it. And for a creature not of flesh and blood but a Sin, it was another main motive to gain his trust, as so she'd been told.
Lady Martha, the royal governess, mentioned things that a husband and wife do, very mannerless things, but Lucrezia failed to ask or understand the meaning of the word 'consummate'.
Why was he then reacting this way? In a manner like she'd said something… wrong?
"I… I only thought…" she could barely hear herself when that strong intoxicating scent of old wood spice tickled her nostrils. "It is what a... wife must give. A-And should do, Milord,"
Worse than before, it flickered across his face in a cold, dangerous way; his eyes filled with amusement and perhaps, pity. "A wife?" he echoed with indifference. "Is that what your kind is taught? That it must be freely given?" he didn't seem to question for an answer, but a clear unmerciful justification.
Every word was stressed in some kind of dangerous irritation, the type she'd gotten used to whenever he used the words 'your kind'. She could see the whirl of resentment in those eyes, and her eyes raced wildly against her chest.
Lucrezia didn't respond and stepped back, only to meet hard with the rigid wall. It was at that moment she realized there wasn't an escape from the eyes and grasp of this creature.
He stepped before her, close enough that she could feel the chill of his presence. "You belong to me. Whatever notion of 'wife' your kind hold dear—erase it. You do as I command."
It was cold, the kind of cold that bites through silk and skin alike, and she shuddered a breath, looking terrified. W-Was he going to… kill her now? H-Here?
What was she even thinking? He would consummate the marriage in the ways of man? Despite Lady Martha mentioning things that could likely happen to man and wife; things like sharing a cup at breakfast so that they might "grow accustomed to each other's breath" or learning the art of undressing in compatible silence, Lucrezia hadn't quite understood its broader meaning, or why any of it required dim lightning or an oath of secrecy.
As to what she knew, many ladies do talk about them in hushed whispers. Sometimes, she overheard a few, including Lady Martha, discussing it all in such poise, as though it was a polite duty. She had said it like one performed between tea and embroidery, making it seem like a servant's duty to their master and a ticket to an early reprieve.
She even mentioned that "a well-timid sigh can do wonders for a husband's affection" which Lucrezia assumed was something to do with household harmony. After all, she overheard something like that coming from the Princess's chamber.
They had called it consummation, a word Lady Martha spoke as though it were a recipe to be followed once and done with for a perfect delicacy. In her naïveté, Lucrezia only gathered that it was one of the quicker ways to earn a man's trust before one's inevitable betrayal. What she didn't realize was that it was, in truth, the quickest way to the grave.
All she knew about marriage and consummation in general, was the ability to shower affection, trust, care, and… pleasure, which if she played well regarding those aspects, perhaps he wouldn't find a reason to suspect or kill her before she gathered enough information.
And she could last long enough to save her mother. Unknown to Lucrezia, that knowledge was to test her ability to survive.
Realizing the silence was left for her to fill, she quickly lowered her gaze, unconsciously wetting her dry lips. "G-Good night, Mil-"
Her action seemed to evoke a deep sense of primal hunger in the manner in which those Hazel eyes darkened at the blue-eyed werewolf.
With a low dark tone, "Do that again and I might have to reconsider,"
It was like a dark threat, ominous and promising, raising the hairs on her skin. Heat disseminated through her skin and deep in her marrow at the manner of his words.
Daring to look up, "W-What?" Lucrezia breathed in confusion, heart racing wildly against her chest. D-Did she do something wrong again?
However, what met hers were a while different eyes burning darker than coal. This looks… Lucrezia feared she might've gotten an inkling of it—desire, and her knees threatened to buckle.
Run, something from the back of her mind screamed peril, the kind depicting consequence, and her lips parted in dread.
He stepped closer, and she straightened her spine, in defiance or fear—she couldn't tell which—against the wall, pushing herself deeper as though she could materialize away from that dark gaze.
Unbeknownst to her, all she did was make things worse. His eyes trailed from her face down her chest, noticing the swell of her breast beneath the thin night gown.
Those unholy burning embers traced the delicate line of her throat, lingered on the heavy rise and fall of her chest, and fell upon the faint outline of her breast.
Something dark and hungry flickered in his eyes, changing the air in the room. Lucrezia could swear the air itself grew hotter, and his breath came as hot steam, from his nostrils, scorching her skin and sending a wave of heat scorching through her entire body.
W-Why was the atmosphere suddenly so… hot?
Lucrezia could feel his presence like frost along her spine, so that she could hardly breathe. Gods, she needed to breathe…
Sensing the sheer terror from the girl by her body movement, the creature seemed to loosen a bit. His jaw ticked in irritation, displeased by the Barthory's play. Did she think he would buy it?
A typical stunt pulled by her kind to lure him. Those foolish creatures always believed their little scenes affected him, as though he was swayed by charm or beauty. And worse still, the girl—his blue-eyed bride— was nothing near his standard.
Not one bit of feature stirred his interest, save for those eyes he couldn't wait to skin off. Those innocent, soul-devouring points glistening like light and innocence, the type beckoning his name until darkness filled her whole.
The innocence in them was what he craved to corrupt, destroy, lure, and eliminate, one after the other, until her screaming became the next melody he hummed day and night.
Yet, it wasn't her beauty—or lack thereof—that held him, but her audacity which amused him.
The way she muttered those words, those sinful words that didn't fit a soul like her. The fact that she was unaware of what she had done and what she awakened inside him was no good.