The bridal suite in the Thorne Palace was designed to intimidate. It was a cavern of wealth; dark velvet drapes, a four-poster bed the size of a carriage, and fixtures crafted from polished brass and black uncut onyx.
Anna sat on the very edge of the bed, still fully dressed in the black silk of her wedding gown, the heavy fabric which had felt like a suffocating shell in the wedding hall now felt like armor, a shield against the room's overwhelming silent grandeur.
Her maid had departed hours ago, leaving behind the scent of expensive perfume and the lingering, uncomfortable knowledge that the ceremony was complete.
The door to the study, separated only by a set of tall, narrow pocket doors, was slightly ajar, from within came the only sound in the whole vast suite: The scratch, scratch, scratch of a quill moving across heavy parchment, the rhythmic rustle of paper, and occasional, low, utterly impersonal voice of Nile, the master of the house.
He was working. He hadn't paused to speak to her after the brief, cold ceremony, he hadn't touched her, hadn't even looked at her. He only escorted her to the suite and stated, "I have state matters to conclude. Don't wait for me."
The cruel irony was a familiar, suffocating cloak. Her family had neglected her out of contempt, her new husband neglected her out of purpose. Her family tortured her with indifference and petty violence; Nile was torturing her with the sheer crushing weight of his priorities.
She curled her hands into tight fists on her lap, digging her fingernail into her skin, wishing she could make herself small enough to disappear entirely. She was worthless not just in the eyes of her cruel lineage, but in the eye of the man who now owned her. The man who had been called the most cruel in the empire found state papers more compelling than the duty of his wedding night.
A low voice from the study cut through the scratching of pen. Anna couldn't discern the words but she heard Nile coldly reply, "Ensure the decree is stamped and issued before midnight. The delay is unacceptable."
It was a small sharp sound but it sealed her fate.
She was not a wife, not a partner, not even a person. She was a clause in a contract, a matter of state concluded and filed away. This time her torture was not fire or the lash as it was at the Gareth Palace. It was the simple fact of her inconsequence.
Anna closed her eyes, the tears dry and defeated before they even form. She sat there without making any sound, preparing for the endless silent night.