Page 13 of Antiletum (The Nocturne #1)

So much for breakfast

Delaney

T he summer morning is mockingly cheery in Omnitas against the rage slithering through my body. As hot as the deepest layers of infernum.

Slips of yellow sun fall through the arched windows topped with cinquefoils and paint the stone floor as I march across the hall, a bundle of fabric clutched in my fist. The air is perfumed with vibrant flowers, popping around The Citadel grounds and wafting in on a breeze.

Absolutely breathtaking against all the dark grey statues and fountains; the stained glass windows; the vaulted ceilings.

The stench of Omnitas doesn’t quite touch The Citadel on its hill. Almost like a small city itself with the multiple round buildings, topped in crystal domes and connected by endless arms of flying buttresses.

Not announcing my entrance into my husband’s room, I throw Val’s door wide and stride across the space, him watching with amusement. Not at all surprised by how I’m storming in.

Visions of him meticulously choosing my clothing race through my mind.

Above my irritation, praise must be given where it is due.

The dress is stunning. Skirts layered thick with nearly sheer bolts of fabric.

The pieces lying atop each other create an impossible depth of black—only achieved together.

Keeping with that wonderful, brand new subtlety of my husband’s.

Wings are depicted so intricately across the back, I might just be able to bring them to life and fly away.

If only the stitching was made from something dead.

It’s not the dress per se that has me so offended.

Or even the underwear. Not even my previous trepidation about wearing the colors meant for my dead sister.

But the fact that all other clothing from my chambers have been removed, leaving me no option but to drape myself in the black and silver provided by my thoughtful husband, like he personally snatched the colors from a starry midnight sky. Just for me.

A blob of said black and silver flies through the air, smacking my husband in the face.

Val blinks once, a slow grin spreading across his mouth as he looks down at the garment fluttered to his empty plate. Dutifully waiting for me to dine with him.

So much for breakfast.

“Is this supposed to be a gift?” I hiss, my indignation nearly feeling pleasant. Freeing.

Being angry is a lot more appealing than succumbing to the quiet discomfort of being back here. Surrounded by countless people who I do not know but know about me.

“Well, this is a routine I could grow accustomed to.” Those long fingers hook into the flimsy underwear I threw to lift them to his nose. Val inhales softly. “Though it’d be better if you’d already worn them. Your scent is absolutely sublime.”

An involuntary memory crashes into me like an avalanche: the sight of my husband’s dark head, tucked between my thighs .

His arrogant black gaze slides all over my body; he not so subtly bites a ring on his bottom lip with a hunger that says he’d much rather be biting me—that he would love nothing more than to eat me alive .

I get the inkling that maybe he’s remembering what it’s like for him to be lost between my legs too.

What in deos name happened to the quiet man who stayed lost in the shadows when I distanced myself from him?

My face is embarrassingly hot, the flame of blood under my cheeks scorching my skin.

Val inspects the blush fanning across my entire body with too much smug knowing.

“What? Do you want to pretend you don’t know what I feel like inside of you, ocellus ?

” I can’t decide if I’m thrilled or horrified that we are, indeed, both recalling the intimacy of our wedding.

That smirk somehow grows further. “Though I suppose you don’t. Not really.”

Shameless. He is completely shameless. Incorrigible.

Safe to say, Val does not intend to continue the gentlemanly act. And his insinuation…

I was supposed to come over here and give him a piece of my mind. Let him know that he can’t just tell me what to wear. Instead, I’ve barely said anything at all. Haven’t made any sort of point.

How unfair—the way Val so easily throws me completely off my axis with very little effort. In mere seconds, he has taken full control of this situation, not panning out at all as I had intended. Not in the slightest.

Outwardly, I ignore his boldness. “On top of demanding I eat with you every morning, are you now going to choose my clothing for me every day as well, husband ?”

“I would certainly be delighted. If you’re not opposed.” Val rubs the soft silk underwear between his fingers. Slow and sensual. Staring at me with an intensity that is downright physical.

I wonder which he picked first: the black and silver dress or the matching underwear?

More indignant heat surges through my chest. I stomp across the room to snatch the panties I only just threw in his face out of his infuriating hands, but he pulls back before I can grab them.

“Obviously, I am opposed!”

Val wears his smugness proudly, holding my underwear behind his back with that long arm, out of reach unless I’m willing to climb on his lap. Honestly, I should have known it was only the beginning, allowing him to clothe me in that robe during our first demanded breakfast.

Horrible idea.

I’m not much too thrilled about my dear husband’s new habit of having me wake to his whims. After his silent patience, it’s been a bit of a jarring change.

No slow bleed of understanding—not a nicked vein, emptying with a trickle.

No. Just there one day and completely absent the next. A twig snapped in one fell swoop.

“Then I will see that a seamstress comes to you promptly, so you may choose your trousseau yourself. After today, of course. Can’t have that lovely willfulness of yours surfacing for the whole court to see.

I’d rather that honor be reserved for only me.

Preferably in the privacy of this very room.

” A large hand sweeps through the air, gesturing towards a large bed across a sunken floor.

Everything is just large. “I’d love nothing more than for you to put me in my place.

” Val lifts my underwear. “This is a fantastic start.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Speak so… openly.”

“Why? You’re my wife. And there is nothing I desire more than having you back in our bed. Other than your regular company, of course. Your smile is the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen, and I am anxious to have it for myself daily.”

I gape at him, his ending statement has stirred something shoved so deep in the recesses of my soul, I’ve refused to look at it for years. But the more time I spend with Val, the more he coaxes these things out of their meticulously maintained box.

Rude.

Val is undeterred, meeting my gaze with rivaling determination.

“If you don’t like what I’m saying, Delaney, why don’t you come pry these panties from my hand, shove them in my mouth, and make me stop?”

More fire rushes to my face. Among other places.

I refuse to play into… whatever this is. Spouse or no.

“You really thought I would be so defiant tonight. That I wouldn’t wear our colors. Our sigil.”

A slow, dark brow arches up his forehead. “Can you blame me?”

Loath to admit he’s right, surely I haven’t exactly inspired confidence in my husband with my blatant refusal to wear said color and symbol at any point. More prideful portions of myself refuse to speak my internal agreement aloud.

“That was different, Valledyn.” A little twitch in his eye accompanies the sound of his full name.

That’s twice now. Noted—I can get to him as well.

“The manor was a much more relaxed atmosphere, with very few people around. People I thought I could consider friends and wouldn’t fuss over such formalities.

Especially given how unexpected everything has been.

” My tone is quiet, and I am proud of the vehemence behind them.

I can do this. I can be the face of this faction .

A small curve turns those full lips down. “Of course everyone who was at the manor is your friend.” It shouldn’t be so satisfying watching his confidence slip, be so doubtful of his own arguments. “But not everyone here is.”

Val wipes away his unsurety, placing the underwear he chose for me in his pocket with a smirk. Probably right up next to whatever item he keeps hidden in there as some form of anchor.

My heart pounces into my throat. “Aren’t you going to give those back?”

With a small shake of his head, sunlight catching his trio of black earrings, Val says airily, “No. I don’t think I will.”

“Thanks to you, it’s the only pair I have.”

“Maybe next time don’t throw them at me then.”

Perhaps throwing them at him was a bad idea. Unless I can hunt down more, it looks like I’ll be going bare under my dress tonight.

“I was just about to come for you.” Val nods at the spread of food before him. Still wafting steam. “Sit.”

I scoff at the entitlement. “I’m not eating with you.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I am not!”

Val stands quickly, coming to tower over me. Pitch black eyes stare down with fire. “You can sit of your own accord”—he indicates his head towards my seat—“or I will physically place you in that fucking chair myself.”

We glower at each other with challenge, neither of us moving.

“Don’t think I won’t, Delaney.” That quiet menace almost sounds like he’d be overjoyed for me to resist.

“Why does it mean so much to you? For us to have breakfast together?” The question flies from my mouth involuntarily. “I didn’t even see you the whole journey here from Greystone. I thought you’d changed your mind.”

I struggle to fight a wince, setting my jaw instead, having not meant to say that out loud. To show him my ridiculous offense. Wholly unwarranted.