Page 29 of Severe Husband Warning

“What a delight. May I offer my congratulations? Your marriage has become the court’s favorite conversation.”

Rothgar doesn’t rise to the bait, he simply redirects, “I imagine court conversations change quickly.”

“They do,” Malakor agrees pleasantly. “Which makes memorable ones so valuable.”

His attention shifts to me, and I force myself to meet his gaze despite the familiar unease tightening in my chest.

“Lady Stromgarde.”

“My lord,” I greet, bowing low as is expected of a human toward a demon lord.

“I confess, when word first reached me, I struggled to believe it. House Stromgarde has always valued strength above ornament. It seems Lord Rothgar has discovered there is room for both.”

Soft laughter ripples through those gathered nearby.

Malakor raises his goblet.

“To House Stromgarde. May its newest novelty continue to entertain the court.”

I feel the room waiting for Rothgar’s response, the anticipation thick in the air. He merely lifts his own goblet.

“To House Stromgarde.”

Crystals chime softly before Malakor offers one final courteous smile and disappears into the crowd, leaving behind the unmistakable feeling that the exchange had been staged for everyone watching.

I draw a careful breath, willing my pulse to ease.

They’re only words, I remind myself, scarcely realizing I’ve whispered the thought until Rothgar speaks.

“Words are rarely only words in a room like this.”

I look up at him, surprised he’d heard, but grateful for his words.

“Then I’m glad mine stayed where they belonged.”

Something flickers across his expression before it slips away.

A servant weaves carefully through the gathering with a silver platter crowded with shimmering portions of sky-eel suspended in translucent aspic. At that same moment, one of Lord Malakor’s companions steps backward without looking, still laughing at something said over his shoulder.

The collision is barely more than a careless bump, yet it is enough.

The servant lunges to save the platter, but the weight has already shifted beyond recovery.

Cold jelly strikes before I fully understand what happened.

Something slick splashes across the front of my gown, clinging to the silver fabric in shimmering streaks. I freeze as the chill seeps through the embroidered bodice, painfully aware of every eye lifting toward me while the servant stammers apology after apology.

Heat rushes to my face as I stare in stunned disbelief at the glittering stain spreading before my eyes.

Only moments ago, this gown had made me believe I might survive the evening unnoticed. Now it feels like another costume, ruined before an audience eager for spectacle. The ballroom blurs into another banquet hall, another room where powerful nobles laughed while the hired musician stood frozen beneath their amusement.

Before I can retreat or attempt some impossible apology, Rothgar is suddenly in front of me.

His hand finds mine, his fingers closing around mine in a gesture so calm and unhesitating that the meaning behind it cannot be mistaken.

He says nothing, but he doesn’t have to.

The message carries farther than words ever could, and the laughter falters as the court begins to understand exactly where he has chosen to stand.