Chapter 3 - The Gilded Cage
The royal carriage moved through the cobbled streets of Artoria’s capital like a moving fortress, surrounded by an elite escort of silver-armored wolf-shifter guards. Inside, the cabin was lined with dark velvet and polished mahogany, but Claire felt as though she were sitting in the center of a pressure cooker.
Three days had passed since the auction. Three days spent in the sprawling west wing of the palace, tended to by silent, efficient maidservants who bathed her in lavender oils, dressed her in gowns woven from silk and starlight, and treated her with a reverence that felt deeply unnatural.
Yet, she had not seen the king once since the night he bought her.
Until now.
The carriage door clicked open, and Elian stepped inside, ducking his massive head to fit through the doorway. He settled onto the opposite bench, filling the small space with his overwhelming presence. He looked tired; dark shadows bruised the skin beneath his piercing gray eyes, and his breath plumed in the air despite the carriage’s internal heating runes.
“You are quiet,” Elian noted, his deep voice breaking the heavy silence.
Claire kept her hands folded neatly over the skirt of her deep blue velvet gown. “I am trying to determine if I am a prisoner or a queen, Your Majesty.”
A faint, humorless smirk touched the corner of Elian’s mouth. “You are neither. You are my wife as of this evening.”
Claire’s breath caught. “We haven't even spoken. You know nothing about me. I could be an assassin, a traitor, a—a genuine monster, as my father claims.”
“Your father is a greedy, small-minded coward who traded his own flesh and blood for political favor,” Elian replied flatly, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. “I investigated House Crane the moment I left that hall. I know about the fire. I know about the pressure applied to your magic. And I know you were framed to protect your sister’s reputation.”
Claire froze, her eyes widening. “You… you investigated me?”
“I leave nothing to chance,” Elian said, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He looked directly into her eyes. “Which brings us to the terms of our arrangement.”
Here it was. The catch. The moment the illusion of safety shattered.
“Name them,” Claire whispered.
“You will have your own chambers, unlimited access to the palace archives, absolute protection from your family, and every luxury belonging to a queen of Artoria,” Elian stated clearly. “You will bear the title, walk by my side at court functions, and fulfill your duty to the pack.”
“And the rest?” Claire asked, her heart hammering against her ribs. “Love? Affection? A real marriage?”
Elian’s expression hardened into stone. The temperature inside the carriage seemed to drop ten degrees.
“There will be no love, Claire,” he said, his voice devoid of all emotion. “We will share a title, and eventually, an heir to secure the bloodline. Beyond that, our lives remain separate. I will never love you.”
Despite her earlier fears, a sharp, hollow ache blossomed in Claire’s chest. She should have felt relieved. Indifference was safe; indifference couldn't betray her. Yet, hearing him say it so bluntly felt like a physical blow.
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“I understand,” she said evenly, lifting her chin. “It is more honesty than I am used to receiving.”
Elian stared at her for a long, lingering moment, something unreadable flashing deep within his freezing gray eyes. Before he could speak, the carriage jerked to a halt, and the driver announced their arrival at the cathedral gates.
