Chapter 3 : The First Night Together

Eleanor drifted into a fitful sleep, only to be awakened by Alexander''s voice cutting through the darkness.

"I''m hungry. Go and have food brought."

She sat up, disoriented. "My lord?"

"Are you deaf as well as stubborn?" His voice was edged with impatience. "I said I''m hungry. Go to the courtyard and tell Benson. And don''t take too long. I dislike waiting."

Eleanor scrambled to her feet, pulling a shawl around her shoulders. She opened the door and stepped into the corridor, which was even colder than the room. Snow had drifted in through a window somewhere, creating a thin white carpet on the stone floor.

She made her way to the courtyard, where she found an elderly servant tending to the horses. "The Duke requests food," she said, her teeth chattering from the cold.

The servant—Benson, she presumed—nodded without meeting her eyes. "At once, my lady."

Eleanor returned to the room, her hair and shoulders dusted with snow. She had barely settled back on the divan when there was a soft knock at the door.

"My lord, my lady, supper is ready."

Eleanor opened the door to find a young maid holding a tray, her eyes wide with fear. The girl handed over the tray and a lantern, then practically fled down the corridor.

Setting the tray on a table, Eleanor lit a few candles with the lantern. The room remained dim, but at least she could see now. She arranged the dishes—a simple meal of roasted chicken, vegetables, and bread—then turned to the bed.

"My lord, supper is ready."

There was a rustling sound, then Alexander appeared, propelling himself in a wheelchair. Eleanor hadn''t noticed the chair before, tucked away in a corner. He moved with surprising grace, his arms strong from years of military training.

He wheeled himself to the table without looking at her. "Are you going to stand there watching me, or will you join me? I don''t need an audience for my meal."

Eleanor''s stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, and she felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. She sat down opposite him, keeping her eyes lowered.

In the candlelight, she could see him clearly for the first time. He was younger than she had expected—perhaps in his mid-twenties—with sharp, aristocratic features that would have been handsome if not for the bitterness etched into every line. His hair was dark and slightly too long, falling around a face that was pale from lack of sun. But his eyes were what held her attention—dark, intense, and utterly devoid of warmth.

He ate sparingly, picking at his food with an air of disinterest. Eleanor, meanwhile, tried to eat slowly and politely, though her hunger made it difficult.

"Why are you staring at me?" he asked without looking up.

Eleanor quickly averted her gaze. "I apologize, my lord."

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Then Alexander pushed his plate away, having eaten barely half of what was on it. "I''m finished. You may have the servants clear this away."

He wheeled himself back to the bed, and Eleanor was left with the uncomfortable task of finishing her meal while feeling his eyes on her. She ate what she could, then rang for a servant to clear the dishes.

When they were alone again, Alexander spoke from the darkness of his bed. "Tomorrow, you will return to your family."

The words hit Eleanor like a physical blow. She had known he didn''t want her, but hearing it stated so bluntly was still painful.

"My lord, it is not yet time for the traditional visit home—"

"I''m not talking about a visit," he interrupted, his voice cold. "I''m talking about an annulment. This marriage was a mistake. Tomorrow, it ends."

Eleanor felt the world tilt around her. An annulment? Where would she go? Her family would not take her back—she would be a disgrace, a failed marriage after only one day. And what of her brother? When Edmund returned and found her cast aside, he would challenge the Duke, and he would lose. Alexander might be disabled, but he was still a duke, with power and influence.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she fought them back. "The night grows cold, my lord. You should rest."

She heard him shift in the bed, then go still. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice strangely flat. "If we are husband and wife, then we should not sleep separately on our wedding night."

Eleanor''s breath caught in her throat. Was this a test? A cruel joke? She looked toward the bed, but could see nothing in the darkness.

"Come here," he said, and this time his voice held a note of command that brooked no argument.

Slowly, trembling, Eleanor rose from the divan and approached the bed. She had just reached it when a hand shot out from the darkness, grabbing her wrist and pulling her forward. She stumbled and fell onto the bed, landing on the soft mattress with a gasp.

Alexander loomed over her, one hand on either side of her head. In the faint moonlight filtering through the window, she could see his face above hers, his eyes dark and unreadable.

For a long moment, he simply looked at her, his gaze traveling over her face, her neck, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Then he reached out and touched her cheek, his fingers surprisingly gentle.

"You''re trembling," he murmured.

Eleanor couldn''t speak. She could only stare up at him, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

His fingers trailed down her cheek to her neck, where they rested lightly against her pulse point. Eleanor held her breath, waiting for... something. Violence? Intimacy? She didn''t know.

But then Alexander sighed and rolled away from her, lying on his back beside her. "You''re no different from the others," he said, his voice filled with disgust. "All fear and pretense."

He turned his back to her. "Go to sleep. Or don''t. I don''t care."

Eleanor lay there, rigid with tension, waiting for something else to happen. But Alexander''s breathing soon evened out into the steady rhythm of sleep. She remained awake for hours, staring at the canopy above the bed, wondering what kind of man she had married, and what kind of life awaited her in this cold, dark castle.

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