"Forever," I echoed, testing how the word felt on my lips. Despite having just written it myself, the reality hadn't fully settled in my mind. "Till death do us part," I murmured, reciting the traditional marriage vow.
Alaric's expression remained unreadable as he folded the contract and tucked it into his desk drawer. The finality of that simple action sent a flutter through my stomach.
"Does that concern you?" he asked, his eyes studying me carefully.
I squared my shoulders. "It's not concern exactly. More... acceptance of reality. This is truly happening."
My mind raced ahead to all the implications of a lifetime marriage. There was one complication we hadn't addressed.
"What about heirs?" I asked quietly, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "Every duke needs an heir."
Something shifted in Alaric's expression—a flicker of surprise, perhaps that I'd broached the subject so directly.
"Eventually," he replied, leaning back in his chair. "I'm not in a particular rush."
"But you do want children?" I pressed.
"Of course. The Thorne line must continue." He spoke matter-of-factly, as though discussing the weather rather than the creation of new life. "And you would be their mother."
The blunt statement sent heat rushing to my cheeks. Of course I would be their mother—I would be his wife. Yet hearing him state it so plainly made the abstract suddenly, alarmingly concrete.
"What troubles you?" he asked, noticing my silence.
I bit my lip behind my mask. "People say I'm cursed. What if... what if that affects our children?"
Alaric's laugh was sharp and dismissive. "Superstitious nonsense."
"But what if the rumors follow them? I don't want any child to suffer because of who I am."
He leaned forward then, his eyes intense. "Isabella, do you understand the weight the Thorne name carries? Anyone who dares whisper against my wife or my children will find themselves silenced."
The conviction in his voice was oddly reassuring, though I wondered what "silenced" might entail. I didn't ask.
"Then, I agree. To everything." I nodded, feeling strangely calm despite the enormity of what we were arranging. "Forever, and eventually... heirs."
Alaric stood up, circling the desk to stand before me. "I'll visit your father tomorrow to formally ask for your hand."
"Is that necessary?" I asked, surprised. "He'll give his consent regardless. He's desperate to be rid of me."
"Perhaps." A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. "But I want to see the man who's allowed his daughter to be mistreated. And I want to ensure there are no more... accidents."
His eyes flickered to my reddened palm, and I instinctively hid it in the folds of my dress.
"Besides," he continued, "the proper forms must be observed. We need the marriage to appear entirely legitimate."
"Of course," I agreed.
He moved toward the window, looking out at the darkening sky. "It's getting late. You should stay here tonight."
My eyes widened. "Stay here? But we're not married yet."
"I have twenty guest rooms, Isabella," he said, amusement coloring his tone. "You needn't share my bed yet."
The "yet" hung in the air between us, loaded with implications that made my heartbeat quicken.
"I appreciate the offer," I said carefully, "but I should return home. If I stay here, people will talk."
Alaric turned back to me, his expression skeptical. "And you care what people say?"
"I care about starting our marriage with as little scandal as possible," I explained. "If I move in before the wedding, rumors of an early pregnancy would follow."
He laughed then, a genuine sound that transformed his face. "People already believe I sneak women into this house every night. One more rumor hardly matters."
"It matters to me," I insisted quietly.
Something in my tone must have reached him, because his expression softened. "Very well. I'll have the carriage prepared to take you home." He paused. "But allow me to walk you out."
He offered his arm, and after a moment's hesitation, I placed my hand on it. The solid warmth of him beneath my fingers felt oddly reassuring.
We walked in silence through the grand hallways, my eyes drawn to the paintings that lined the walls—landscapes, portraits, scenes from mythology, all expertly rendered in vibrant colors.
"Your home is beautiful," I said softly.
Alaric glanced down at me. "Soon it will be your home too."
The thought was still strange—that this magnificent place would be where I lived, where I woke each morning and retired each night. No more cramped rooms or servants' quarters where I'd been relegated at my father's estate.
"I've always loved paintings," I admitted. "The way they capture a moment, a feeling."
"Do you paint?" he asked.
I nodded. "When I can find the supplies and privacy. My family doesn't approve of such hobbies for women. Especially not for me."
"I'll buy you whatever supplies you need," Alaric said immediately. "And there's a room with excellent northern light that would make a fine studio."
The casual offer—the thoughtfulness behind it—caught me off guard. "You don't need to do that."
"I want to." His voice was firm. "This will be your home, Isabella. You should make it yours in whatever way pleases you."
We reached the grand entrance hall, and he continued, "Change the curtains, rearrange the furniture, hang your paintings on every wall if you wish. I've never much cared about the décor."
I glanced around at the elegant furnishings, trying to imagine adding my own touches to this intimidating space. "I wouldn't want to change too much."
"Why not?" He stopped walking, turning to face me fully. "It will be your home too, Isabella. I want you to feel comfortable here."
The sincerity in his voice startled me. It seemed at odds with the calculating businessman who had drafted our loveless contract just minutes ago.
"That... makes sense," I murmured, finally understanding. This wasn't just generosity—it was practicality. A content wife was less trouble than an unhappy one, even in a marriage of convenience.
The carriage pulled up outside, visible through the large windows flanking the entrance.
"Your chariot awaits," Alaric said, a hint of humor in his voice.
As we reached the door, he surprised me by taking my hand—the injured one—and lifting it gently. His thumb brushed over the redness, so lightly I barely felt it.
"Tomorrow," he said, his eyes holding mine, "when I visit your father, I'll make it very clear what happens to those who harm what belongs to me."
"I don't belong to you yet," I said, the words coming out more breathless than I'd intended.
His lips curved into a smile that sent a shiver down my spine. "A technicality that will soon be rectified."
He released my hand and opened the door, the cool evening air rushing in. "Goodnight, Isabella. Tomorrow, your new life begins."
As the carriage pulled away from Thorne House, I touched my palm where his fingers had been, wondering what exactly I had set in motion—and whether this bargain I'd struck would bring the freedom I sought or chains of a different kind.
Forever was a very long time, and the prospect of bearing Duke Alaric Thorne's heir was suddenly, alarmingly real.