Chapter 3: The King’s Table, The Duke’s Mark

The morning sun bled through the tall, arched windows of the royal breakfast suite, glinting off the silver platters and crystal carafes.

Seraphina sat at the head of the table, her spine straight, every movement calculated.

She wore a gown of pale blue silk, the neckline deliberately wide—not enough to be scandalous at a glance, but enough that every time she leaned forward, the dark, purplish bruise on her collarbone peeked out like a secret.

Beside her, King Malakai was picking at a bowl of fruit, his handsome face marred by a sour expression. He hadn't touched her last night. He had been too busy celebrating his "victory" with his generals, eventually passing out in a wine-induced stupor before he could even stagger to their marriage bed.

"You look pale, Seraphina," Malakai remarked, his voice devoid of affection. "Did the excitement of finally becoming my Queen keep you from your rest?"

"I found the night... full of unexpected revelations, Your Majesty," Seraphina replied, her voice smooth as honeyed poison.

The heavy doors opened, and Grand Duke Valerius entered. He was dressed in his formal black uniform, his presence instantly sucking the air out of the room. He bowed, his eyes never leaving Seraphina’s. The air between them hummed with the memory of the oak table and the rough friction of the night before.

"Grand Duke," Malakai grunted. "Join us. We were just discussing the security of the southern borders."

Valerius took his seat directly across from Seraphina. As he sat, his knee "accidentally" brushed against hers beneath the table. The contact sent a jolt of heat straight to her core, which was still tender and swollen from his relentless pace. She didn't pull away; she pressed her leg back against his, a silent challenge.

"The borders are restless, Sire," Valerius said, his voice a low rumble. "Much like the people within these walls. Some require a firmer hand than others."

Seraphina reached for her tea, the silk sleeve of her dress sliding back to reveal the faint, red finger-marks on her wrist where Valerius had pinned her down. Malakai’s eyes caught the movement.

"Seraphina," the King narrowed his eyes, reaching out to grab her arm. "What is that? You’ve been clumsy."

He yanked her arm toward him, but as he did, the movement caused her bodice to shift.

The bite mark on her shoulder—dark, angry, and undeniably the shape of a man's teeth—was laid bare in the morning light.

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. Malakai’s face turned a dangerous shade of red. He looked at the mark, then at Seraphina’s calm, almost bored expression.

"Who?" Malakai hissed, his grip on her wrist tightening to the point of pain. "Who dared lay a hand on what is mine?"

Seraphina didn't flinch. She leaned in closer to her husband, her eyes mocking. "Perhaps it was a ghost, Malakai. Or perhaps you were so drunk last night you simply don't remember the 'firm hand' you used on your bride."

She knew he hadn't touched her, and he knew it too. The lie was a slap to his ego.

Malakai turned his furious gaze to Valerius.

"Duke! You were in charge of the palace guard last night. How did someone enter the Queen's chambers unnoticed?"

Valerius took a slow sip of his black coffee, his leaden eyes fixed on the bite mark he had placed there. He felt a surge of possessive triumph watching the King touch the skin he had claimed.

"The Queen’s chambers were secure from the outside, Your Majesty," Valerius said, his voice dropping into that dangerous, velvety tone. "If she was marked, it was by someone who already had the key. Perhaps... someone she invited in."

Malakai roared, standing up and slamming his fist onto the table. "I will have the head of every guard on duty! Seraphina, you will go to your rooms. You are not to leave until I decide how to handle this insult."

"I am the Queen, Malakai," she said, standing up with a grace that infuriated him. "Not a prisoner. If you want to keep me in a cage, you’ll find that I have developed a very sharp set of teeth."

She turned to leave, but as she passed Valerius, her hand ghosted over the back of his chair, her fingers grazing his nape. The Duke’s jaw clenched, his eyes dark with the promise of what would happen the next time they were alone.

Later that evening...

Seraphina was in her private bath, the steam rising around her, when the secret door behind the tapestry creaked open. She didn't turn around. She knew the heavy, steady footfall.

Valerius stepped into the candlelight, his uniform discarded, wearing only his trousers. The scars across his broad chest were visible, as was the unmistakable tension in his frame.

"You played a dangerous game this morning, Little Bird," he growled, walking to the edge of the copper tub.

"I played the game I promised," Seraphina said, standing up slowly, the water cascading down her body, highlighting every mark he had left. "He is paranoid now. He doesn't trust his own shadows. He looks at you and wonders... and he looks at me and fears."

Valerius reached out, his hand dripping with water as he gripped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "He isn't the only one who should fear. I told you I would ruin you."

He didn't wait for an invitation. He lifted her out of the bath, her wet skin slick against his own. He sat on a nearby cushioned bench and pulled her onto his lap, facing him. The wetness of her body soaked into his trousers as she straddled him, her knees digging into the upholstery.

"You're still sore," he noted, his voice a low vibration against her chest as he began to suckle the very mark the King had seen earlier.

"Good," she gasped, her head falling back. "Every ache reminds me that I'm alive this time."

Valerius entered her with a single, sharp lunge, the friction of her wet skin making the contact even more intense. He gripped her hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he set a pace that was agonizingly slow and deep, meant to savor every inch of her.

"When the Saintess arrives next week," Valerius whispered into her ear between heavy thrusts, "he will try to use her to replace you. But by then, you will be so thoroughly marked by me that you won't even remember his name."

Seraphina wrapped her arms around his thick neck, her voice lost in a litany of moans. "Let her come. She thinks she's entering a fairy tale... she has no idea she's walking into a slaughterhouse."

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