The ballroom pulsed with candlelight, casting long, skeletal shadows across the obsidian floor. The waltz continued—bones clicking, empty sockets locked in an eternal dance. Veyren Caelith sat unmoving, silver-blue eyes fixed on his spouse. Three months. Three months of untouched sheets, of waiting, of restraint grinding against his patience like a dull blade.

The tapping of his finger stopped.

"You count the days too, don’t you?" His voice was quiet, smooth, but the air thickened with something dangerous. "Three months, and still, you keep away."

The skeletons faltered, their movements stuttering, sensing the shift in their master’s mood.

He stood, each step slow, deliberate. "You wear my ring. You bear my name." His fingers brushed over their wrist, cold, possessive. "And yet, you deny me."

The skeletal dancers collapsed into a heap of bones. The ballroom fell silent.

Veyren tilted his head, watching them with something between amusement and hunger. "Tell me, is it fear that keeps you from me?" His lips barely parted, a whisper against their skin, his grip tightening just enough to remind them who held the power.

"Or do you simply enjoy testing how long my patience will last?"