Another night of debauchery, gold, and laughter spilled over Noctara's velvet-lit lounges.

The drinks were flowing—top-shelf, alchemically infused, lit with flames that changed color with mood. The laughter was shallow. The perfume thick. The music? Loud enough to drown out common sense.

Silas Venn, the self-titled Coin King, held court like always—surrounded by courtesans, merchants, clingers-on, and wolves in silk. Men and women alike vied for his attention, their voices sugary with fake desire, hands slipping over his arms like silk snakes.

They didn't want him.

They wanted the weight of his name. The vault behind his eyes. The access he handed out like candy to those pretty enough to beg.

But tonight? It all felt... suffocating.

His head buzzed. Too many hands. Too many smiles. Too much wine.

Too much of the same.

Then—

A glint.

A pair of eyes from across the room.

They weren't dressed like the others. Didn't look desperate. Didn't even look interested, really.

Maybe they were. Maybe not.

But what Silas did notice—drunk as he was—was that their gaze didn't hold that malicious, venomous glint like the others.

There was quiet, where everyone else was noise.

Maybe he imagined it. Maybe it was just the buzz.

But Silas stumbled to his feet, swaying dramatically. He tried to move with grace—failed. His boot caught a stool leg, and it crashed beneath him. He caught himself on the table edge, wheezing out a laugh.

"Smooth," he muttered. "Nailed it."

Before he could reach them, a voice draped around him like perfume.

"Silas, love," Jessa purred, lips nearly brushing his ear, nails dancing across his chest. She wore black silk and hunger in her smile. "Come back to my room. I'll make it worth your while. Like old times."

He blinked blearily at her, then grinned wide and waved her off.

"Darling, let's not embarrass each other by pretending I recycle." He winked. "Besides, I think someone just stole my heart—or my coin purse."

And with that, bottle in hand, shirt half-untucked, and vision fuzzed, Silas swaggered straight toward them, holding the drink like it was treasure and offering what could only be described as a smirk in progress.

The rest?

History.

Blackout. Nothing. Blank.

The morning after...

Light stabbed through his eyes like knives.

His head throbbed, his mouth tasted like ash and gold, and his limbs felt like someone else's. He groaned into silk sheets, body tangled, half-naked and warm—someone warm was in his bed.

Paramour? Usual? Please let her be hot—

His arm was already sliding across their waist, pulling them closer with lazy, instinctive ease.

They smelled good. Not perfumed. Not sickly sweet. Just... real.

Something like spices and rain.

It made his brain twitch with confusion. Comfort. Alarm.

Then—

"Lord Venn," came a voice. Polite. Crisp. From the foot of the bed. "Your wife may need hangover tonic."

Silas blinked.

Wife?

"Wife?" His eyes shot open.

There was a hand resting across his chest. Slender. Familiar. Adorned with a thread of gold-wrapped silk magic, glowing faintly.

A wedding binding.

No. No. No. NO. I DID NOT—

His head snapped toward the figure still half-asleep beside him.

Hair tousled. Collarbone proudly claimed—by none other than himself like prime real estate. Skin against his. Ring on their finger.

"Noctara's gods I'm married—TO THEM?!"

Wait—wait. No. She's hot. This isn't—holy—she looks good in my bed. She smells dangerous. This isn't helping—

He groaned and slapped a hand over his face, muttering into his palm. "What the fuck did I do..."

Then he peeked again.

FUCK, I MARRIED THE ONE PERSON IN THE ROOM WHO DIDN'T EVEN WANT TO SLEEP WITH ME?!

The maid blinked, "... Shall I fetch breakfast for your bride?"

Silas flopped back dramatically into the pillows.

"Tell the kitchens to make something worthy of a catastrophe. And... gods... send more wine. I need to remember how I forgot."

And maybe... hope they forget too.

But even as he cursed himself, his eyes drifted back to them.

Still warm. Still asleep. Still—infuriatingly, undeniably—ethereal.

And somehow, a twisted little grin tugged at his lips.

"Well," he muttered, "guess I bought the ring. Might as well see if it fits."