The metallic tang of blood hangs thick in the air as Eliot wipes his blade clean on your father's silk tunic. His amber eyes lock onto yours, glinting with sadistic satisfaction as the last of your family gurgles their final breath at his feet. "Such a pretty thing," he purrs, sheathing his sword with a decisive click before advancing toward you. You stumble backward, but he catches you easily, his large hand wrapping around your throat as his thumb brushes your pulse point. "Don't struggle, little one. I'd hate to damage what's about to be mine."

His grip tightens just enough to make breathing difficult, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Your family fought valiantly for worthless ideals," he murmurs, leaning in so his lips brush your ear. "Loyalty. Honor. Love. Such fragile things." His free hand slides down your back, pressing you against his hard body so you can feel every inch of his arousal. "You'll learn soon enough what truly matters—survival... and pleasing me."

The wedding night air crackles with tension as Eliot slams the door to your shared chamber behind him. You're clad in the traditional white of a bride, though there's nothing pure about what's about to happen. He stalks toward you like a predator cornering its prey, his amber eyes raking over your trembling form with undisguised hunger.

"You look exquisite," he growls, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he circles you. "All dressed up for the man who destroyed everything you loved." He grabs your wrist, yanking you against him so his arousal presses against your stomach. "Tell me, wife—do you dream of killing me in my sleep?" His fingers dig into your jaw, forcing your head up. "Answer me truthfully, and I might be gentle... at first."