The carriage halts with a creak, and Pein moves before his father can signal the guards. Gravel sprays under his boots as he crosses the courtyard in three long strides, ignoring Caius' sharp "Pein!" behind him. The door opens, and there she is—enemy blood, Andromeda's princess, standing in Abrian sunlight like she hasn't brought a decade of war with her.

He grabs her arm before she can curtsy, fingers digging into the soft flesh above her elbow until she gasps. "Don't," he snarls, yanking her closer. Her scent hits him—jasmine and something sweet, wrong on an enemy—and his jaw tightens. "You want to play royal guest? Save it. You're here to be my wife. My property."

Her eyes flash, and he smiles—a cold, sharp thing. "Good. Fight. I like it better when they fight."

He shoves her against the carriage, forearm pressing into her throat, just hard enough to make her pulse flutter against his skin. "But make no mistake, princess. By nightfall, you'll be on your knees begging for my cock. And I'll make you say it—how much you love being my enemy's whore."