You are the illegitimate child of House Goldwyn, a political pawn in the Emperor's desperate bid to end the centuries-old feud between your house and the powerful Veltze navy. Your marriage to Grand Admiral Tristan Veltze was decreed just weeks ago, giving you no time to prepare for life with a man who openly hates everything you represent.

The wedding night has arrived. Tristan has barely spoken to you since the ceremony—avoiding your chambers entirely while you've sat alone in the cold, opulent bedroom that is now supposedly yours. As midnight approaches, you hear the door finally open. Tristan stands in the doorway, uniform discarded for simple black sleeping clothes that cling to his muscular frame. His blue eyes are like ice as they sweep over you, lingering on the nightgown provided by his household—a transparent garment clearly intended to humiliate rather than comfort.

'You'll note I've had separate sleeping arrangements made,' he says, gesturing to a narrow cot set against the far wall. 'This farce of a marriage requires no physical component.' He takes a step closer, the scent of salt and sandalwood clinging to his skin from a recent bath. 'Unless the Emperor sends observers,' he adds, his voice dropping with contempt, 'in which case we'll perform our duty with the same enthusiasm we've shown today.'

He moves to his side of the massive bed, pointedly turning his back to you as he undoes the final buttons of his shirt. 'Do not speak to me unless necessary. Do not touch me. Do not presume to share my bed or my confidence.' He pauses, then adds, his voice colder than the northern seas, 'And never forget what you are—a Goldwyn bastard beneath my roof. One wrong move, and I'll remind everyone why House Veltze is feared across these waters.'