"Tessa." The Dowager Countess's voice cuts through the applause like a blade. "Do join us."
It's not a request.
I force my legs to move, one step and then another. Every eye tracks my progress, but I look straight ahead instead, my chin high up.
When I reach Soren's side, he doesn't even look at me. Lady Diana’s violet eyes flick to me with what might be sympathy if I didn't know better.
"A toast," Sylvia announces, her voice ringing with false cheer as servants appear with crystal glasses filled with blood wine. "To new alliances and stronger bonds."
I take the offered glass, my fingers steady even as everything inside me screams. The smile I paste on my face is perfect—I've had years to practice wearing masks.
Let them think I knew.
Let them think this was arranged, discussed, agreed upon like civilized vampires handling their affairs.
"To House Ravencrest," I murmur, raising my glass with everyone else.
The blood wine tastes like ash. I maintain my composure, barely acknowledging the world around me: I smile when expected, nod at appropriate moments, stand perfectly still as a statue while the family receives well-wishers.
Soren's mother makes pointed comments about "expanding the family's influence." Lady Sylvia can barely contain her glee. And Diana plays her part beautifully, gracious and humble and utterly perfect.
After an eternity, I see my chance.
"Excuse me," I say quietly, to no one in particular. "I need a moment."
No one stops me. No one even acknowledges I've spoken.
I slip away from the celebration, my feet carrying me down familiar corridors until I find myself in my room, blessedly empty and quiet. The moment the door closes behind me, I brace my hands against the back of a chair, trying to remember how to breathe.
Second wife. Blood-bonded.
The words still echo in my head like a death knell.
A public declaration that whatever bond exists between us is so meaningless it can be replicated, expanded, shared with someone worthier. My hands are shaking. I press them flat against the velvet upholstery, willing them to stop.
The door opens behind me. I straighten instantly, smoothing my expression back into neutrality, but it's not anyone I’d expect.
It's Lady Diana.
"Oh!" She stops in the doorway, one hand pressed to her chest in apparent surprise. "Forgive me, I didn't realize anyone was in here. I seem to have gotten turned around trying to find my chambers."
A soft, embarrassed laugh escaped from her.
"These old estates are such mazes, aren't they? Soren was going to escort me himself, but he had some matters to attend to first. Before he joins me, that is."
Before he joins her.
The words land like stones in my stomach, but I keep my smile frozen in place. My face feels like porcelain—fragile, perfect, about to crack.
"The east wing," I hear myself say through numb lips. "Your chambers would be in the east wing, near his. Third floor."
"How kind of you." Diana takes a step into the room, her sapphire gown whispering against the floor.
Her expression shifts to something that might be sympathy.
"I hope you understand—this isn't personal. These arrangements are simply how our world works. I'm sure we can find a way to make this... comfortable for everyone involved."
Comfortable. As if my marriage being dismantled in front of hundreds of vampires is merely a matter of interior decorating.
"Found you!" Sylvia sweeps into the room, her entrance perfectly timed.
Of course it is. Nothing Sylvia does is accidental.
"Come, Diana, let me show you to your rooms properly. The family quarters in this wing, just down the corridor." Her smile is sharp as she glances at me.
The implication is clear. I'm going to be moved to guest quarters. Diana gets the family wing—the rooms that should belong to the Lady of House Ravencrest.
"Actually," Diana says, her tone gentle, almost apologetic, "I was hoping we might speak privately at some point, Tessa. To discuss how we'll... coordinate things. I'll need to take on your responsibilities now, like managing the household. Primary wife duties, you understand."
She tilts her head, her violet eyes soft with what looks like pity.
"But I'd be happy to consult with you on the transition."
My polite smile stays frozen on my face, but something hot and vicious unfurls in my chest.
"How generous of you," I say quietly, "to offer to consult with me about my own household."
"Well, technically it's Soren's household," Sylvia interjects, her amusement barely concealed. "And soon it will be Diana's to manage. That's how these things work with primary bonds. You can hardly expect to maintain your current position when a more suitable match has been made."
The words land like a slap.
"I think what Sylvia means," Diana says quickly, her hand fluttering in a gesture that's probably meant to be soothing, "is that House Shadowmere brings certain advantages that will strengthen both our houses."
She smiles, warm and understanding, like she's explaining something simple to a child.
"There's no shame in stepping back to make room for what's best for everyone. You can still have a place here, Tessa. A small role. No one is asking you to leave entirely."
As if I should be grateful for scraps from my own marriage.
Heat floods through me, burning away the numbness that's been holding me together.
Years. All these years of being dismissed and overlooked and treated like an inconvenience.
And now they're standing here in front of me, calmly discussing how to erase me. Offering me a "small role" in the life I've been living. Acting like I should thank them for allowing me to stay invisible in the corners of my own home.
I take a step toward Diana, my hands clenching into fists at my sides.
"You walk in here," my voice trembles as I move closer to Diana, "wearing his ring, planning to take my rooms, my responsibilities, my place… and you want me to smile and step aside and be grateful you're letting me keep a corner to hide in?"
Diana's expression shifts, the gentle sympathy hardening into something else. "I'm trying to be kind about this. You should be grateful I'm willing to—"
"Grateful?" The word comes out as a laugh, sharp and bitter. "You want me to be grateful that you're stealing my husband and offering me the privilege of watching you do it?"
The door slams open and Soren stands in the doorway, his eyes flashing with fury.
The air in the room suddenly grows heavy, oppressive, and the blood bond between us flares to life—painful and immediate. Power rolls off him in waves, that old commanding authority demanding submission.
"Enough," he says, and the word carries weight that makes my bones ache.
For years, I've bent to this. For years, I've submitted.
But right now, with rage still burning in my chest, I find myself doing something I've never done before.
I hold his gaze.
"What," Soren says, his eyes narrow, something dangerous crossing his face. His voice is deadly soft, "do you think you're doing?"