Annalise's POV
I sat on the bed crying for a while, my face and neck drenched in unspoken words and conflicting thoughts forgetting how much time had passed.
Soon I heard a knock, it was gentle. I knew immediately whose it was and sat upright on the bed dragging my palms across my cheeks to clean the tears.
Another knock, and then the door cracked open. Hannah peeked in, her brows knitted in worry as her gaze landed on me. I forced a smile, hollow and unconvincing.
"Your Grace…" she began, her voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the fragile silence. "Are you alright?"
My mouth went dry as I tried to feign composure. "I'm fine Hannah." I replied softly, though my voice betrayed me with its unsteadiness as I buried everything deep inside me, it was something I was always good at.
"Are you sure, Your Grace? You didn't show up for breakfast…" Her eyes searched mine, seeking answers I wasn't ready to give.
"I slept in, that's all." A light chuckle escaped me, brittle and strained. "What about Vincent?" His name felt like poison on my tongue, yet my heartbeat quickened in dread as I asked. "Is he still here?"
"Yes, Your Grace," she said hesitantly, her tone almost apologetic.
"Of course, he is". I nodded, forcing my lips into a smile. "Draw up a bath for me, please."
"Yes, Your Grace." She bowed and slipped away, her concern still lingering in the air.
For a moment, I stayed rooted on the bed, staring at the space she left behind.
I attempted to filter my thoughts, burying the unwanted ones relating to my last live and focusing on the second chance I had. Then the door creaked again. This time, the air shifted.
Vincent strode in, his fair face painted with smug satisfaction, as if he owned not just the room but the very air I breathed.
My stomach knotted as his green eyes locked with mine. He crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the bed beside me.
"Iris, you're still in bed." His voice was smooth, almost tender, but it only made my skin crawl.
His hand reached for my face, his fingers tracing a path down my cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. My body stiffened.
"Sorry I was a little rough with you last night." He continued with such a tender look on his face, that made me falter for a second.
I remained silent, my mind scrambling for what to say to him so he would leave me alone.
His lips curved into a smirk as his eyes fell to my neck. "It looks pretty on you… my mark, I mean." He commented, lightly tracing his fingers across the place where he has bitten.
My blood ran cold.
His words slithered over my skin like a snake, tightening with every syllable. "This bastard!", I cursed under my breath.
I clenched my fists in my lap, trying to steady my breathing. Anger simmered in my chest, threatening to boil over, but my mouth betrayed me with its silence.
"Why aren't you saying anything?" he asked, his fingers now tracing the hollow of my collarbone.
I glared at him, hating how even my hatred seemed to amuse him.
"I have nothing to say to you," I muttered finally, my voice steady but sharp. "You've already had your way, haven't you? Kindly rid me of your presence.". I continued coldly.
His brows shot up in surprise, the brief flash of anger in his eyes giving me a momentary sense of satisfaction.
"You should eat something," he said after a tense pause, his voice softer but laced with irritation. He reached for my hand, but I yanked it away.
"It's none of your concern," I snapped, dragging myself off the bed.
A wave of dizziness hit me as I stood up suddenly and staggered, almost hitting the ground. Vincent who had stood up with me held me to prevent me from falling.
"Let me go," I hissed, shoving him away. His touch lingered on my skin like an unwanted stain. Without waiting for a response, I stumbled toward the door.
Soon after Hannah helped wash me in silence, her eyes lingering on the wolf-bite and hickeys Vincent had left. She visibly had many questions but thankfully asked none.
Later during the day, Vincent had left to do something I honestly didn't care to know and I found myself face-to-face with Duke Edward. He looked as if he'd seen a ghost, his face pale and lined with something resembling guilt.
"Iris," he began, breaking the awkward silence as we stood across each other in the guest room.
My stomach churned at the sound of his voice. Disgust rippled through me, but I held my composure, my expression calm and cold. "So you knew," I said, my voice flat but sharp as a blade.
"Knew?" he asked, feigning ignorance.
"About Vincent," I snapped, my glare cutting through him. "You invited a man you knew I didn't want to see into this house, into my room-" My voice cracked, the weight of it all threatening to crush me.
Hannah had told me everything that happened before Vincent showed up in front of me, how Duke Edward seemingly knew about it because he wrote to Vincent.
"Hate? Come on, Iris, you don't hate Vincent," he replied, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. "I'm sure it was just a small misunderstanding."
"A misunderstanding?" My voice was low, but the anger and disbelief in it was unmistakable. "You're unbelievable."
He opened his mouth to respond, but I cut him off. "I knew you were a terrible father, but you've outdone yourself this time." My tone was calm, almost eerily so.
I didn't wait for his reaction. I walked past him, the air heavy with the weight of words left unsaid. I could feel his gaze burning into my back, but I didn't care.
Vincent's obsession only seemed to grow after that day, his presence suffocating.
Wherever I went, he was there, hovering just close enough to remind me I could never escape him.
Our mating process was almost complete and according to what I learnt, we were supposed to grow even more closer and inseparable but honestly I felt no different until Iris's wolf decides she wanted the opposite.
My little getaway from Vincent was now ruined. When I finally returned to the capital with him, I sought refuge in the Moon Palace, hoping the distance would give me the space I so desperately needed.
The familiar walls of the palace brought a sense of solace, but it was the garden that truly calmed me. I had missed it, the scent of blooming lavender, the quiet rustle of leaves in the afternoon breeze.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I could breathe without the weight of Vincent's presence looming over me.
I spent the next few days here, planning my next steps. My notebook sat open on my lap, filled with the scattered details of the novel I'd written.
I went over them again and again, searching for some forgotten clue that might change my course. But nothing clicked, nothing important to me at least and eventually, I gave up, letting the pages fall closed.
It has been about ten years since I read the book so it wasn't strange that the details were very hazy in my memory but I still needed something, anything.
The only option I had left was to wait for the female lead to show up, to steal Vincent's heart but I didn't know how long it would take, and it would mean I still had to marry Vincent.
The bond was almost complete. All that remained was the mating ceremony—the wedding—and it was barely two months away. My chest tightened at the thought, my mind restless even in the calm of the garden.
While racking my brain quietly one afternoon under the shade in the garden, an anxious voice snapped me back to present. "Good afternoon your grace." The voice greeted.
I turned to see a short, lean man in an ornate uniform standing just beyond the shade, his hands clasped behind his back. He bowed, his eyes fixed on the ground. A palace servant, no doubt.
"Yes? How can I help you?" I asked, gesturing for him to step closer.
He hesitated but obeyed, his voice trembling as he spoke. "I am a messenger from the King's Court. His Majesty has sent a message for you."
I grimaced, rolling my eyes. "What does that idiot want now?"
"Go on," I said, waving a hand for him to continue.
"The king has demanded your presence in his office at the main palace tomorrow."
My brows furrowed instantly, irritation bubbling to the surface.
"What is he up to this time?" I muttered under my breath, rubbing my temples. "Well it doesn't matter."
"Tell him I'm not coming." I spoke out.
The messenger flinched but didn't leave. "H-his Majesty anticipated that response," he stammered, "and told me to inform you that if you refuse, he will come to retrieve you himself."
I clenched my fists, my muscles tensing at the threat. "That motherfucker!" Calling him a bastard felt insufficient. I needed a stronger word.
"Fine," I snapped, waving him away. "Tell him I'll come."
The man bowed and hurried off, leaving me fuming in the garden. "Curse you, Vincent.
Curse you a thousand times." I hated how he now seemed to find pleasure in getting on my nerves.
The next morning, I climbed into the carriage, dreading each second as it carried me closer to the main palace. My stomach churned with a mixture of anger and unease, but I steeled myself.
I reached the silent hallway that led to Vincent's office, the sharp click of my heels echoing off the polished floors as I walked alone.
Large portraits lined the walls, their subjects staring down at me with regal indifference.
As always, the carefully crafted details of their expressions made my skin crawl, as if they were silently judging my every move.
Stopping in front of Vincent's office, I hesitated.
Muffled voices spilled through the thick wooden door, too low to make out.
Curiosity tugged at me, and before I could stop myself, I pressed an ear lightly against the cold surface. Nothing discernible. Just the low hum of voices.
I hesitated again, this time wondering if I'd be interrupting something important. But the thought vanished almost as quickly as it came. Why should I care? He'd summoned me here, after all.
With a deep breath, I knocked gently and pushed the door open.
The room fell silent the moment I stepped inside.
Three merchants or artisans maybe stood near a long table, fabric swatches and sketches spread before them. They glanced at me briefly, then back at Vincent as if waiting for his approval.
Richard was seated to the side, a long scroll in one hand and a feathered quill in the other, scribbling furiously as if the world depended on his notes.
And then there was Vincent himself, standing at the head of the table, his sharp eyes fixed on the fabric. His narrowed eyes lit up the moment his gaze shifted to me.
"Ah, Iris, you're here." He stepped toward me, his smirk as infuriating as ever. "I didn't think you'd actually come."
I shot him a glare, my patience already wearing thin. "Why did you call me?" I asked, my voice sharp.
"To show you this." Vincent turned to the merchants, gesturing for them to bring the fabrics and sketches closer.
One of the sketches caught my eye, an elaborate design with intricate embroidery that seemed almost too regal for words.
My brows knitted together in confusion as I glanced between Vincent and the artisans.
"What's all this?" I demanded.
"Your wedding dress." He answered.