Portia found herself placed in the centre of Prince Cristiano's huge bed in a vast room that effortlessly surpassed the size of her house's hall.
The room exuded a dark ambience that perfectly aligned with the brooding and dark aura of Prince Cristiano. It was not a mere bedroom as the space resembled a fully functional villa which was stocked with a library, bathroom, recreation area, kitchenette, and even a small garden stretching out onto the balcony.
It wouldn't be an exaggeration to label the room as an architectural marvel, whoever had designed it had invested considerable effort and thoughtful consideration into its creation.
She had spent the entire night awake, seated in one spot while struggling to find comfort. Just before dawn, the silence was shattered as the bedroom door was forcefully pushed open from the other side. It startled her from her restless state.
In a moment, her world turned chaotic as the man who moved with remarkable swiftness barged in, probably startling the guards stationed outside the room.
He appeared in front of her, almost rendering her unconscious and grabbed her by her neck.
The strength of werewolves was astonishing. With just a few finger snaps, they could instantly end her life. If he wished, he could kill her now. What was she? Weaker than a human!
Portia could not breathe. Was she going to die? It seemed awfully shameful to die on her wedding night.
She was answered by the prince's hateful and venomous tone, "Isn't it what you wanted? You wanted me to treat you like shit."
"Prince Lockwood," She used a lot of strength to utter those words. "It is hurting me."
Cristiano laughed like a maniac. He was reeking of alcohol indicating that he was not in his senses. "I am hurting you? What a joke!"
It was she who hurt him by taking advantage of him when he could not fight back.
"You are drunk," She whispered. "Killing me will not take you anywhere. It will make things difficult for you. If your wife died on your wedding night, it will create trouble for you."
He looked at her long silver hair that appeared as if it were the shade of the moon itself. Her hair flowed as the gust of wind entered from the opened door.
She shivered in cold and a sense of pleasure ignited in him to see her begging and shivering in fear.
"What makes you think that I fear the death of an unfavoured daughter of the Hawthrone family," Cristiano asked her, smirking.
He added, "I am sure that your family will be thankful to me if I kill the burden like you. Don't you think so?"
She yelped when he put a little strength on her neck. If he used a little more strength, she would die at his hands.
He spat angrily, "I will never accept you as my wife. Never! I would rather kill you with my hand."
She met his fiery green gaze, lifting her chin defiantly. "Whether His Highness accepts it or not, I am your wife. It's not within your purview to decide whether to acknowledge me as your wife. You took vows in the name of the goddess, committing to be with me in sickness and health. Blaming your shortcomings on me is unjust. If you had reservations about accepting me as your wife, you should have declined the marriage during the church ceremony. His Highness had an opportunity, and he let it slip away."
In a fit of anger, he threw her on the bed and punched the wall, making a hole inside it.
Portia gulped in fear but she kept her chin raised. She should not have pushed him like this.
As he looked at her dishevelled body thrown on the bed and the marks of fingerprints on her neck and arm, he felt disgusted by himself. He punched another hole in the wall, blood oozing out of his wound and left the room.
The following a rumour was spreading swiftly in the walls of the palace that Prince Cristiano had spent the night in the room of Mistress Isabella. Before Marilyn became his mate, Cristiano and Isabella used to spend a lot of time together. However, after he had a mate, he maintained his distance from her.
But now that Marilyn had rejected him in front of everyone at the wedding altar, he found solace in the arms of an old mistress than the forced wife he married a few hours ago.
There was another news flying in the palace that Prince Cristiano had hurt his hand and Isabella tore the cotton of her dress to bandage his bleeding knuckles as she went berserk seeing him in pain.
The servants had a better opinion of the mistress than the prince's wife.
The one person who was the most upset with this news was Queen Charlotte. As she heard that her son spent a night with a lowly mistress, she was livid.
Angrily, she marched to her son's bedroom and found Portia sitting on the bed with her head lying on her legs.
She grabbed Portia and jerked her.
"Mother!" Portia yelped as she felt pain.
"You lowly girl! My son had to sleep with a mistress because of you when his heart was in pain," Queen Charlotte expressed her anger.
"How dare you?!" She raised her hand to slap Portia but the latter caught her hand midway, making her extremely furious.
"Mother, I understand your pain but there is nothing I can do about it," Portia answered.
She added, "Neither you could control when your husband found solace in mistress nor I could. That's the nature of men. They will always find shortcomings in their wives. Mother, I request you to break the generational trauma here. Your mother-in-law blamed you for failing your husband when he took a mistress and made them wives. You are blaming me. When the truth is that it is not our fault."
Queen Charlotte had nothing to retort. She hated this girl. She hated her so much that she had nothing to say. She turned her footsteps and left the room.
As Queen Charlotte left, Portia sighed a breath of relief and fell on her bed. "Why is this family so violent? Oh Portia, what have you gotten into?"
When Queen Charlotte left, Cristiano entered into his bedroom. She saw a coloured cloth draped around his knuckles which indicated that the rumours were quite true. Her husband had spent the night with a courtesan indeed.
"Prince Cristiano, shall I ask the maid to prepare a bath for you?" Portia asked with a wide smile.
"Who do you think you are?" Cristiano questioned her.
"Your wife," She politely answered him.
He burst into a fit of laughter. "My wife?" His eyes turned a darker version of green as he took steps closer to her and locked her against the wall and whispered, "My Wife, eh?"
He circled an arm around her thin waist and pulled her closer to him. "Then, do you know the duties that a wife has towards her husband?"
Portia gulped but she tried to maintain her eye contact. "I… I do."
He pushed her away and mercilessly said, "Then, strip. Let's consummate this marriage and become husband and wife in true senses."
"I.." Portia stammered to form the right words. "I do not think that it is the right time for it."
"Oh?" He raised his eyes as if he had no clue what she was talking about.
"It's broad daylight," Portia found herself saying.
"I wonder who will disturb the crown prince while he is fucking his wife in his own bedroom," Cristiano said in crude language making her flinch.
Portia dared not to meet his eyes. He kept standing there waiting for her to say something. After what seemed like an eternity, she spoke, "Okay."
He looked at her unbuttoning the gown that she had been wearing since yesterday. The gown fell on the ground as she unbuttoned it and he saw her standing in her modest undies that were not showing her skin but her hourglass figure was completely visible.
As she started removing the last skin of clothes from her body, he said, "Stop! Do not show me your face!"
He pushed her away and entered the bathroom and did not leave for what seemed like the whole day.