Chapter Thirty-one: The Bond

SIGRUN

Hours later, the castle was entirely dark, but my mind was a sleepless, tangled mess.

I lay flat on my back in the center of a bed large enough to sleep a family of four, staring up at the heavy velvet canopy.

The silence in the room was deafening. It was funny, really—back in my world, I would have killed for this much peace and quiet. Here, it just felt like a desert. My skin felt overly sensitized, humming with a restless, hollow ache that made it impossible to settle.

I couldn't shake the clinical way Lord Krev had talked about us, but more than that, I couldn't shake the frustrating, disappointing reality of my current situation. I was sleeping alone. Again. In a frozen fortress at the edge of the world, married to a man who looked at me like he wanted to devour me, yet who left me to shiver by myself under layers of heavy furs every single night.

Unable to pace the confines of my own bedroom anymore, I finally threw a heavy shawl over my shoulders and slipped out into the corridor. My feet were bare against the thick rugs, the occasional exposed patch of stone sending a sharp, grounding shock of ice up my legs.

The stone halls were pitch black, illuminated only by the dying embers of the wall sconces. I walked aimlessly at first, just trying to tire out my racing thoughts, until my feet carried me down a familiar, deeply carpeted hallway.

I stopped right outside Varul’s private chambers.

The heavy oak door loomed in front of me, dark and silent. My heart did a sudden, violent flip against my ribs. For a mad, breathless second, I actually raised my hand. I stared my knuckles down, hovering inches from the wood, a sudden wave of reckless impulse washing over me.

What if I just knocked? What if I told him I was cold? What if I demanded he kissed me and consummated this marriage?

But the sheer weight of who he was—and the terrifying secret of who I was—hit me like cold water. My hand dropped back to my side. I lost my nerve completely, a hot wave of embarrassment prickling my neck.

For God’s sake, I should be focused on going back home, not trying to get into the pants of an attractive Alpha King.

What the hell was my problem?

I turned away from his door, walking quickly, determined to put distance between myself and the temptation of his room.

I didn't know where I was going. I had no layout of this wing, no map of the upper levels. I was just wandering blindly through the dark, twisting corridors of a castle that still felt like a maze.

But as I moved deeper into a completely unfamiliar hallway, a strange sensation settled over me. It wasn't a sound or a scent—it was a literal, physical tug in the center of my chest. A warm, magnetic pull that seemed to hum beneath my skin, guiding my steps. My bare feet moved of their own accord, drawing me toward a set of massive, double arched doors at the very end of the corridor.

I pressed my hand against the heavy wood, pushing it open just a crack, fully expecting a dark, abandoned storage area or an empty gallery. Instead, a single amber glow cut through the darkness.

I stepped inside, realizing I had stumbled into some sort of massive repository—towering bookshelves climbed toward a vaulted ceiling, and the faint, sweet scent of old parchment and dried leather hung heavy in the air.

And Varul was there.

My heart skipped a beat.

He was wearing nothing but a sleeveless, low-cut charcoal tunic and heavy trousers. Leaning over a massive wooden table covered in parchment maps. He was completely silhouetted against the low embers of the hearth.

The sleeveless tunic left his arms entirely bare, revealing thick, corded muscle, the heavy muscles of his back flexing as he rested his large hands flat on the table, leaning his weight forward. His chest expanded as he drew in a deep, ragged breath.

He didn't turn around, but his deep voice broke the quiet. "You should be asleep, princess."

I swallowed, stepping further into the room, keeping my hands tightly tucked beneath my shawl. I didn't want to let him see how much the sight of him—and the lingering weight of the evening—was shaking me.

"I couldn't sleep," I said softly. I stopped a few feet from the edge of the table, carefully keeping my voice neutral, hiding the deeper ache of my own thoughts.

Varul turned to me, his unreadable eyes watching my every move.

“I’m sorry about dinner,” I said. “With Halvar. I didn't mean to cause a scene or... disrupt things." I took a small breath, looking down at the maps.

"Do not apologize for the behavior of undisciplined wolves," he said, his voice a low, flat baritone that immediately cut off the conversation. It wasn't an invitation to discuss his protection or my gratitude; it was a closed door.

“Every lord present knew that you are a stranger to the ways of the North, and yet Halvar made that pathetic display. He was lucky that I had been able to rein in Siren before he could carry out my threat.”

“Siren?”

“My wolf.”

Oh. I thought Siren was a pretty kick-ass name. I was suddenly curious to know more. But Varul turned back to the maps on the table before I could ask more.

“Go to sleep, princess.”

"I keep trying to figure out the rules here, Varul, but I feel like I'm missing something important," I blurted, my voice carrying a quiet, genuine bewilderment. "Why is our marriage bed a matter of public policy? Why do they care so much about if we have consummated our marriage or not?"

Underneath the deep confusion, a quiet, secret insecurity flared—one I honestly had no business feeling.

Why hadn't he slept with me yet?

God knew the physical chemistry between us wasn't the issue. I wasn't blind, and I certainly wasn't numb. On our wedding night, he had given me an explosive, soul-destroying orgasm that left me entirely undone—and then he had walked out. My body wanted him so intensely it was terrifying. It was a chemical, visceral pull that defied all my logic.

So if the heat was there, if the desire was a mutual, roaring fire, why was he holding back?

Did he suspect I wasn't the real princess? Was this marriage really just a political placeholder to him?

I had no business wondering about these things since I was a pretty big advocate of returning to the sane world, but I couldn’t help it.

Varul slowly turned around. His dark eyes fixed on my face, narrowing slightly as he went entirely still. The silence stretched between us, heavy and thick, as he just looked at me. It wasn't his usual predatory glare; it was an intense, piercing stare, his gaze traveling over the open confusion on my face, tracking the slight tilt of my head. For a long, quiet beat, he looked at me like I was a cryptograph he couldn't decode—a puzzle he was desperately trying to solve but didn't have the pieces for.

I suddenly got a feeling I’d made a huge misstep in asking.

Then, as if reaching some unspoken conclusion, he bridged the distance between us before I could even blink. He glided across the floor with a slow, heavy grace that instantly made my breath hitch.

I instinctively stepped back, my bare heels hitting the tall, heavy wood of a towering bookshelf before I even realized I was retreating. Then, he was entirely in my space. Because of the massive discrepancy in our sizes, his towering frame completely blockaded the warmth of the hearth and the light of the candles until my entire vision was consumed by him.

His chest brushed against my shawl, trapping me between his heat and the solid wood of the bookshelf. The scent of him flooded my senses, making my head spin.

"You think bedding you will be a regular affair?" Varul asked.

His voice dropped to that low, velvety baritone that seemed to vibrate straight through my bones, a purr that sent a violent shiver cascading down my spine. His dark eyes bored into mine, stripping away every ounce of my bravado until I felt entirely unraveled.

"Let them whisper, Princess," he murmured, his face leaning down until his lips were inches from my ear. I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, a scorching contrast to the cold wood at my back. "A wolf's true claim is not made of ink on parchment. It is absolute. Your pains become mine and mine, yours. We become extensions of the same soul.”