Wrenching my hand free, I take one quick glance over my shoulder, then dart inside and pull one of the newer-looking tomes from the shelf. I duck out of the space and close the door behind me. My heart kicks up, a pulsing rhythm that drowns out my footsteps as I walk to the end of the row and place the book on a table tucked into the stacks.

The title is etched in fancy red lettering. I trace the words: Mountain Haven Marriage Rituals. The leather creaks as I open the book and flip through the handwritten pages. There are sigils for the Divine, elaborate drawings of where the couple and their family members should stand during the ceremony, and lists of offerings that should be made to the Divine for a long and prosperous marriage.

According to this, Mountain Haven’s marriage rituals consist of three parts: Vows, Communion, and Consummation.

I page through the book until I reach a section on the consummation ritual. My pulse kicks up as I flip through page after page of diagrams depicting all manner of sex positions. There are notes on which couples bonded their marriage in which styles, including the names and dates of their coupling.

Shuddering, I turn a bunch of pages at once and pause on the image of a woman with her hands fastened to opposite posts in a canopy bed. Her legs are also spread wide and attached to posts at the bottom of the bed. The elegant script at the top of the page reads: Rituals of Submission.

Apparently, there are different versions of each part of the ceremony, but these people have another thing coming if they believe I’m going to submit to that smug asshole.

It’s less the thought of having sex in front of other people that unnerves me than the fear that I might enjoy fucking Henry. Warmth rushes through my blood at the thought of his rough hands on my thighs and the way he bit the skin above my stockings like he knew exactly what I wanted.

The last thing I need is to harbor even the smallest bit of affection for him. This is just a job—one that I need to end soon so that I can return to Lunameade and help Aidia. The sooner I convince him that I’m vulnerable, the sooner I can figure out what he and his family want.

“If you want to know about our traditions, you only need to ask. You’re the only one that expects yourself to be all-knowing.”

Henry’s voice startles me from my thoughts.

He’s right behind me. I was so focused, I didn’t even hear him enter the library.

I continue to page through the book, ignoring him as I scan more illustrations in various positions.

“Isn’t this from the locked section of the library?” Henry asks.

I shrug a shoulder. “The flimsy lock made it feel more like a suggestion. But if you’d like to tell me what I need to know about the ceremony, I won’t have to resort to petty crimes. I’m eager to be a dutiful wife and I wouldn’t want to offend the Divine by not honoring your customs.”

He chuckles low. “Yes, you certainly seem devout.”

I swirl my fingers in front of my lips. “I honor the Divine by using the blessings they’ve bestowed on me, or at least I did until you interrupted me.”

He arches a brow, then flips back to the front of the book and taps the page. “First, we’ll exchange vows in our Vardek Temple. He’s the patron of our house since my father and my sister were both blessed with his gifts. The ceremony is much the same as a Lunameade wedding, from what I understand, though with less pandering to the ruling family.”

He rubs his stubble. I noticed it the first night we met in the bar—he does that when he’s unsure how I’ll react.

“And then we will have a wedding feast, music, fine wine, and cake. Not like the stuffy affairs you’re used to,” Henry continues. “People actually dance and enjoy themselves. We take the pursuit of all pleasures very seriously.”

I wish he would get to the point. It’s the next two parts that I’m most apprehensive about.

“Then we will have time to be in communion with each other.”

“What does that mean, though?” I ask.

He smiles wickedly. “It means that we have to be spiritually and emotionally intimate before we are physically intimate. You’ll sit with me under a veil and we’ll have to exchange secrets.”

I scoff. “No, thank you.”

“It’s not optional.”

I wave a dismissive hand. “And then?”

He purses his lips. “And then we’ll be taken to the chamber in the back of the temple, where we will consummate our marriage in front of witnesses.”

This entire conversation is unsettling. Not because I’m uncomfortable with my body, but because I don’t like that he has more experience—that he’s witnessed this while I’ll be going in blind. Being on my heels is disorienting enough. I don’t like that he knows more than me.

“So I’ll have to—” He clears his throat.

“Fuck me?” I finish. “If you can’t even say it, I’m not sure how you expect to do it.”

His eyes narrow. “This isn’t a game, lovely. I’ll need to fuck you like I’m claiming you. I need to make you come. Everyone will need to believe that you’re mine or there could be challenges.”

“Challenges?”

“I told you before, out here strength is prized above all,” he says, tapping a finger on the book. “Only the strongest of us survived the attack ten years ago. Only the strongest of us survive the culling to become guards, and if you don’t regularly prove you’re stronger than the rest, they will come for you, to take what’s yours for the good of our people. You are a powerful ally. Others will try to sway you. It would be foolish of them not to when they have such an obvious opportunity to attack my relationship when it’s at its weakest.”

I smile. “Is that what this is? A relationship? And here I thought it was more of a hostage situation.”

He frowns, his shoulders going tense. “Harlow, this is serious. I know you don’t trust me, and that’s fine. I don’t trust you, either, but this is the truth: I cannot protect you from them if you don’t let me. We have different rules here—different customs.”

“And those customs don’t require consent?”

He throws his hands up. “The consent is a precursor to participation⁠—”

“So anyone can do anything they want⁠—”

“That’s not what I said,” he snaps. “We have customs, like hunt night, that are inherent to keeping wildness in our culture—where hunters can hunt and capture their prey and fuck them into submission. No one is ever forced to play and hunters need to go through a full training ahead of time to ensure they understand how to do so safely. But once they are out in those woods, anything goes. It’s why it’s an optional event.”

“That—” I shake my head, my mind whirling with the image of Bryce fucking that woman.

“It’s triumph and surrender. You wouldn’t understand.” He rubs a hand over his face. “I’m telling you all of this because everyone here already knows the rules and you don’t, and if you don’t learn them fast—if you keep fighting me every step of the way—I won’t be able to ensure your safety. The last thing I want is a war with your family.”

I could at the very least count on that last part being true. There’s no way he wants an outright war with the Carrenwells. It would be too messy, and my family’s magic—and that of those we shared the well with—would easily overwhelm even the well-trained killers within these fort walls. But I still can’t rule out the possibility that he wants a quieter, sneakier war with us. He could be working with the rebellion. For all I know, he could be Rochelli and the whole attack at our engagement dinner was a clever diversion.

“I know it goes against everything in you to listen to me, or anyone else for that matter, but there are things you cannot do here. Do not flirt with others. It makes me look weak, and that makes you vulnerable.”

I scoff. “So, I can’t so much as flirt with someone else, but you’re allowed to fuck some other woman on hunt night?”