7 Scream My Name

"Do not lie to me." His voice was cold as ice.

Killorn could tell she had never worn it, not even once. The dress was hidden in the trunk. He had to search and dig for it. He thought she had thrown it away or used it as a rag cloth with how poor the quality was. It was no match for the expensive gowns she usually would wear.

"I-it is your first gift to me and my f-favorite gown."

At her pleas, Killorn had no choice. He couldn't say no. He found denying his men easy, but when it came to her? His tongue stiffened. His body physically couldn't deny her.

Killorn eyed her position, with her arms tightly squeezing her chest together, hoping to hide it with her hair. He let out a small sigh, grabbed his cloak, and draped it over her quivering body.

Ophelia gasped when the fur touched her skin. She stared, bewitched by the softness of the fur that weighed down her shoulders from how thick the cloak's material was. She could tell it was the highest quality and would keep anything warm in the middle of a snowstorm.

"You're shivering."

Ophelia touched the fur, her fingers had never felt anything as lovely as this. She was grateful for it, despite how heavy it was, and the cold metal of the clasp touching her naked skin.

"Hurry and put on your clothes."

Ophelia tenderly slipped on the chemise he selected for her, keeping her attention focused on his expensive shoes. She saw the sides scuffed, as if he had run here in a hurry, but the black shoes were buckled with a nice button. There was metal-encased sharply on the toes, protecting him from any damage.

Killorn was a Commander, through and through.

"T-those are interesting shoes." Ophelia attempted to make a conversation, but he simply stared.

Killorn saw her hair blocking her vision. The locks of near-silver blond almost resembled sunlight, too bright and lovely. On colder days, her hair was almost silvery, but in warmer weather, it resembled gold sold for the highest price.

"D-done…"

Finally, Ophelia was dressed. She hesitatingly climbed off the bed in the chemise, underwear, and knee socks that he had picked out, with his purple dress, and wearing his cloak. His.

Yet, Killorn realized it didn't suit her—his things. She was cheery as sunshine and he was too dreary.

Killorn grabbed his cloak and pulled it off, revealing the dress. At that time, when he first saw it on the merchant's stall, he was bewitched by the color, for it reminded him dearly of her. He had been an enthusiastic fool to send it back to her, wishing to see her in it.

"Can I speak?"

"You're doing it, are you not?"

Ophelia flinched.

Killorn frowned deeply.

"Why would you need to ask permission to speak—" Killorn sharply inhaled.

"It's not like I have control over your mouth—" Killorn cut himself off again. Finally, he let out a sigh through his nostrils. "Speak freely. You are my wife, after all."

Ophelia instantly brightened at his words, peering up at him with disbelief. Then, realizing how bad that looked, Ophelia quickly lowered her eyes. She hadn't asked if she could look at him. Oh no, what was he going to do now?

Immediately, Killorn curled a finger under her chin and forced her to look at him.

Ophelia was at a loss for words. He was so handsome, that she nearly gasped. His hair was dark and wisped over his piercing eyes. Storms roared within his pupils, the candlelight flickering off his sharp features. His jaw ticked, revealing the sharpness of steel.

Even at her wedding, many of Ophelia's older sisters eyed him with desire.

"Look at me when you talk to me," he uttered. His voice was smooth as velvet and deep as words can be.

Ophelia nodded her head. It was a command. She would try her best to obey it.

"Now, tell me," he stated.

Ophelia sucked in a breath. She didn't dare to ask anymore. He was irritated already, she could tell in the glint of his silver eyes. Unable to ask him if the dress looked alright on her… she could only reveal a wry expression.

What if Ophelia had told him the question and he thought she was fishing for a compliment?

Ophelia knew Killorn already thought of her as arrogant. She didn't want to further ruin her image.

"U-uhm…"

Ophelia bit her bottom lip nervously. His sharp eyes fell to her mouth. He groaned, dropping his hand. Her heart slumped. Were her lips chapped? Did they look dry? She didn't remember—

Killorn grabbed the dip of her spine. Her mind went slack. He hauled her towards him. Her body fell against his, her palms pressing against his cold armor. He pressed his hardness against her, making her cry out in fear.

"I-its—"

"Unless you want to do it with the bastard right there, don't do that anymore."

Ophelia shakily nodded her head. She eyed the bed and knew, at any given moment, Killorn wouldn't hesitate to bury himself inside of her—even with her dead second husband's body sprawled on the floor.

"Now tell me what you wanted to say," Killorn urged, sinking his head to hear her properly.

Ophelia was softly spoken. Killorn knew his neck would be sore from casting it to hear her properly. He couldn't help it. Her voice was sweet and he was a willing listener.

"Hm?" Killorn pressed.

Ophelia couldn't even remember her initial train of thought. His hair tickled her forehead, her lids growing heavy. She smelled his heady scent, reminiscent of forest husk.

"T-thank you."

Killorn grew tense. What?

"T-the dress…" Ophelia shyly whispered. "I-it was from you. Right?"

Ophelia's voice died with each word. She was flushed red from how embarrassing it sounded. Her cover must've been blown.

Roselind never thanked people, for it was beyond royal blood and legitimate status. Ophelia immediately realized he must've known the truth. Her head became a jumbled mess.

"I…" Killorn paused.

Then, Ophelia saw his expression. She wondered why his ears were the color of tomatoes. His intimidating eyes had softened, just a bit, the roughness hidden by his slight confusion.

"Of course." It was the only thing Killorn said, but in a voice so tender, she knew it wasn't answering her question. It was as if he was telling her, of course, he'd buy her a dress. Of course, he'd get it for her, there was no need to thank him.

Ophelia didn't dare to believe this fantasy. She couldn't afford to.

Hesitatingly smiling up at him, Ophelia hoped he knew what the dress meant to her, but she was afraid he'd find out she wasn't as treasured. She wasn't a useful Eves for him to climb the social ranks. When he'd discover that, he'd surely divorce her for someone better than Ophelia.

"Now come, I'm taking you to my estate."

"N-now?"

Ophelia didn't know Killorn possessed anything. The last time she met him, he was a boy with no name, no land, and no status. His father was a Duke, but his mother was of unknown origins. He had nothing. Even his wedding attire was borrowed from friends.

"Yes, when else?" Killorn asked. "We're going to my territory."

"I-I thought you were still a s-son, w-wouldn't it be your father's…?" Ophelia asked in confusion.

Killorn raised a brow. She was suddenly filled with questions over his materialistic wealth? "I am wealthier than you think, Ophelia. I've garnered enough money to buy House Eves. Is that enough for you?" he sarcastically said, throwing her a displeased look. "Or maybe the entire empire."

"I'm s-sorry…"

Killorn narrowed his eyes. "Don't be, it's a wife's duty to spend her husband's money."

Killorn dropped his hand and strode off, heading straight towards the door.

Without his presence, Ophelia was suddenly cold and lonely. She played with her fingers and reluctantly, walked towards him. "Now, come. You can tell the maids to pack your things. We're leaving."

Ophelia opened her mouth, but then couldn't tell him what she wanted to say. She didn't have any belongings. Her dresses were hand-me-downs from her older sisters or things that Roselind didn't want anymore.

Ophelia was a waste bin for her sisters who donated to her like the charity she was.

"I have… nothing."

Killorn stared at her. Nothing. At all? He eyed her closet and her jewelry box sitting on a polished vanity. Of course. They must've been worn once already. Wealthy families didn't recycle clothes by wearing them again. Fine. Have it her way.

"Then we're leaving. Right away. The carriage is waiting."

"N-now?" Ophelia squeaked. "I-I want to say goodbye to my Papa..."

"He barely protected you from the ceremony. What is there to say goodbye?" Killorn asked.

"M-my Papa has loved me the b-best he can," Ophelia whispered. 

"Yet, he couldn't stop you from joining the ceremony."

"B-because we thought you had died!" Ophelia suddenly pleaded. "M-my family insisted on protecting me, I-I just…"

Killorn stalked towards her. He grabbed her chin and pulled her close. She gasped at the intensity of his fiery gaze.

"I am here now, you can rest assured." Killorn released her. 

"T-then, let me s-say goodbye to my grandmother a-at the least," Ophelia whimpered. She was terrified of offending the woman who had abused her for the past ten years.

"Screw her." 

In this entire world, Ophelia had never met anyone who would dare disobey her powerful and influential Grandmother, Matriarch Eves. No one had the guts. To think someone would be able to cross the old woman's path… Ophelia was terrified of Killorn's fate.

'His eyes,' Ophelia realized again. There it was. His pupils shimmered the color of sunlight… the sign of an Alpha. Before she could continue that thought, he blinked.

"My lord husband, I—" 

"Killorn," he seethed.

"H-huh?"

"My name is Killorn. Use it."

Ophelia didn't dare. She shakily shook her head.

"You will speak my name no matter where we are in the world. You can scream my name, if you please, whether in the bed or estates. I do not care. But you are to call me Killorn, and I expect no less of that, Ophelia."