I Married the 'Mad' Heir

Ch 3: The Forever Question

Orion woke to warmth.

A deep, solid heat pressed along his back. For a blissful moment, still tangled in sleep, he thought he was in his own bed. Then his senses sharpened.

The scent of cedar and amber filled the air. Warm, male, and distinctly Alpha.

His heartbeat thudded once, hard and panicked, against his ribs.

An unknown Alpha in my bed.

The reality sank in like cold water.

He was married. This was his wedding chamber. And the large, warm body curled around him belonged to Abel Valerian, his husband.

Orion lay perfectly still. Early morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, painting the room in soft grey. He could feel the steady rise and fall of Abel’s chest against his back. A slow, deep rhythm of sleep.

Then he became aware of the weight.

A heavy arm was draped over his waist. Abel’s hand rested loosely on Orion’s hip. It wasn’t a grip. It was a casual, possessive claim, as if Orion had been designated a body pillow sometime during the night.

Orion sighed quietly through his nose.

He carefully tried to shift away.

The arm tightened. Just a little. A sleepy, unconscious pull.

Orion gave up. He stared at the embroidered canopy above the bed.

A soft snuffle came from behind him. Then a deep, rumbling yawn. The arm around his waist shifted, and the warmth at his back moved.

Abel was waking up.

Orion closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep.

He felt Abel stir. The large body stretched, joints popping softly. Another big yawn, loud and unguarded. Then the arm lifted from Orion’s waist.

Silence.

Orion could feel eyes on him.

He opened his own eyes and turned his head slowly.

Abel was propped up on one elbow, staring down at him. His golden hair stuck out in wild tufts. Sleep softened his handsome face, making him look younger. His golden-brown eyes were blurry with sleep. He blinked slowly.

”Morning,” Abel mumbled, his voice rough.

Orion nodded. ”Good morning.”

Abel continued to stare. His brow furrowed in confusion. He looked at Orion. Then at the bed. Then back at Orion. His head tilted.

”Why are you still here?”

The question was so genuine, so utterly puzzled, that Orion almost laughed.

”What do you mean?”

”You stayed,” Abel said, as if stating a strange fact. ”I thought you were just here for the day. For the marrying and the playing. Then you go home.”

Orion sat up slowly, the sheets pooling around his waist. He looked at his husband. Abel’s expression was open, curious, and completely serious.

”Abel,” Orion said gently. ”This is my home now. I’m staying here. With you.”

Abel’s eyes widened. ”For how long?”

”From now on.”

”What does ’from now on’ mean?”

Orion took a slow breath. ”It means... forever. Married people stay together forever.”

Abel’s mouth fell open slightly. He looked genuinely, deeply shocked.

”Forever?” he whispered.

”Forever.”

Abel sat up fully, the blankets falling to his lap. He ran a hand through his messy hair, making it worse. He looked at Orion with something like horror.

”Like... forever forever? Every day?”

”Yes.”

”But... why?”

”Because we are married,” Orion repeated patiently, though a strange ache had started in his chest. ”That’s what it means.”

Abel’s mind seemed to be working very hard. His eyes darted around the room as if looking for an answer. Finally, he focused back on Orion, his expression turning to one of grave concern.

”Does that mean I have to share my cookies with you forever?”

Orion blinked. ”Your... cookies?”

Abel nodded vigorously. ”The cook makes them special. With raisins. They’re mine. Do I have to give you half of my cookies forever?”

The absurdity of it broke through Orion’s tension. A real smile touched his lips. ”No, Abel. You don’t have to share your cookies.”

Abel looked immensely relieved. Then another thought struck him. His cheeks flushed a faint pink. He looked down at the sheets, picking at a loose thread.

”I... I kick in my sleep,” he admitted, his voice small and embarrassed. ”Sometimes. A lot. Martha says I’m like a donkey.”

Orion’s smile grew. ”I noticed.”

Abel’s head snapped up. ”Did I kick you?”

”A few times.”

Abel looked mortified. ”I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! It just happens!”

”It’s alright,” Orion said, and he found he meant it. ”I survived.”

Before Abel could launch into another anxious line of questioning, the bedroom door creaked open.

A maid entered, carrying a silver tray with a teapot and two cups. She was young, with a pinched face and cold eyes. She moved with a stiff efficiency that spoke of disdain. She didn’t look at either of them as she approached the bedside table.

She set the tray down with a soft clink. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, flicked over the bed. Over the two of them sitting apart. Over the pristine, unwrinkled sheets on Orion’s side. Her gaze lingered on the bedding for a fraction too long.

Orion saw her nostrils flare slightly, as if sniffing for a scent that wasn’t there—the sharp, metallic scent of blood from a claiming bite, the musky scent of sex.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. A quiet, disapproving tch sound escaped her. It was barely audible, but Orion heard it. It echoed in the silent room.

She turned her cold eyes to Orion. ”Your tea, my lord.” Her tone was flat, devoid of respect.

She poured a cup and handed it to him without meeting his gaze. Then she stepped back, folding her hands in front of her apron.

”The Master and Mistress request your presence for breakfast in the main dining hall. To greet the family properly.” She said ’properly’ with a slight emphasis, her eyes darting again to the undisturbed bed.

Orion held the warm teacup, letting the heat seep into his fingers. ”Thank you. We’ll be down shortly.”

The maid gave a curt nod. Her eyes swept over Abel, who was watching her with a blank, uninterested expression, then back to Orion with a final, icy glance. She turned on her heel and left, closing the door softly behind her.

The click of the latch was loud in the quiet room.

Orion stared at the door. The maid’s silent judgment hung in the air, colder than the morning chill.

He took a sip of the tea. It was already lukewarm.

Abel was staring at him. ”You have to meet my family,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

”Yes.”

Abel’s shoulders slumped a little. He picked at the blanket again. ”They’re... loud. Sometimes.”

Orion looked at his husband—this large, powerful, confusing man who worried about sharing cookies and kicking in his sleep, who had protected him from a painful bite without a second thought.

”Then we’ll be quiet together,” Orion said softly.

Abel looked up. He studied Orion’s face for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.

”Okay,” he said. ”Forever.”

And for the first time, Orion didn’t feel the cold dread those words had brought before. He just felt the weight of the warm teacup in his hands, and the strange, fragile new world he had just agreed to live in.