The lively celebration lasted well into the evening. Not until darkness had fully settled did the crowd finally let Arthur slip away. By then, he was thoroughly drunk, but the path to the bridal chamber was one he could follow even in his sleep. Inside, Ashley sat by the bed, watching the light outside fade to night. Her heart was unsteady. It wasn’t their first time, but it was their wedding night—and her legs had only just recovered. Her thoughts scattered as the door swung open. Arthur stepped in, reeking faintly of wine, the flicker of red candles casting the room in a hazy, intimate glow. Seeing him sway, Ashley quickly rose to steady him. “Arthur, you drank too much.” But he only smiled foolishly at her beauty. Before she could react, he pulled her into a fierce kiss, shutting the door behind him. His gaze locked on her, warm and possessive. “Wife,” he said thickly, “this time, you truly belong to me.” Color rushed to her cheeks. She eased him toward a chair and poured warm water. “Why drink so much? You know it’s bad for you.” Arthur waved the glass away. “No, no. Tonight we drink wine.” He picked up two goblets filled with deep red liquid and handed her one. “Come on, take it.” “Arthur…” she began in protest. “Not Arthur—husband,” he corrected with mock sternness. Her face warmed again, but she obeyed softly. “Husband.” The word lit him up. “Other drinks can wait, but this one we must share.” She gave a small laugh, taking the cup. “All right.” They crossed arms, bringing the intertwined hands to their lips and drinking slowly. Their clasped grip felt like a promise—unbreakable, binding. When the wine was gone, Ashley’s lips glistened, her cheeks rosy, the combination making her look like a freshly bloomed flower. Arthur bent to kiss her deeply, and she closed her eyes, yielding to him. Despite the alcohol clouding his senses, his mind remained clear enough to savor every moment. Soon, the candlelight swayed to the rhythm of the night until dawn crept in. By morning, Ashley eased herself out of bed, wincing at the ache in her waist. Arthur lay sprawled, still asleep. She glared at him in mock irritation—he always got to rest while she felt like she’d been run over. Sensing her mood, he cracked one eye open and grinned. “Wife, you’re awake?” “I feel like I’m falling apart,” she said, giving his chest a light punch. Realization flashed in his eyes, and he sat up quickly. “Let me help.” Sliding behind her, he began to massage her sore waist with just the right pressure, drawing a sigh of relief from her lips. Then, unable to resist, his hands wandered. “Stop that!” she scolded, swatting at him. He only chuckled. “You’re my wife. Isn’t this normal?” She huffed, at a loss for words. Sunlight streamed warmly through the window. After breakfast, Arthur supported her as they strolled slowly along the beach, the waves lapping softly at the shore.