My wife is an amazing creature.
And now she is a woman.
When I first thought of the idea of getting around this blood feud between the Sinclaires and the Metiers by offering to marry Maddox, I never thought she would accept. When she did accept with my offer to sign a blood contract, I thought I would be saddled with a cold, clinical, untrusting, suspicious dead weight of a wife who would annul in a hurry, once she discovered that, yes, I do literally drive people to death from madness, and I bathe in their suffering.
Instead, she is warm, engaging, vivacious, eager, not without her own sharp talons when she decides to display them, a keen sense of mischief, and a coy catlike sensuality.
We have been sharing the same bed at night. Of course, until I leave on my nightly escapades. But since I had gorged myself upon the madness of a ship full of cruel and duplicitous sailors, I stayed in last night.
And she came to me. She came to me as a lady and awoke in the morning as a woman.
And as my devoted wife. I will do right by her. I need no blood contract to promise that.