I don’t sleep.
Not here. Not in *his* palace. Not in the room they’ve given me—luxurious, yes, with silk drapes and a bed large enough for a king, but warded with vampire magic that hums against my skin like a warning. The walls are black marble veined with silver, the floor cold beneath my bare feet. A fire crackles in the hearth, casting long shadows that dance like grasping hands.
I’ve been here three hours.
Three hours since the Council’s decree. Three hours since Vaelen said, *“I accept,”* like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t chaining me to a monster. Like the bond between us wasn’t a curse disguised as fate.
I pace. Back and forth. My gown from the masquerade is gone—replaced by a simple black robe, soft against my skin but suffocating in its intimacy. Like I’m already wearing his colors.
The mark on my spine still burns.
Not constant. Not anymore. But every time I think of him—his voice, his eyes, the way his hand brushed my waist—heat flares up my back like a struck match. It’s maddening. Humiliating. My body betraying me, responding to a man I’ve sworn to destroy.
I stop in front of the mirror.
My reflection stares back—pale skin, dark eyes, hair like spilled ink. My silver mask is gone, but I still wear another kind. The diplomat. The peace envoy. The woman who doesn’t want to rip out her fiancé’s throat.
That woman doesn’t exist.
I close my eyes. Breathe. Reach for my magic. Blood is power. A drop from my fingertip, smeared across my palm. I whisper the words—*“Sanguis silentium”*—and the wards on the door dim, just for a moment. Just long enough.
I open my eyes. The door is locked. But not to me.
I slip the lockpick from my hair—thin, silver, forged from fae steel. My mother’s last gift. I crouch, insert it into the keyhole, and listen. The wards are layered—vampire blood magic, fae glamour, a werewolf’s scent-trap woven into the wood. But I’ve picked harder locks in darker places.
One twist. A click.
The door opens.
The hallway beyond is dim, lit only by sconces that flicker with blue flame. No guards. No servants. Just silence, thick and watchful. I move fast, silent, hugging the shadows. My goal: the private study. The one place Vaelen would keep records of his crimes. Of my brother’s death.
If he killed him, the proof will be there.
I turn a corner. The corridor narrows. The air grows colder. The scent of old parchment and iron fills my nose. I can feel it—the study. Close. Protected. Guarded by more than just locks.
Then I see it.
A door at the end of the hall, carved with the Duskbane crest—a raven clutching a blood moon. Silver veins pulse faintly across the wood, reacting to my presence. Blood wards. They’ll scream if I touch them.
I crouch again. Pull a vial from my sleeve—crimson liquid, stolen from a vampire informant in Prague. Blood of the third lineage. Not strong enough to trigger the wards, but close enough to mimic a Duskbane. I smear it on my fingers, press my hand to the door.
The silver veins flicker. Hesitate.
Then go dark.
The door opens.
I step inside.
The study is vast—walls lined with books, scrolls, maps of the hidden cities beneath Europe. A massive desk dominates the center, littered with documents, quills, a silver dagger resting beside a half-finished letter. The air hums with magic, thick and old. This is where he rules. Where he plots. Where he signs death warrants.
I move to the desk. Flip through papers. Council decrees. Trade agreements. Nothing about my brother. Nothing about my mother.
Then I see it.
A drawer, locked with a blood seal. My pulse jumps. That’s it. That’s where he’d keep the truth.
I pull out my lockpick again. Careful. Slow. The seal is delicate—break it wrong, and it’ll release a paralysis toxin. I’ve seen it before. Used it myself.
One twist. A soft click.
The drawer opens.
Inside: files. Thick, leather-bound. Labeled in elegant script.
Thornline Dossier.
My breath stops.
I pull it out. Flip it open.
My mother’s face stares back at me—her trial, her execution, the charges: *treason, blood magic, conspiracy with werewolf insurgents.* Lies. All of it. But then—
A note, in Vaelen’s handwriting.
She saved me. They would have flayed me alive. She took the blame. I owe her my life.
I stare at it.
My hands shake.
No. This is a trick. A lie. He’s trying to manipulate me.
I flip to the next page.
My brother.
Photographs. Reports. Surveillance logs. And a final entry:
Last seen entering Solene’s chambers. Never emerged. Cause of death: unknown. Suspected blood magic.
Solene.
My mentor. My guardian. The woman who raised me after my mother’s death.
She’s the one who told me Vaelen killed him.
She’s the one who gave me the forged documents.
She’s the one who sent me here.
And now—
A noise.
Behind me.
I spin.
Vaelen stands in the doorway.
He’s not wearing his mask. Not wearing his court robes. Just black trousers, a dark shirt left open at the collar, revealing the sharp lines of his collarbones. His hair is slightly tousled, as if he’s been running his hands through it. His eyes—crimson, ancient, *hungry*—lock onto mine.
And the bond—
It *screams*.
Heat floods my body. My skin burns. My core clenches, wet and aching. The mark on my spine flares, a white-hot brand. I stumble back, hit the desk, drop the dossier.
He doesn’t move. Just watches me. “You’re not here for peace,” he says, voice low. “You’re here to kill me.”
My breath comes fast. “And you’re not here to stop me?”
“I could have,” he says, stepping forward. “I’ve known you were coming for weeks. Knew you’d try to break in. Knew you’d come for this.” He gestures to the dossier on the floor. “So why didn’t I lock it away? Why didn’t I burn it?”
I don’t answer. Can’t. My body is on fire. My magic churns, reacting to his presence, to the bond, to the *want* I can’t deny.
He takes another step. “Because I wanted you to see it. Wanted you to know the truth.”
“The truth?” I laugh, sharp and broken. “You expect me to believe *you*? The man who just snapped a servant’s neck in front of a room full of witnesses?”
“He was selling secrets to human traffickers,” Vaelen says, voice cold. “He deserved worse.”
“And my brother? Did he deserve to die?”
He stops. Looks at me. Really looks. “I didn’t kill him.”
“Then who did?”
“Ask the woman who raised you.”
The words hit like a blade.
I lunge for him.
He catches my wrist—fast, inhumanly fast—and spins me, pins me against the wall. My back hits the stone, the impact jolting through me. His body presses against mine, hard and unyielding. One hand holds both of mine above my head. The other grips my hip, fingers digging into the fabric of my robe.
Our faces are inches apart.
I can feel his breath on my skin. Warm. Steady. Controlled.
And the bond—
It’s *alive*.
Every nerve in my body screams. My skin burns where he touches me. My core throbs, slick with need. My breath hitches. My thighs press together, trying to ease the ache.
His eyes drop to my lips. “You want to destroy me,” he murmurs. “Then do it with your hands on my skin.”
“I *hate* you,” I whisper.
“Liar,” he says. “Your body doesn’t lie. It’s screaming my name.”
He leans in.
His nose brushes my neck. Inhales. “You smell like vengeance. Like fire. Like *mine*.”
I twist, trying to break free. “Let me go.”
“No.”
His grip tightens. His thumb strokes the inside of my wrist—soft, deliberate. And the touch—
It *burns*.
Not pain. Not magic. Just—heat. A spark that races up my arm, straight to my core. My breath stutters. My pulse hammers. My body arches toward him, betraying me.
He feels it.
A low sound rumbles in his chest. A growl. A *claim*.
His fangs graze my neck. Not biting. Just—touching. A whisper of danger. A promise.
“You’re not going to kill me,” he says, voice rough. “Because if you did, you’d die with me. The bond would tear you apart.”
“Then break it,” I hiss. “Sever it. Like they did before.”
“I can’t,” he says. “It’s too strong. Too deep. It’s been waiting for you. For *this*.”
“I don’t want this.”
“You do.”
He releases my wrist—just one hand—but keeps me pinned. His fingers trail down my arm, slow, maddening. Then to my waist. His palm flattens against my side, heat searing through the thin fabric.
And then—
His thumb brushes the curve of my hip.
Just a touch. Light. Casual.
But it’s *enough*.
Fire explodes in my veins. My breath hitches. My body *clenches*. A low moan escapes my lips before I can stop it.
He freezes.
His eyes snap to mine. Dark. Wild. *Possessive*.
For a second, neither of us speaks.
Then—
“You feel it too,” he says, voice raw.
I turn my face away. “It’s magic. Biology. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means *everything*,” he growls. “It means you’re mine. Whether you want to be or not.”
I jerk against him. “I’ll *never* be yours.”
He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “Then why is your body begging for me?”
I close my eyes. Shame burns through me. He’s right. I can’t deny it. My skin is on fire. My core is slick. My breath comes in shallow gasps.
And the worst part?
I *want* him to touch me more.
He steps back. Releases me.
I sag against the wall, trembling. My legs barely hold me. My robe is twisted, my hair a mess. I look like I’ve been ravaged.
He straightens his shirt. Calm. Controlled. Like nothing happened.
But his eyes—
They’re still dark. Still hungry.
“You can stay in the east wing,” he says. “But you’ll sleep in my chambers from now on. The Council’s decree starts tonight.”
My stomach drops. “No.”
“Yes,” he says. “Or would you rather I drag you there myself?”
I glare at him. “You’re a monster.”
He smiles. Slow. Dangerous. “And you’re the only woman who’s ever made me feel alive.”
He turns. Walks to the door. Pauses.
“Oh,” he says, glancing back. “And Cascade? Next time you try to steal from me—make sure you’re faster.”
Then he’s gone.
I slide down the wall, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My skin still burns. My body still aches. The mark on my spine pulses like a second heartbeat.
I pick up the dossier. Flip to the note again.
She saved me. I owe her my life.
My mother.
And my brother—last seen in Solene’s chambers.
Did she lie to me?
Did she send me here to fail?
Or to die?
I don’t know.
But I do know this—
The bond is real.
And Vaelen Duskbane is not the monster I thought he was.
Which means the real enemy is still out there.
And I’m running out of time.