Raihn was true to his word. After that, the door was no longer locked. I wasn’t about to fall all over myself with the benevolence of this gift—I had no doubt that guards were still keeping their eyes on me. Still… I liked freedom. The next night, I walked the castle halls by myself. Guards and soldiers gave me strange looks, but no one bothered me. It felt uncomfortable in a way I couldn’t pinpoint.
Maybe it was because the castle already looked so different. It was all a mess, still. Then again, I couldn’t help but contrast it to the decay that I’d seen when I had walked these halls during the Kejari—when I’d noticed for the first time the stagnant decay lurking beneath my home.
No one could call this place stagnant now.
I paused at the balcony that overlooked the feast hall. It was one of the few rooms that hadn’t been moved much. The tables were still in the same arrangement. The furniture hadn’t been changed.
For a moment, I saw the sea of brutality Vincent had shown me during our final argument, his fingernails digging into my arm as he pushed me against this very railing—forcing me to look down upon the humans below, slumped over those tables like drained livestock.
I shuddered and turned away.
Training. That was what I needed.
Raihn was right—I was out of practice. I’d felt that when we fought at the armory, and the way my muscles ached the next day was a lingering reminder.
I turned around and paused, staring down the hallway before me.
All at once, it hit me why it had felt so strange to walk these corridors.
Because I’d never been allowed to before.
Vincent may not have put locks on my door, but his command was more than enough to stop me from leaving—and he made those expectations very clear. Yes, I snuck out, but that was in the middle of the day, creeping around like a little shadow, shrinking from every set of footsteps.
Never before had I ever been able to move about this castle freely. Never.
That was… a strange realization.
“Isn’t it nice to see you out and about?”
I tried very hard not to show that I’d startled, and failed. I turned to see Septimus bowing his head in apology. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
It sure seemed like he did, the way he slunk around like that.
“I’m glad you came around,” he said. “I heard you’ve agreed to help us on our little mission.”
“You say that like I had a choice.”
He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Still. Better this way. Forcing you would have been difficult for everyone. I expect especially difficult for your husband.”
I hated it when people referred to Raihn that way. For the first time in my life, I was grateful for my too-expressive face. The sneer of disgust that flitted over the bridge of my nose before I could stop it.
I had a role to play, after all.
I’m the brute king, and you’re the prisoner wife who hates me.
Septimus chuckled. “I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong end of that,” he said. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a cigarillo box. He slid it open, then hesitated, his hand hovering over the row of neat black rolls. A strange look came over his face—rigid stillness, like a wave of ice had fallen across his features.
My brow furrowed, my gaze following his—to his hand over that box, frozen mid-movement, like his muscles had locked without his permission. His ring finger lurched in erratic spurts that shook his entire hand.
For several long seconds, we stared at his hand.
Then, he smoothly switched the box to his other hand, swiftly withdrew a cigarillo, and held it between his teeth as he put the box away again.
It was like the moment had never existed. He winked at me, smile smooth and charming and forever unbothered.
“Have fun training,” he said. “I’ll leave you to it. We’re going to have a busy few months ahead.”
And he sauntered off without another word.
Fine. I was out of shape.
It felt good to have my blades back again, but restoring that piece of my routine had only made it more obvious how much had changed. I had gone from a life of moving all day, every day, to lying in my bed staring at the ceiling. It was amazing how much conditioning could decay in a month.
A month. More than that. It hadn’t really hit me how long it had been, until I physically felt the way my body had changed in that time.
With every panting breath, every drill, every strike against the stiff fabric of the training dummy, it dug a little deeper.
A month.
More than a full cycle of the moon that my father had been dead.
I tried to outrun this thought. Tried to make my muscles hurt more so my heart hurt less. It didn’t work. The thoughts still chased me.
A month.
And I’d just made an alliance with the man who murdered him.
And now I’d cracked open the door to a single innocuous thought, and before I could stop myself, it was becoming something monstrous.
A month.
How many times had I been in this training ring with Vincent? Countless. I could practically hear him now, barking orders at me.
Faster. Harder. Don’t be sloppy. You aren’t trying hard enough, little serpent. That will not be good enough when it counts.
He’d pushed me so hard. Sometimes I’d end our sessions collapsing in a pool of my own vomit.
I pushed you because I wanted you to be safe, Vincent whispered in my ear.
He pushed me so I could protect myself.
Everything in this world is dangerous to you, he reminded me.
Because I was human.
But I wasn’t.
It was a lie. All of it.
My strikes against the dummy grew faster, harder, sloppy. My lungs burned. Chest ached. Nightfire bloomed at the edge of my blade, surrounding me with flecks of white.
But I wasn’t.
How many times had I practiced my magic with Vincent in this ring? How many times had he told me that my power would likely never amount to anything?
Had that been a lie, too?
Did you know? I asked him now, driving another blow into the training dummy, the stuffing collapsing under the force.
Vincent’s voice was silent.
Why didn’t you tell me?
Why did you lie to me, Vincent? Why?
Silence. Of course.
The Nightfire flared in a wild surge, surrounding me in a blinding burst. With a ragged roar, I slammed my weapon into the dummy, sending it toppling to the floor. My strike was so clumsy, so vicious, I accidentally sent my blade with it, the metal hitting the ground with a deafening clatter.
I barely heard it over the sound of my panting breaths.
And then I heard a familiar voice behind me.
“Didn’t realize just how lucky I am to be alive until I saw that.”
Raihn.
I squeezed my eyes shut, quickly swiping away tears. Fuck.
“Right,” I choked out. It sounded pathetically weak.
“You sound out of breath, though.”
Oh, fuck him.
“I’m just out of practice.”
“Want a partner?”
“No.”
He approached anyway.
I still didn’t want to look at him, embarrassed about what I’d allowed him to see. Me crying and punching the air like a child. Nice.
But his silence was too long. Too meaningful.
Finally, I turned to him.
“What?” I snapped.
He opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it.
“Nothing. You sure you don’t want to spar? Better than punching the dummy. Going to have to train with me eventually.” He reached for his sword, raising a brow. Only now did it occur to me how strange it was that he always kept it on him, even when he was walking around his own castle. Maybe he felt just as uncomfortable in this place as I did.
He added, with a conspiratorial half-smile, “I’m only offering because I don’t see any windows you can throw me out of this time.”
I didn’t know why I hesitated. I did need to remind myself of how Raihn fought—needed to make sure I would be able to strike him down when I had to.
And yet… it made me uncomfortable.
I shoved that sensation away and bit out, “Fine. If you want to spar, then let’s spar.”
And I didn’t give Raihn time to react before I lunged.
But he was ready. He blocked and countered me easily.
All of it was easy—that was what made it so difficult.
When I had fought Raihn in the armory, I’d so hated to be reminded of how well we knew each other, how seamlessly we fought together. Now, wielding my blades rather than that clumsy sword, the ghosts of our final battle in the Kejari surrounded us. The ache of my muscles faded away. The two of us hurtled across the training ring together as if locked in a dance.
I hated this, and I loved it. It was something solid to grab onto, something mindless and painful in all the physical places I could handle. And yet, every one of Raihn’s strikes reminded me of the familiarity we’d once had. Reminded me of what he had used it to do.
A month.
I let out a wordless grunt of exertion as the clangs of metal against metal came faster, faster, faster. I saw his mouth twist, just a little—heard what he didn’t say aloud:
There she is.
The Nightfire erupted around me, this time not just clinging to my blades and my hands, but embracing my entire body.
Raihn jerked backwards, his arm flying up to shield his face, and that was enough to yank me from my trance.
Awareness of my body crashed back into me. My panting breath. Burning lungs. Screaming muscles. Just as quickly, the Nightfire withered.
I stumbled to the ground as Raihn raised his sword in a yield.
He was panting, too. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “That,” he said, “is impressive. Seems like it comes to you a lot easier than it did before.”
Thank you didn’t feel like the right answer. I inspected my blade, polishing it with my sleeve.
“Did you do that on purpose?” he asked.
It was the kind of question that was really a statement, and that annoyed me.
“When I first got my Heir Mark,” he said, “everything just… rearranged. I still can’t describe how different I felt afterwards. And then, when Nyaxia…” He flinched. Shrugged. “It just changes a lot. It was like I didn’t know what my own body was capable of anymore.”
His words rang uncomfortably true. But he didn’t ask me if I felt that way, too. Maybe because he already knew the answer.
“You’re half vampire, Oraya,” he said quietly. “Not just half vampire, but an Heir. Have you thought about what that might mean?”
I lifted my gaze to meet Raihn’s, steady with that open question, and with that look, I had to acknowledge all the other things it meant.
It meant I no longer knew anything about myself. My magic. My lifespan. My blood. The limits of my own flesh.
It meant that my entire life had been a lie.
I didn’t say anything, and Raihn—to my relief—did not push. Instead, he offered me his hand. I didn’t take it and pushed myself up on my own.
He huffed a laugh and shook his head as he turned away. “Never change, Oraya. Come on. Let’s go.”
“I wasn’t done.”
“You look like you’re about to collapse. You can come break yourself again another time.” He glanced at me over his shoulder. “Maybe you’re due for a trip to the human districts? You look like you need to kill something.”
“Oh, I need to kill something,” I muttered. But as much as I wanted to argue with him, I was exhausted. So I followed.
“What’s so important?” I asked, as we walked down the hall.
“I found your bodyguard.”
“Bodyguard?”
Ugh. Just when I’d gotten freedom for the first time in my life?
He chuckled. “Even I have bodyguards, princess. You think I’d let you wander around this pit of beasts alone?”
“You sound like him,” I grumbled, and tried not to notice how Raihn’s smile disappeared at that.
He led me all the way back to our rooms. He opened the door to his chambers and beckoned.
“Meet your bodyguard.”
The words weren’t even out of his mouth before Mische was pushing past him, the grin on her face bright enough to light up the darkest corners of the castle.
And Goddess damn me if I didn’t find myself returning it.
Raihn put his hand—gently—on her shoulder, as if to physically restrain her from throwing herself at me. But she caught herself at the last minute anyway, stopping short of hugging me and instead offering me an enthusiastic, if awkward, wave.
“I missed you!” she blurted out.
Honestly?
I’d missed her, too.
Raihn was, to my genuine relief, mostly exaggerating when he said that Mische would be my “bodyguard.” She wouldn’t be shadowing my every move, but if I accepted, she’d be given the other bedchamber in my apartment and accompany me on trips.
“I don’t need to be watched,” I grumbled.
At that, a little wrinkle of concern had formed over Mische’s brow.
“If you want me to go somewhere else,” she said, “I can.”
I glanced at Raihn. “I don’t think it’s up to me.”
He replied simply, “It is up to you. Tell her to find another place, and she will.”
Ugh. That seemed so… cruel.
“Why doesn’t she stay with you?” I asked.
“I snore.”
Mische sighed. “He does. He really, really does.”
I knew he did, because I’d heard those snores every day for months, myself.
“Besides,” Raihn said, “if it’s not Mische, then I’ll have to find another guard for you. One of Ketura’s, if you’d prefer that.”
I glared at him, and he half-shrugged, adding, “Act of war, and all that.”
Mische stared at me like a stray puppy begging to be let inside.
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose.
“Fine,” I muttered, as Mische grinned and started dumping her clothing into the drawers.
