“Are you not pleased with my choice?” he finally asks flatly, betraying neither irritation nor concern.
“Why him?” I repeat, my voice firmer now, refusing to let the moment dissolve without an answer.
He rises slowly to stand beside me, his shadow stretching long and ominous in the firelight, but I hold my ground, meeting his gazeunflinchingly. The faint satisfaction glinting in his eyes sets my teeth on edge. He has always nurtured my curiosity, relished in my questioning nature—yet only when it suits his agenda.
With a slight tilt of his head, he gestures toward the wall behind his desk.
“What do you see?”
I follow his gaze to the sprawling map of our kingdom. The intricate markings charting every border and territory feel like chains, binding me to a legacy I never asked for. My attention is drawn, almost unwillingly, to the Castle of Astelis—a desolation that haunts me, its fall an unintentional consequence of my magic.
“Ruin.”
My father watches me intently, his expression as stoic as ever, save for the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. To him, the kingdom is a puzzle yet to be solved, an empire waiting to be seized. To me, it is a tapestry of sins—his and mine—woven so tightly they are indistinguishable.
He steps closer, his hands cupping my face with a gentleness that feels more calculated than kind. “I need you to marry Jason Striden of Alystan, because there is something only he can offer me,” he says, his tone cutting through the haze of doubt with surgical precision.
My breath catches, but I don't let the silence linger this time.
“And what might that be?” The question slices through the air and I see the shift in his eyes—mirth, or perhaps a warning.
He merely smiles, the corners of his mouth lifting as he steps even closer. With a single finger beneath my chin, he tilts my face up to his, a mockingly tender pout playing on his lips.
“Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours, my sweet,” he murmurs, his voice soft like silk wrapped around thorns. “You’re getting everything you ever wanted.”
I search his eyes, still desperate for clarity, for something that might ground me. But all I find are layers of veiled intent, each more impenetrable than the last. My breath hitches as I consider pressing further, but I know better. Pushing him will yield nothing but more deflection and manipulation.
Instead, I nod—small, resolute, and entirely empty.
“Excellent,” he replies, his lips curving into a satisfied smile as he turns back toward his desk. The conversation, in his mind, is over.
I rise, making my way toward the door with slow, measured steps. Pausing at the threshold, I glance back at him, his figure framed by the warm glow of the firelight. His attention is already elsewhere, his focus on the map that looms over the room.
“Goodnight, Father,” I say quietly, the words slipping out with rehearsed ease.
He doesn’t look up, but the faintest smile touches his lips. “Goodnight, my sweet.”
I turn and step into the corridor, the heavy door closing softly behind me. The echoes of our conversation linger, unspoken questions swirling in my mind. Whatever plans he has set in motion, I know they will not reveal themselves easily. Still, as I walk away, I can’t help but feel that the answer is already within reach—just waiting for the right moment to be uncovered.
5
LAILAH
My father is a kind-hearted man, though the world often mistakes his generosity for selfishness. Whenever I’ve asked for something, he’s given it without hesitation. Yet, I know better than to ask without purpose; his kindness is bound tightly to his need to protect me, and the boundaries of that protection are unyielding. It is a delicate balance I’ve always respected, though not without questions of my own.
The halls are quiet as I make my way back to my room, the only sound the soft echo of my footsteps on stone. Then, faintly, I hear it—a whispered moan, barely audible, drifting from the direction of the staircase. It’s not uncommon for vampires to indulge in secret moments of passion, their voices blending with the castle’s stillness, lost in its vast and cavernous spaces. Yet this sound comes from a hidden staircase, one known only to those who’ve been shown its secret.
I pause, the sound pricking at my curiosity. Glancing around the dimly lit corridor, I confirm I am alone. Utterly alone. A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips. Magic has never been forbidden to me, not in this castle where its use is as common as breath. But this moment—a dark, indulgent desire to observe what has been hidden—feels like a secrecy of a different kind. I summon my magic, weaving it into the air before me. A shimmering portal forms, faintly glowing with violet hues.
My portals can only reach places I know well, and only within a few yards—but that’s enough. I reach out a gloved hand, fingers grazing the cool stone as my magic slips into its ancient seams. The moans drifting from above pull at something deep inside me, a thread I shouldn’t follow—yet I do.
Still, I won’t be caught seeking them.
So I choose the base of the grand staircase, close enough to hear, hidden enough to keep my desire buried. The wall shifts with a quiet groan, stone parting to reveal a darkened archway. I step through, and the passage seals behind me like a secret swallowed whole.
The hidden staircase spirals upward, the air heavier within its confines, carrying the unmistakable scent of old stone and faint perfume. The moans grow clearer now, blending with soft murmurs and pausing intermittently, as if suspended by breathless anticipation. I ascend soundlessly as the voices become more distinct. At the top of the staircase, I press myself against the wall, cloaked in shadow, and peer around the curve of the steps.
The sight stops me cold. Jason. His hair catches the faint light spilling from above, damp with exertion. His burgundy tunic clings to his back as he moves against the woman in his arms, her blonde hair cascading like a river of sunlight over his shoulder. Her gasps and moans fill the narrow space, her hands clutching at him as though she fears he might slip away.
