“Debatable,” Riven muttered—but he was smiling, just a little.
Still, it didn’t last.
The halls of House Virellien were full of ghosts. No matter how much warmth the twins brought, it didn’t change the way the estate felt like a velvet-lined trap.
He pushed off the wall.
“I need air.”
Cassian frowned. “You sure?”
“Yeah. Just need to be somewhere that isn’t dripping in Virellien power plays and dead fathers.”
Neither twin argued. They just nodded.
“If you vanish,” Luca said, “at least leave a note this time.”
Riven nodded as he turned down the corridor, heart thudding. He didn’t know where he was going—just that he had to move. Had to escape the echo of that story. Had to shove down the maddening, foolish sympathy he felt for Thane Virellien, the Beast, the man who had carved his grief into legend and used it like a blade.
Because if he didn’t…
He might start to care.
And he couldn’t afford that.
Chapter 33
The rooftop wasn’t much. Just the sloped, shingled top of a gardening shed tucked behind one of the estate’s many ornamental hedges. Riven spotted it only because the moonlight hit just right, revealing a low trellis he could climb and a patch of flattened ivy that suggested someone had sat there before. Maybe a servant on a break.
He hauled himself up with a grunt, boots scraping the trellis, palms catching on rough stone. The roof was warm where the afternoon sun had baked it, and he lay on his back for a moment, catching his breath.
Then he sat up.
The view was better than he expected.
Below him stretched the private Virellien gardens, sprawling in calculated elegance. Neatly trimmed paths wound between moonlit topiaries and glossy black trees with glowing crimson flowers that pulsed like heartbeats. Low hedges divided sections of imported flora—dreamvines that shimmered blue in the dark, whispergrass that twitched when the wind passed, and the eerie, pale stalks of deathshade lilies, which only bloomed for those bound to the House.
Beyond the gardens, the grounds sloped sharply downhill, a wide green stretch leading to the black iron gates of the estate. The security checkpoint was a glimmering little node of whitelight far below, nestled against a perimeter fence warded with spells Riven couldn’t begin to name.
It was beautiful. In the same way a wolf was beautiful before it sank its teeth into your throat.
Still, for the first time all day, Riven felt like he could breathe.
He lay back again, hands folded behind his head, and stared up at the dark. There weren’t many stars—too much magical interference—but the moon was fat and full and bright. The kind of moon that used to make him feel like something better might come.
Now it just looked like a cage door, wide open, and still impossible to reach.
He blew out a breath.
You’re doing this for her,he reminded himself.
His sister and her stupid, impulsive choices. The way she’d gotten in so deep with the wrong people that the only way out had beenhimtaking the fall.
One year.
That was the deal.
Just one year in the grip of the Virelliens. He could survive it. Endure it. Crawl out the other side bloody but alive. A year wasn’tthatlong.
