Blood. Always blood.
My own soaks the brittle snow beneath me, drifting outward like spilled wine. Each frantic beat of my heart pushes more from the knife wound in my gut, the hole the Huntsman left before taking Flori.
I should be dead. Would be dead if not for the strange warmth spreading through me like whispered promises. Flori’s blood mingles with mine where our bodies touched—her power, unknowingly gifted.
Above me, stars begin to vanish as consciousness slips away. One by one, they blink out—life abandoning me just as Amara abandoned our world.
But then… darkness speaks.
“Interesting.” The voice slides into my mind like a blade between ribs. “Most boys would be crying for their mothers.”
I try to lift my head but can’t. “I don’t have a mother,” I rasp.
“Oh, I know.” Laughter ripples through the air. “I know everything about you, Drayven the Orphan. The War-child. The Nobody.”
The snow around me turns to shadow, gathering and thickening until it forms a man’s silhouette against the night sky. Fine clothes. Perfect hair. Eyes that swallow light rather than reflect it.
“Kasaros,” I whisper.
“The dying know me best.” He crouches beside me, tilting his head. “Though you’re not quite dying anymore, are you? Her blood saw to that.”
I don’t ask how he knows. Gods see everything. Especially the cruel ones.
“I want her back.” The words scrape from my throat.
“Your little rose?” His mouth curves. “Her blood is quite valuable, you know. Quite rare.”
I claw at the snow, trying to rise. “Take me instead. Whatever you want?—”
“A bold offer from someone with nothing to give.” He examines his nails, bored. “What could you possibly trade for the Queen Bride?”
The title makes my blood run cold. Queen Bride. Not just any fertile woman, but one meant to elevate her captor to kingship. I’d heard whispers of such things, but never believed Flori would be…
“My service,” I choke out. “My life.”
Kasaros laughs, the sound like glass breaking. “Your life? A threadbare, worthless thing.”
My vision blurs with tears of rage and desperation. Not at his dismissal, but at my own helplessness. “Then why are you here?”
“Curiosity.” He taps my chest, right over my heart. “Your devotion to her is… unusual. You crawled with a mortal wound, not to save yourself, but to reach a rose. Her rose.” His finger presses harder. “I wonder what you’d do with more life to spend.”
Hope, that treacherous thing, flickers in my chest. “I’ll do anything. Just keep her safe.”
“Safe?” His eyes gleam. “Is that all? Not freedom? Not happiness?”
I swallow hard, knowing I’m making a bargain I don’t fully understand. “Safe first. The rest… the rest I’ll earn.”
“How delightfully naive.” He stands, towering over me. “Very well. I accept your service.”
The pain in my stomach fades, replaced by a different kind of burning—deeper, colder. Magic floods my veins, bitter as iron.
“The terms are simple,” Kasaros continues. “You will serve as my Huntsman. You may summon me by offering your blood. You will bring me brides for the Hunt. And you will never reveal yourself to your precious Florienne.”
“For how long?” I ask, already dreading the answer.
“Until I tire of you.” He grins, all teeth. “Or until our deal is broken.”
“And she’ll be safe? You swear it?”
