I do not often sleep. It’s more of a hobby than a necessity for life.
Centuries in stasis robbed me of the need. But today, exhaustion crept in. Not physical—mental.
The witch’s box had outlasted my patience, as had the language lessons.
“Rizz,” I muttered to myself. “Godless word.”
I lay down on the couch, arm over my eyes, letting stillness take me. It came too easily.
And then I was no longer alone.
The room in the dream was made of gold and ruin. Candles hovered in the air. Curtains bled light that wasn’t sunlight. I knew this place. The court’s ballroom, reconstructed from memory.
Andhervoice.
“Cristian,” Ambrosia cooed, emerging from the shadows like a perfume that had gone rancid. “You sleep again. I’ve missed this.”
She looked exactly as she had centuries ago—flawless and false. Her gown dripped jewels that caught the candlelight, and her smile was too bright for the grave she deserved.
I couldn’t move my mouth. Couldn’t speak. She didn’t need permission to invade my dreams. She never had.
“I’ve been waiting for you to rest,” she said, circling me like a cat around prey. “Your thoughts are loud, you know. So many distractions in that house. The human, especially. You seem to think of her often.”
I tried to look away, but the dream held me fast.
She tilted her head, eyes sharp and gleaming. “Don’t worry. No one else knows we’re here. This is just for us.”
I finally forced sound from my throat. “This is not for us. It’s for you. You didn’t exactly ask my permission before taking over my dream, did you?”
Ambrosia’s laugh slithered over my skin. “Still so cold. Even in sleep.” She leaned close, brushing her fingers over my cheek. “But you’re restless. I can feel it. You’re fighting something you can’t win. Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”
I tried to focus, to find control in the disorder of the dream. Her power here was thick and cloying, seductive in its certainty. I forced the words through it like a blade through water.
“I want to break the bond,” I said. “With the woman who woke me.”
Her smile widened. “Of course you do. So self-sacrificial.”
“Tell me how.”
She sighed as if I’d complimented her. “You could have anyone or anything in this world, and you waste your desires on freedom. How predictable.”
“Tell me,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Only if you join me.” She stepped closer, pressing a hand to my chest. “Join the court. Be mine. Rule beside me as you were meant to. Then I’ll give you every answer you crave.”
“No.”
Her expression soured. “Still clinging to your noble resistance. It’s what made you delicious.”
She traced a finger down my throat, and I tried to pull back. The dream wouldn’t let me. My muscles refused command.
“You can’t win, Cristian. You never could.”
I shook my head, once, twice—hard enough that the walls seemed to tremble. Her laughter filled the space.
I kept shaking until the sound cracked—and the dream cracked with it.
I woke with a gasp.
