-Kael-
Kael stood at the window of his private chambers, starting over Calyrix’s courtyard where night-thorn roses clawed up the walls. Beyond the ramparts, the kingdom of Nythra unspooled in a tapestry of cursed jagged mountains, haunted marshlands, and twisted forests.
His kingdom. His burden.
The seat of his rule, the Nythra court, gathered tonight within Calyrix’s black walls, eager to feast on gossip and power as much as they once feasted on blood. They would pick apart every rumor, every flaw, every trace of vulnerability Kael showed. He refused to give them any.
A thousand years ago, the gods punished the nightbound for daring to break the old order. Fae and vampire should never have merged, the crossing of those lines had made something too powerful, too enduring, and the gods had feared what they’d created.
So they’d turned the land against them, tainting its rains, twisting its magic, scarring the soil.
Even now Kael could feel the pull of that poisoned blessing in his own blood, the constant ache of power too strong to ever rest, yet never quite free.
He closed his eyes, trying to push down the restless pounding of his heart. Since the moment he’d taken Maris from the human city, a tension had gnawed at him. It coiled behind his ribs like a serpent, refusing to let go.
Her scent clung to his hands, a mixture of lavender and the sweet tang of her blood. Her green eyes with silver starbursts. He had seen those eyes as she looked up at him, terrified but unbowed. There was something in that gaze that struck him deeper than any blade ever could, something that cracked through the centuries-thick armor around his heart.
Kael set his jaw. He could not allow weakness.
He turned away from the window, crossing the room in long, silent strides. His study smelled of dust and old roses, its shelves filled with scrolls and spell-stitched books. The tapestries on the walls showed battles from the founding of Calyrix, fae knights crossing swords with vampire lords, blood spraying like black rain under a white moon.
He’d grown up with these images burned into him, lessons on loyalty, on power, on survival.
No one will protect you except yourself.His father’s voice, long dead, echoed in the back of his mind.
Kael raked a hand through his dark hair, trying to focus. Soon the entire court would gather to see what prize he had brought home from the human kingdom. They would whisper and scheme the way they always did. And every one of them would wonder what made this human girl worth claiming.
Even Kael’s closest allies would doubt.
“A seamstress?” they would hiss behind their rings and poison-sweet smiles. “Has the King lost his mind?”
He almost wished he could answer them honestly.
He didn’t understand it himself.
Something about Maris felt wrong and right all at once, as if fate had taken a personal interest and twisted his hand to bring her here.
He had sensed her before he’d even set eyes on her, like a thread pulling him from his throne in Nythra west to the Kingdom of Eryndor's capital, Glassreach. He found his way through the mortal city’s filth and ruin, straight to the alley where she’d been cornered by fate. He hadn't known her face or name but felt a divine pull to seek her out.
He prayed she was an answer to a silent prayer. A god gifted pawn to gain more control within the continent. Only time would tell.
Kael adjusted the cuffs of his black brocade coat, letting the silver embroidery settle flat. He had to project calm, confidence, the court devoured doubt.
A soft knock broke his focus.
“My King?”
He turned to see Valea standing in the doorway, her hard features etched even sharper by the lamplight.
“It is time,” she said.
Kael nodded.
“Is she ready?”
Valea inclined her head. “She is dressed and awaiting your command.”
Kael’s jaw clenched. The memory of Maris’s wide green eyes, that fragile strength hidden under fear, hit him harder than he liked.
