The man who made me beg in a candlelit lodge in Italy…
Or the monster grunting above me now.
Then, in the throes of his release, Balthazar groaned against my ear.
“Alina… I want to have a child with you.”
The words slammed into.
I nearly stopped moving.
A child?
Of all the sick, delusional things that could’ve spilled from his lips,thatwas the worst.
I forced a laugh, light and mocking. “Oh, my love. You’re just high on blood and death. We don’t need a screaming little parasite to complete us.”
But Balthazar wasn’t laughing.
He grabbed my hips in a bruising grip and stilled me, locking eyes with his one good eye. “Don’t you want that? A child with me? Think of it—we’ll live like kings when we find the blades. You’ll be the mother of my fucking legacy.”
I wanted to vomit. Right on his chest. Right down his fucking throat.
“Balthazar…” I started, lips tightening. “I don’t want children, EVER.”
“You’ll change your mind.” He began thrusting again, harder this time. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“No,” I said firmly, my nails digging into his back. “I won’t. I won’t bring a child into this cursed world. Don’t ask me again.”
His whole body tensed. The veins in his neck bulged, his skin darkened.
“You’ve always been a selfish bitch, Alina,” he spat, his breath hot and foul. “You’re right. You’d be the worst fucking mother in existence.”
His words hit like an arctic wind, slicing straight through me.
Then, without another glance, he tore himself away, storming off mid-thrust. He didn’t even finish. He left behind nothing but his loathing, and me—naked and empty.
I lay there on the cold floor, frozen in place. My limbs felt leaden. My skin prickled with shame. I’d been stripped not just of pleasure, but of power. And that burned.
Balthazar wanted an heir. A legacy. A child to carry his name.
But I—I wanted more.
And in that hollow silence, something inside me cracked wide open. A brazen thought coiled around my spine like smoke–I didn’t just want to rule beside Balthazar. I wantedeverything.
All the power. All the blades. The world. The blood. The throne.
But I would never get it standing in his shadow. Not as a woman, not as a lover. Not as his queen. No, to take the throne of darkness, I’d have to rip it from his corpse.
And I would.
When Balthazar returned, his form was restored. The monster was gone, but the man was no better. He staggered in with a bottle of whiskey, drained it in great, greedy gulps, then hurled it into the fireplace where it exploded like a gunshot.
He collapsed beside me, reeking of liquor and old rage.
I shifted slightly, trying to slip away, breath held tight in my chest.
But then his hand clamped around my ankle like a vice.
