Instead, he lunged forward and seized my arm in a bruising grip.
“Stop!” I cried out, clawing at his hand. “Where are you taking me?”
“To bed,” he growled.
The cold, brutal words erased whatever thrill remained from watching him kill. Gone was the magnetic allure. Gone was the fantasy. All that remained was the reality of the man I had thought I could control.
He dragged me up a winding staircase, the ornate iron rail cold beneath my fingers as I struggled to keep my footing. I tripped. He didn’t slow down.
The upper floor was suffocatingly dark. Only one room at the end of the hallway cast any light, dim, golden, flickering like candle fire. It pulsed like a heartbeat, calling me toward what could only be his chamber.
His bedchamber.
Terror bloomed in my chest. A thousand thoughts flooded my mind, each more horrifying than the last.
What did he want from me?
Would he hurt me?
Would I ever leave this place?
My legs grew heavy. My body screamed to turn and run, but I knew—there was no escape. I was deep inside his world now, and the doors had already shut behind me.
The closer we came to the glowing door, the more I felt like I might faint. My breath came in shallow gasps, and my lips refused to form words. I wished I had the strength to scream, fight, or do something.
But fear had already wrapped its chains around my throat.
Finally, we reached the door.
Balthazar shoved it open.
Then he pushed me inside.
My fearsome lover’s bedroom was a shrine to excess—an overwhelming, intoxicating display of beauty, madness, and control.
When I stepped inside, the sights and smells struck me like a wave. Heavy perfume curled in the air, mingling with the acrid sweetness of burning wax. Incense lingered, clinging to the velvet drapes and woven walls. Gold glittered in every corner—etched into frames, inlaid into furniture, draped across surfaces like an offering.
It was less a room and more a palace—high ceilings, towering windows, perfect symmetry. Every object was carefully placed, as if disorder would shatter the spell. A grand four-poster bed stood at the heart of it all, draped in deep crimson velvet. It looked like something a god—or a monster—would rest in.
The floor was cloaked in an intricate dark-green and black rug trimmed with gold thread, which shimmered beneath the glow of candelabras. Tall candlesticks cast warm light across the space, mingling with moonlight pouring through the windows, painting the room in layers of gold and shadow.
It was magnificent.
And terrifying.
A place fit for a madman.
For a king.
For Balthazar.
Without warning, he seized me, lifting me like I weighed nothing, and flung me onto the bed. I hit the mattress with a gasp as the velvet swallowed me whole.
He followed.
Climbing on top of me, he pinned my wrists above my head, his grip unyielding.
“What are you playing at, Alina?” he snarled, his face inches from mine.
