I surge to my feet, chair scraping back. “They have therightto be pissed. Her actions were dangerous—not just physically, but to our reputation. To everything I’ve been working for. The whole damn reason I brought her here.”
The words hang heavy.Brought her here. It’s not exactly true. Our bloodlines were arranged long ago, but I did bring her here after she was found on that riverbank, crowned her bride of the Baron King, and bound her to me in a ceremony that threatens to shake the foundations of the House of Night. She was supposed to be collateral, nothing more than a pawn in a larger game. Instead, she wreaked havoc.
Graves nods at the papers on the desk, voice softer now. “Did you not get what you bargained for?”
I follow his gaze. The blueprints. Hexley’s promise: the secrets buried under long-forgotten parts of Forsyth. They could be the answer to everything. My fingers trace the inked lines, the elegant curves of our city's tragic history. "What are you suggesting?" I ask, drawing him back to the reason he came here.
"The Barons have methods in place for situations like this. Rituals for healing." Graves sounds uneasy as he says it. He should. What he's invoking isn't for the weak.
"You don't think she's been through enough?" I ask. Compassion isn’t one of my attributes, but the Baroness has proven that her mind is fragile, although her spirit continues to simmer with fire.
"She got off easy with the Hunt,” he reminds me.
He's right. Normally, there would be five girls being hunted, one from each territory in Forsyth, along with an undeclared. The last one standing would belong to the Barons, and they would truly claimher on that altar in front of the Shadows. Due to the requirements of Arianette being a virgin when we married, we had to make adjustments to the ritual.
"Due to that, it’s possible that she isn't as bonded to the group as past Baronesses,” he continues.
I lean back in my seat, the leather shifting with the movement, and consider what he's suggesting.Noctis Crucem.
The Cross of Night.
It’s the kind of ritual buried deep in the texts. The one the founding Barons used when a Baroness hesitated to do her duties. Forty brothers. One woman. A single night beneath the stars.
Graves watches me, patient as stone. He knows I’m picturing it: her smooth skin under torchlight, the ropes binding her to the hardwood. The way she’ll fight at first, because shealwaysfights, before the rite breaks her open and rebuilds her into something that belongs to all of us, not just to me.
My wife.
Their Baroness.
The thought should enrage me. Instead, it coils low and hungry in my gut.
I rise, crossing the room to a bookcase with a glass door. Removing the key from my pocket, I unlock and open the door, then pull out the worn, leatherbound tome.
“Do it,” I say, voice steady, the words tasting like iron and incense. “PrepareNoctis Crucem. Tell the others the King has spoken.”
A flicker of relief crosses his face before he takes the book from me, one Baron to the other, hoping to keep our house in order despite the chaos surrounding us.
“As you command.”
The heavy door closes behind him with the soft finality of a crypt sealing shut.
I stand by the fire in the dim study, alone now, and let the silence settle like ash. Then I smile because soon, my bride will finally learn what it truly means to wear the weight of the Baroness title.
5
Arianette
"Baroness?”
“Mmhm…”
“Everything okay in there?"
Graves’ voice echoes off the tile, softened by the sound of water.
"Yes," I call back, adding, “I’ll be finished in a minute,” though I have no intention of rushing.
The shower is hot–almost scalding–and I let it burn against my skin until I can’t tell if it’s washing away the cold or boiling something deeper out of me. Steam curls around my face, heavy and sweet, filling my lungs like a borrowed breath after being held under too long.
