Page 31 of The Vespertine Treaty

He began the roll call, his gaze sliding over the faces of the Cenites with lethal precision.

"On my side," he whispered, gesturing subtly with a tilt of his head. "Thane Jameson. He is another Pain Eater, though his power is marginal and unstable, a fact he desperately tries to hide. Next, Guinevere Iverson and Sebastian Millroy, both masters of Dark Matter. They are lethal, calculating, and loyal only to the power of balance and their self-serving plans. Beside them sits Ethelred Scotsmere, a Disillusionist—a useful tool for ripping apart the pretty lies your kind creates. And finally, Agnessa Lafaire, our resident Death Knight, all brute force and cold obedience."

He paused, the temperature of his breath dropping as he shifted his focus across the table to the Aenite side—the enemy.

"The opposition," he continued, the word laced with disdain. "There is Philomena Authoris, an Empathy Wielder, all nervous observation and judgment. Next, Veron Valerius, the esteemed Light Matter. He is a massive wave of controlled fury consumed by status and greed—your former suitor's pathetic father. I am sure you are very familiar with him."

I stiffened as Veron’s gaze met mine, cold and accusing, but Cain didn't let me linger.

"Beside him, Serena Goodwill, an Illusionist, all polite smiles and sharp manipulation," Cain murmured, his thumb pressing into my palm. "She is cut from the same cloth as your fascinating mother, whom I see seated at the far end, wearing a triumphant stare as if she has already won a war she doesn't understand."

He straightened, releasing my chin but keeping my hand firmly in his grasp. "And finally, Edgar Branwen, another Light Matter, all ambition; and Corbin Brownstone, the Healer, whose power is as useful as a whisper in a hurricane. Now you know the audience you perform for. Do not disappoint me, Ophelia.”

The crowd parted like black water. Cain led me toward the centre, my blue gown complementing his dark elegance.

He stopped, turning to face me fully. His eyes swept over my rigid posture, a flicker of cruel amusement lighting the grey depths.

“I know you have been practicing diligently,” he murmured, loud enough for the front row to hear. “Dancing with ghosts in the ballroom. Tell me, wife, was the air a satisfactory partner? Or did you find it difficult to submit to nothingness?”

My cheeks burned. “I did what was required. Unlike you, who couldn’t be bothered to attend your own lessons.”

“I do not need lessons to know how to handle you,” he countered smoothly, stepping into my personal space. “But your posture… it reeks of fear. You hold yourself like a virgin sacrifice waiting for the knife. Is that what you are, Ophelia? Have you never been held by a male? Not a boy, but a male?”

I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze with renewed fire. “I have been held by males who possess warmth. Perhaps that is why I am shivering now. I am not used to dancing with a corpse.”

His lip curled, a flicker of genuine cruelty passing over his face. “Male. Plural? A pity. Perhaps I should have demanded a purity test before signing the Treaty. I usually prefer my sacrifices unblemished.”

My face flamed, but I forced a cold smile. “Your preferences are irrelevant, Cain. You will never be close enough to check.”

He stepped in, eradicating the distance between us, his tension radiating through the layers of my gown.

His eyes darkened, the pupils blowing wide. “Careful, wife. Warmth is merely comfort. The cold is a sensation. And judging by the way you are trembling, you are beginning to realise that death penetrates far deeper than life ever could.”

The musicians began, not with melody, but with a deep, resonant magical bass note, a sound that vibrated in my core, threatening to destabilise my carefully built composure.

Cain positioned me. His hands, cold but precise, settled on my waist and my shoulder. The proximity, even through the layers of velvet and silk, was terrifying.

"The Ritual of the Conjoined Cores," Cain whispered, his lips moving near my ear. "You will not resist the magic, Life-Wielder. We move as one, or the energies will tear you apart."

The dance began. It was a slow, intricate ritual that demanded constant, flowing magical contact. As our cores aligned, my Life-Wielder energy surged into his Void, and his Death-Touch magic flowed back into mine. It felt so similar to that night’s dream. Nightmare. It was a nightmare, Ophelia.

He didn't just guide me; he commandeered my gravity.

He controlled my body, the movement sharp and demanding, before dipping me low with a controlled violence that bent my spine into a precarious arch. The high slit of my gown fell open, exposing my bare leg to the hushed room—and he claimed it.

He didn't hesitate. His hand left the small of my back to grip my naked thigh, his fingers digging into the soft flesh with an uncontrolled force, bruising the silk of my skin. He hauled my leg up, hooking my knee over his hip, locking me against the hard wall of his waist.

A collective, scandalised gasp rippled through the room, but Cain ignored them.

It was a scandalous, suffocating tangle of limbs. He pressed his hips forward, grinding the hard ridge of his trousers against the softness of my stomach—a public mimicry of the act he had threatened Malathor with. The cold of his touch seared against the heat of my skin, the raw energy exchanged staggering, forcing us into synchronisation.

The music shifted, rising in pitch and urgency. Cain's hands left my thigh, trailing a phantom chill as he righted me. He maintained contact with only three points: where our chests were touching, the base of my spine, and the hand that gripped mine.

He spun me into a tight turn, a dizzying rotation that stole my breath and equilibrium. He didn't slow down; he accelerated, spinning me again and again until the room blurred into streaks of gold and black.

“Stop,” I gasped, clutching his shoulder for balance.

“Why?” he whispered, his voice a dark caress. “Are you dizzy, little Aenite? Is the pace too fast for your delicate constitution? This is what it feels like to fall.”