Page 34 of The Vespertine Treaty

He didn't speak to her. He didn't dignify her with a threat. He moved to me, his movement a blur. He didn't grab my wrist this time; he scooped me up and straightened me, his arm clamping around me, pulling me into the hard wall of his chest, and picking up his discarded jacket.

He looked at my mother one last time—a look of such pure, promised violence that she stumbled back, pale and shaking.

Then he turned and marched us toward the massive front doors, this time grabbing my wrist.

We burst out into the night. The rainstorm had arrived. It was pouring heavily, a deluge that instantly soaked my gown and plastered the silk to my skin, feeling like a cold, suffocating second layer.

"Stop!" I screamed, stumbling on the cobblestones. "Stop, Cain! I hate you! I can't walk this fast in these shoes, you brutish idiot!"

Cain halted, turning slowly. He simply looked at my soaked form, the water streaming over my face, mixing with my tears. He looked at my struggling, inadequately short legs.

Without a word, he dropped my wrist, bent, and in one swift, humiliating movement, threw me, very unladylike, over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Put me down! You brute! I HATE you!" I screamed, kicking and struggling against his iron grip as he marched through the downpour toward the carriage.

He opened the carriage door, tossed me onto the bench, and climbed in after me. I braced myself for the final, screaming tirade, tears of rage and misery flooding my face.

Before I could launch my assault, Cain reached out. He took the dark velvet jacket, twisted the inside fabric until it ripped, brought it sharply to my face, and tied it firmly over my mouth, muzzling my screams.

“This is the last time your mother ever touches what is mine,” he murmured, his voice cold and final. “And next time I see her, she will pay for the violation.”

I did not expect those words to leave his mouth. I stared at him, stunned by the violent weight of his protectiveness, but my voice died in my throat.

He surveyed his handiwork with a dark, satisfied smirk, then dragged the remains of his jacket over my shoulders. The gesture was confusingly gentle—a stark, terrifying contrast to the threat he had just issued.

The shift left me reeling. One moment he was the villain, the next he was the shield.

His eyes, closed and darkened by his long lashes, were a contrast to the glittering cool triumph plastered on his kissable mouth.

"You chose to make noise inside there, little Life-Wielder," he murmured, his voice cold and final. "But I only ever needed your silence."

And with that, the carriage lurched forward, plunging us into the darkness.

The silence of the Alistair estate was its most terrifying feature. It wasn’t the comforting quiet of a home, but the cold, deep stillness of an empty tomb. It had been a while since I had arrived, and every minute felt like a slow, deliberate erosion of my soul. I had been left alone in the grand, soulless cage Cain had assigned me, with the unspoken threat of the east wing and the unreachable library hanging over my head. My only company was Poppy, and the distant, chilling hum of Cain’s presence.

"You’re going to get an ear infection from all this quiet,"Poppy’s voice was a low, melodic chitter in my mind."At least at the Ashworth estate, the wind would whistle through the cracks."

“I’d welcome a howling gale right now,” I whispered, my voice feeling small and insignificant in the cavernous room. I had been staring at the ornate but lifeless garden below, watching the dark leaves on the trees sway with a strange, unnatural grace.

A dry, echoing scrape drifted up from the main hall. Friedrik was adjusting his position.

“Relax. It’s just me, little Ophie.”

I winced, realising the gargoyle's booming voice confirmed that attempting to be subtle with anything external was futile.

The feeling of being watched was constant, a quiet, predatory thrum that settled at the back of my neck. It wasn't Cain's physical presence, but the subtle, insidious intrusion of his senses through our bond. It was a suffocating awareness, aghostly echo of his thoughts that made me feel as though I was never truly alone. He was monitoring my consciousness, a violation worse than the almost kiss he had withheld in front of everyone.

But my mind was fixed on Caspian. His terrified, broken face haunted me more than the obsidian armour. He had risked everything, and now he was suffering.

I retrieved the cracked Scry Stone remnant from its hiding place in the drawer. The stone was barely alive, its surface laced with silver fractures, but it held one last pulse of energy, enough for a single, final act of cruelty disguised as kindness.

“Don't, Oph. It's too dangerous”,Poppy warned, her voice tight with anxiety.He will know. He will see the signal.

“He already saw the chaos, Poppy,”I projected, my resolve hard and cold.“I have to ensure the agony he’s living in now doesn’t turn into a self-destructive war. I have to make him hate me enough to survive.”

I focused my will, pouring the last of the Scry Stone's fading light matter into the link, targeting Caspian’s familiarity, his golden aura, with agonising precision.

The link snapped into place, sharp, immediate, and utterly aching.