Page 38 of The Vespertine Treaty

“She will be the death of us all, Cain,”Rhana’s voice was laced with severe disappointment.“I feel the contamination. But mostly, I feel the hunger. You are starving for her, and that desire is the first step of the Prophecy."

She paced restlessly in the reflection. "You are fracturing, Cain. You nearly snapped your aide in half just now. You must find a proper outlet to slow the madness. Find a body—any body that is not hers—and sate the urge. Drown this fever in meaningless flesh, or the Void will consume us both just to reach her."

I ignored the cat. I remembered the way her lips parted during the accidental contact in the ballroom, the soft, lost moan I imagined escaping her throat. I felt my hands clench, a surge of dark arousal washing over the guilt. My blood thrummed with a desire I hadn't known existed, a desire to crush her defiance beneath my weight, to possess her utterly and completely, making her forget the name Valerius. Making her forget her mother. Making her forget herself.

I turned back to the window, pressing my forehead against the cold glass.

I had a plan. But for the first time in my life, I was not entirely certain of my own motivations. I was doing this for my sanity,for my survival. But somewhere deep in the dark recesses of my soul, a terrifying, unfamiliar emotion was stirring.

It was jealousy. And it was a much more dangerous thing than all the collective agony in the world. I was doing this because I was obsessed, and Ophelia was now mine.

Suddenly, a sound tore through the heavy silence of the estate.

It was a scream. High, ragged, and filled with absolute heartbreak.

It echoed from the upper wing, vibrating through the stone walls, carrying the undeniable frequency of Ophelia’s pain. It was followed by the slamming of a heavy door, and then… silence.

I stood perfectly still, my heart hammering a traitorous rhythm against my ribs. Silas had done his duty. The fox was gone. The isolation was complete.

The sound of her misery should have been a victory. It was the sound of a variable being removed. But as the echo faded, replaced by the suffocating quiet of the manor, I felt a phantom tightness in my own chest, as if the scream had clawed its way out of my own throat.

I exhaled slowly, watching my breath fog the cold glass.

She is a problem, I thought, allowing the smallest shard of my true, desperate intent to surface.But problems are meant to be solved. And destruction is the cleanest solution.

I would watch her. I would study her compassion like an alchemist dissecting a lethal poison. I would use her own kindness to break her, ensuring that the prophecy that promisedmy death by love would never come true. I would make her hate me so thoroughly that loving me would be impossible.

And if, in the process, I destroyed myself... well, I was already a monster. What was one more scar?

CHAPTER 16

OPHELIA

The silence was not peaceful. It was a physical amputation.

Cain hadn’t locked the door. He hadn’t needed to. He had severed the proximity bond and taken the one thing that anchored me to sanity, leaving me in a room that was no longer a sanctuary, but a tomb.

For three days, I didn't leave my bed. I didn't wash. I didn't speak.

The first day was a blur of shock. I lay curled beneath the heavy grey duvet, shivering despite the magical heating of the floors, reaching out with my mind for a golden spark that wasn't there. The silence in my head was deafening. It was a Void where my soul used to be.

By the second day, the trays began to pile up.

Maids came and went—silent, efficient shadows in starched uniforms. They didn't taunt me. They didn't speak at all. They simply placed trays of exquisite food on the table near the door and removed the untouched ones from the previous meal.

The smell of cooling roast lamb and congealing gravy made me retch.

"Take it away!" I screamed at a young maid on the evening of the second day, hurling a pillow at the door. "Stop coming in here! Leave me alone!"

She didn't flinch. She didn't even look at me. She simply bowed her head, placed a fresh carafe of water on the nightstand, and slipped out, the lock clicking shut with a soft, final sound that echoed like thunder.

By the third day, the darkness began to look welcoming.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the obsidian floor. It looked like a black pool. If I stared long enough, I could imagine sinking into it. Just… stopping. No more politics. No more pain. No more Cain Alistair breaking me apart just to see how the pieces fit.

I looked at the heavy crystal water jug. One sharp blow against the stone floor, one jagged shard of glass… it would be so easy. A final, messy rebellion.

I was tracing the vein in my wrist, my mind drifting into a dangerous, seductive fog, when the door opened again.