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His fingers drum against the armrest of his chair, long and pale against the dark wood. I notice they tremble slightly, a slight shiver that seems at odds with his usual perfect control. When he exhales, the sound rasps like sandpaper, his chest rising and falling too quickly.

“Are you . . .” I begin, but my words dry up when his head snaps toward me, eyes flashing with something wild.

When I can’t find my words again, he resumes the vacant stare, though now a muscle jumps in his jaw, clenching and unclenching. Something is wrong. The composed, arrogant king from yesterday has been replaced by this coiled spring of barely contained energy.

I can’t take it anymore. The bathroom. I need a moment away from those eyes. I set my book aside and rise slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. It feels like sharing a cage with a wild animal.

He moves faster than my eyes can track.

One moment I am stepping toward the bathroom door, the next, I am slammed against the wall so hard my breath leaves my lungs in a painful rush. My feet dangle uselessly in the air, toes searching for ground that is too far away. His hand pins both my wrists above my head so tightly that I feel the bones grinding together, threatening to snap under the pressure.

This isn’t the king I had come to know during our travels. This is something else entirely, something rabid and uncontrolled. His eyes have changed, pupils blown so wide they nearly swallow the iris, leaving only a thin ring of crimson around bottomless black. Veins pulse beneath the skin around his eyes, dark and prominent against his skin. His fangs have fully extended, gleaming wet and deadly in the dim light, too large to be contained by his lips.

He presses his body against mine, trapping me. I can feel every hard line of him, the supernatural strength no longer hidden behind royal posture and careful restraint. Heat radiates from him like a fever, his skin burning where it touches mine.

A whimper escapes my throat. My bottom lip trembles as fear takes complete hold, flooding my body with ice despite his burning touch. I can’t fight. Can’t run. I can only hang here in his grasp, waiting for fangs to pierce skin, for death to come at the hands of this monster.

The sound I make, that small, frightened noise, seems to reach some buried part of him. His eyes clear slightly, recognition dawning in them as they widen in horror. He gasps, stepping back so fast that when he releases my wrists, I crumple to the ground at his feet.

He reaches for me, hands outstretched as if to help, but I slap them away with as much strength as I can muster. The impact makes a sharp sound in the quiet room, and he recoils as though I’ve burned him.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” I stutter, rubbing my wrists where ugly bruises are already forming, purple-blue against my skin.

“I said I wouldn’t intentionally hurt you,” he murmurs, his face contorted with guilt. The wild hunger in his expression has turned to shame, and his eyes are once again the deep red I’ve grown accustomed to.

He crouches beside me, reaching toward my face, but stops abruptly. His gaze shifts to his fingertips. I follow his line of sight, and my breath hitches. His nails have lengthened into hard points like claws, curved and sharp enough to tear flesh with the slightest pressure.

He growls and steps away from me as though he can’t trust himself to remain close.

“I need to go,” he says, his voice rough at the edges. “Don’t leave this room.” It isn’t a request; it’s an order delivered with enough force to make me flinch.

He storms out, the door slamming behind him with such violence that dust drifts down from the wooden beams above.

It takes me a moment to move, my limbs still heavy with fear. My heart is hammering against my ribs like it is trying to escape, and my breath comes in shallow gasps that don’t seem to fill my lungs properly. When I finally manage to stand, my legs tremble beneath me, threatening to give way again.

I stumble to the bathroom on unsteady feet, clinging to the wall for support. Catching sight of myself in the mirror, I barely recognize the pale, frightened creature staring back at me. Tears have left tracks down my cheeks, and my eyes are wide with lingering terror. I splash cold water on my face, trying to wash away the feeling of his hands, the memory of those fangs so close to my face.

But no amount of water can erase the truth: beneath his carefully maintained control, King Kylian is a monster, and I am trapped with him.

A loud horn sounds from somewhere outside, cutting through the silence and startling me from my thoughts. Something is happening beyond these walls, and whatever it is, it might be my only chance.

I dry my hands and face on a small towel. The horn blares again, longer this time, followed by shouted commands too muffled to make out. Curiosity pulls me from the bathroom toward the small circular window on the far wall of the cabin.

Standing on my tiptoes, I pull the small curtain aside and press my face to the glass, squinting against the sudden brightness. The ship has docked alongside another vessel, larger and more imposing than ours. I can’t see much of what is happening on the other ship’s deck, but below on the pier, my blood runs cold at the sight.

Cages. Dozens of them, being wheeled from the neighboring ship onto the dock. Inside each metal prison, people are huddled, some crying, others eerily silent, all wearing identical expressions of terror. Their hands grip the bars, knuckles white with desperation as guards shout and prod them like cattle.

“Sable,” I whisper. Was she here among these frightened faces? My heart clenches painfully at the thought of her small frame crammed into one of those cages, her gentle eyes wide with fear.

I step back from the window. King Kylian had ordered me to stay put, but if there is even the slightest chance that ship is the one that carried my sister away, I have to try.

My clothes from yesterday are filthy, hardly suitable for sneaking around a foreign port. I look around the cabin for anything I can use. King Kylian’s wardrobe stands open, several immaculately tailored suits hanging inside. Without hesitation, I grab one of his suit jackets—black, with subtle embroidery along the lapels that mark him as royalty.

The moment I slip it on, I am enveloped in his scent, sandalwood, something metallic, and an underlying note I can’t name. The jacket hangs to my mid-thigh, much too large for my frame, but it will serve its purpose by covering this short dress. What shocks me is the comfort the garment provides, as though wearing his clothes gives me a layer of his protection.

I shake off the disturbing thought and move to the door, certain it will be locked. My fingers tremble slightly as they close around the ornate handle. I push downward, and instead of resistance, the door opens.

I freeze, disbelieving. Is he so confident in his command that he didn’t think to lock me in? Or, perhaps in his hunger-maddened state, he’d simply forgotten. Either way, it is an opportunity I can’t waste.