Chapter 1
1455 Years after Creation
Dunrath
My footsteps echo through the corridor, sharp and hollow; the sound bounces off the stone walls. Each one a reminder of the life that used to pulse here. Now a mausoleum of laughter I’ll never hear again. Ghosts clinging to the arches like cobwebs, mine and theirs.
This was my home. Now? A prison wrapped in silk and gold leaf.
My heart jackhammers against my ribs, a caged bird slamming into bars. Run. Fight. Anything but this. I grit my teeth. Because where exactly would I go? The bottom of the ocean? Across the mountains? Please. Even Katia, the great creator goddess, herself couldn’t hide me fast enough.
The oak door towers in front of me. An old, familiar monster. The guard stops. I freeze. My pulse thrashes like it’s trying to climb up my throat and escape without me. This is it. My life. Six years of it. Ever since I was returned to Aelrith, bleeding and barely alive. Running isn’t an option. Neither is dying, apparently. I guess Cassandra hasn’t finished writing my underworld invitation yet.
I nod and the door creaks open like it resents the effort. Honestly? Same.
Three silhouettes wait inside. I don’t need to see their faces to know exactly who they are. To my right, Elanor watches me like a hawk dissecting prey. Her pale hair twisted into an intricate crown of braids, studded with enough jewels to feed a village, or buy a soul. She’s chosen neither. Her gaze cuts across me, sharp and cold, and if I cared anymore it might sting. The Ice Queen they whisper about in terrified hallways. Her lips are frozen in that eternal expression of disdain. She probably practices it in the mirror between blood sacrifices and brunch.
I almost roll my eyes. Almost. But I like them in my head.
I shift my gaze to the bloated man lounging in the oversized chair like a slug in the sun. Eros. Regent. Uncle. Parasite.
“What do you want, Uncle?” My voice is steady. A miracle, considering the way my stomach churns as his beady blue eyes pin me in place. Gods above and below, grant me the strength to not vomit all over his shoes.
He spills over the chair like melted wax. Years of indulgence have turned him grotesque, the crown on his thinning hairline an insult that hits deep. The same crown that once gleamed on my father’s brow. He watches me with the slow, indulgent cruelty of a cat toying with a trapped bird.
“It’s time for your session with Dr. Barton.” His voice drips fake calm, too sweet to be anything but poison. “I thought it wise to remind you what happens when you refuse to cooperate.”
Oh, I remember. Every damn scar on my body is a personal love letter from Barton. A chill claws down my spine. I know exactly what happens if I resist.
“We expect a delegation from Thacia in three days,” he adds, as if I care. “You’re needed for an appearance. It would be…” He pauses, pretending to consider his words, “unfortunate if something prevented that.”
Ah. The classics. Pain, threat, repeat. Translation: behave, or I’ll make sure you’re too broken to be paraded around like the little puppet princess they pretend I still am. I don’t need him to finish. I can feel the threat, sharp as a blade at my throat. I’m allowed to live — to exist — only if I keep playing their game.
“I’m sure the princess will cooperate this time,” Barton drawls, stepping forward from behind Eros. His green eyes gleam with sick amusement, his lips twisting into a smirk that makes my stomach lurch.
I smile back. Barely. “Of course.” The words are sandpaper in my throat. I don’t have a choice. Not really.
Barton’s gaze lingers on me, feeding off the silent battle raging behind my eyes. “See, Eros? Nothing to worry about. The princess and I always have such… productive sessions.”
Bile rises in my throat. I drop my gaze to a crack in the floor.
Breathe. In. Out. It’s thin armor, barely holding back the panic clawing at my ribs. You’re fine. It’s just a conversation. Except I know where the conversation leads.
The next moments blur into a smear of pounding heartbeats and shallow breaths. I fight to keep the panic at bay, to leash it tight enough that it doesn’t choke me alive. My guard drifts into the background as Barton guides me forward, his presence a black hole sucking the air from the hall.
We move down the corridor, the one that used to house dungeons. The one that’s now been lovingly transformed into Barton’s personal torture playground. A real fixer-upper.
“That will be all, Ser Kole,” Barton tosses over his shoulder, voice casual as if he’s dismissing a dinner guest instead of a guard. “Lilah is in my care now.”
Kole’s armored steps fade behind me, swallowed by t
he hush of stone and secrets.
The stench of damp stone and mildew wraps around me, a noose strangling me as we descend. Torches flicker, barely spitting enough light to paint the twisting passage. Stone gives way to packed dirt underfoot.
Breathe. Just breathe. I chant it in my mind like a prayer to any god out there, but I’m sure they stopped listening years ago.
My body moves on autopilot. One foot. Then the next. Then I’m inside.
The room is a nightmare stitched into reality, and it greets me like an old friend I never wanted to see again. My feet carry me to the wooden chair in the center. I lower myself down. Fingers drift automatically to the grooves in the armrests, scars left by my own nails. The edge of the seat digs into my knees. Grounding and anchoring in its cruelty.
Which I suppose is the point.
“More cooperative than last week,” Barton purrs, like he’s praising a particularly obedient dog.
Cold iron cuffs snap around my wrists. The bite is instant, sharp, a cold kiss of reality. I flinch, testing the metal even though I know it won’t budge. It never does.
“Can we skip the pleasantries?” I say, voice syrupy-sweet, the kind that rots teeth. “I’m anxious to get back to my book. Left it on a real cliffhanger, you know?” My tone is breezy, almost bored. But my body trembles, each muscle humming with the desperate need to run, to escape, to do something besides sit here like a sacrificial lamb.
Barton smiles. The kind of smile nightmares envy.
I lock my jaw. I won’t give him more than I have to. In. Out. In. Out. Play the game. Survive another round.
I lean my head back, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it might split open and swallow me whole if I just ask nicely enough. Barton moves away, drifting to his little torture buffet. Rows of scalpels, gleaming vials, syringes all nice and neat.
The moment of quiet is a joke. A cruel, dangling carrot.
He turns back, syringe in hand. The liquid inside sloshes dark and ominous.. His emerald eyes rake over me, hungry and delighted. A vulture picking at a carcass that’s still twitching.
“And miss your charming conversation? Never,” he drawls, every syllable dripping with mockery so thick it might as well be tar.
The needle spears into my arm before I can even think about bracing. White-hot fire explodes under my skin, lighting me up from the inside out. Every instinct screams get it out, get it out, but the iron cuffs bite down harder than my panic.
“Bastard!” I spit, the word shredding my throat on the way out.
Then the burn hits. Oh, gods. The burn.
A dark web fans out from the injection site, crawling up my arm like ink bleeding in water. It’s molten and sharp, a thousand tiny knives flaying me alive from the inside. My head jerks back, smacking the chair hard enough to rattle my teeth. A ragged scream claws free, ripping past my lips before I can choke it down.
Fuck. This is new. The thought barely sparks before the pain devours it whole.
He leans in. Brushes a strand of hair from my sweat-slick face, and I flinch so violently my restraints rattle.
“You’re wondering what I’ve given you,” he murmurs, soft and coaxing, like he’s talking to a frightened pet.
I grind my teeth so hard my jaw might crack. I won’t give him the satisfaction of a single word. Not one godsdamned syllable. My vision flickers at the edges, heat surging so high it feels like my blood is boiling away, leaving only raw nerve endings and that bastard’s voice echoing in the cavern of my skull.
Breathe. In. Out. Don’t break. Not here. Not now.
“The serum is my own personal masterpiece,” he croons, smug enough to choke on. “Designed with you in mind, of course.” He’s so damn proud of himself he might as well start preening. “Since bleeding you alone doesn’t work,” he continues, as if we’re discussing afternoon tea preferences, “I thought we’d try a new approach today.”
A blade flashes in the torchlight. My mind barely registers it before white-hot agony erupts down my arm. Blood spills, thick and heavy, dripping onto the floor with a slow, mocking rhythm. Like it has nowhere better to be.
“Fuck you!” The words tear out, sharp and savage, drowning the whimper that’s clawing up my throat.
He laughs. A low, slithering sound that makes every hair on my body try to crawl away. “Not very regal of you,” he tsks, all false propriety. “But then… you were never meant to rule, were you?” His eyes flick to me, an imitation of pity so thin it’s insulting. Spare me.
He steps closer, dragging the blade tip along my skin. My stomach churns so violently I nearly retch.
“Tell me, Princess.” He spits the title like it tastes foul. “What magick will you call on to save your pathetic life?”
Another slash, this one across my other arm. This time, the scream rips free, raw and unwilling, shredding my throat on the way out.
My vision fractures at the edges, blackness clawing inward. Ink-like tendrils crawl beneath my skin, curling up my neck, disappearing under my gown.
“Tick-tock,” he sing-songs, twisting the blade like a child playing with a toy. “If the poison doesn’t kill you, maybe you’ll just bleed out first.”
Oh for Katia’s sake. The same old song and dance.
“When are you going to give this up?” My voice is hoarse. Every syllable burns. “I don’t have magick. Not until the Trisvera. You know that.” The words spill out as I jerk against the restraints, metal biting into bone. Another scream fights its way up, but I clamp my jaw shut until my teeth ache.
“How many times have we done this?” I grind out, each word dipped in acid. “You insist I’m hiding some all-powerful magic, and yet — surprise — here I am. Still strapped to this godsdamned chair.” I lurch again, sarcasm sharp as glass. It’s the last shred of armor I have, and I’ll go down wearing it.
My head slumps to the side, too heavy to hold up. The room wobbles, threatening to tip me straight into oblivion. A small, traitorous part of me almost hopes it does.
Rage ignites in his eyes, bright enough to blind. The blade skims down my arm, featherlight, teasing, a threat more intimate than a lover’s touch. His breath hits my cheek, foul and humid. I flinch, but there’s nowhere to go. Steel presses into my neck, and a strangled groan slips free. Blood beads, slides down, cold and traitorous against my burning skin.
“If you had no magick,” he whispers, voice soft as a lullaby, sharp as the blade. “The serum wouldn’t tear through your veins like wildfire. It’s iron and obsidian, Princess. You’re lying to me… or to yourself.”
“I’m not fae,” I snap, each syllable catching on ragged breaths, my voice scraping my throat raw. “So once again, you’re wrong. Maybe you should drink less of your own poisons. You’re clearly losing what’s left of your sanity.”
The bitter satisfaction barely sparks before his blade crashes down again. Pain detonates along my arm, sharp and searing. A scream tears out, too fast to swallow.
Another slash. Another explosion of heat, blood, and roaring darkness clawing at the edges of my vision. I lock onto the smell. Metallic, thick, iron-heavy. My anchor. My reality. The only thing that’s still mine. Another scream fights up my throat, but I bite down, tasting blood. I spit it right at his feet.
“One day,” I rasp, my voice a blade of its own, “when you’re man enough to face me without these pretty cuffs, we’ll have matching scars.” The words slice out of me, a final hurled dagger into the abyss.
Mihalas, god of wrath, mark my words.
For a heartbeat, rage ignites behind his emerald eyes. Almost beautiful in its purity. Then the darkness rises again, thick and suffocating. It licks at the edges of my mind, threatening to drag me under.
Not yet. Godsdamn it, not yet.
The candle flames across the room flicker. Once, twice. For a second, they flare bright, casting twisted shadows that dance and writhe beyond the reach of the light. I blink, breath snagging. The flames return to normal, but something inside me shifts. A pull under my skin. The air feels charged, alive, clawing at my senses. Then it’s gone. Swallowed by the darkness creeping closer, pressing down on me.
My vision tunnels, shrinking into a gray haze. But somehow, through the static and the blood and the bile, a smirk crawls across my lips. He hates it. I see the fury burning in his eyes, wild and unhinged.
“How pathetic do you have to be,” I slur, words echoing viciously in my skull, “to need me strapped down like this for your little games?” My head thuds back against the chair. The sharp edge digs into my scalp, but I barely feel it.
“I’m not fae,” I spit again, voice fading but still sharp enough to cut. “You’ll get nothing from my blood. You’re pathetic.” The last word slithers out, venom-laced.
The world tilts, darkness sucking me under with greedy hands. But I cling to that last shard of defiance
The poisonous inferno raging through my veins refuses to let up. Each pulse is a fresh wave of agony, lighting me up from the inside out. A dark chuckle scrapes out of me, low and ragged. My heartbeat whooshes in my ears, a relentless drumbeat echoing through the hollow of my skull. Deafening. Like war drums announcing the end.
I’m so close to slipping under. So fucking close.
Before the darkness swallows me, I catch the sadistic smirk tugging at his lips. I should care. Really. But I don’t.
I release a breath I didn’t even know I was strangling. My limbs finally slacken, no more bracing for the next cut, the next slice of agony.
You’ve done it now. More pain. More scars. More reminders of what I’ll never escape. The thought should terrify me. Should freeze me from the inside out. But it doesn’t.
His voice buzzes around me, pathetic and mosquito-thin, the words dissolving before they ever reach me.
The darkness beckons, soft and seductive. A lover’s touch after a lifetime of war. I’m so ready for it. Ready to sink into that void where nothing and no one can touch me. Where I can finally stop clawing to stay alive. Just for a moment.
I give in, welcoming it like an old friend.
