Chapter 10 Merrit
Merrit
My lips still burned where his tongue had been. Where his teeth had grazed but not pierced.
That was the worst part—that he’d stopped. One breath closer and he would have kissed me for real, would have bitten deep, and saints help me, I would have let him.
Every step beside him was a battle. My pulse thrashed like a trapped bird, my skin fevered where his hands had pressed.
I hated it, hated him more for it. Because he wasn’t mine to want—he was the Crown Prince of Morathen, the man draped in silks and plenty while the Divide starved on scraps.
He hadn’t bled us dry, no—but he’d never spared us, either.
And yet… gods, my body still ached with the ghost of him.
The head table rose at the far end of the courtyard, draped in black silk, standing above the feast like a throne carved for wolves.
We climbed to it under a hundred watching eyes, torchlight painting the marble gold and blood-dark.
Courtiers bowed as we passed—some deep, some shallow enough to sting—but every one of them whispered.
“Divide-born.”
“Tavern filth.”
“Too rough for silk.”
I let my mask curl into something like a smile, even as my gut twisted.
Kieran pulled out my chair with infuriating ease, a performance of gallantry, and I lowered myself onto the seat. Silk and beads whispered against carved wood, and then there was a brush of cold under my palm. But it wasn’t his hand. No, this was metal, slim, balanced, deadly.
My fingers closed around the dagger before I’d even given myself permission, the leather hilt biting into my palm, familiar, grounding. My breath caught, but I didn’t look down. Didn’t dare.
Instead, I eased it into the hidden pocket Serenya had insisted on, silk whispering as the weight settled against my hip. Her joke about stashing a flask echoed in my mind, but saints, this was better.
“Don’t hesitate,” he murmured, voice low enough to vanish beneath the swell of music. “If they corner you.”
The feast was a cacophony of noise, perfume, and rot. Torches spat resin, smoke sweet as sickness. Meat glistened on silver platters, fat dripping into the fire below until it hissed. Goblets bled over the table’s edge, dark wine and darker still, the iron bite of blood carried on the steam.
And beneath it all, the thoughts. Too many, pressing hard and unrelenting against my skull.
Tonight. His blood will paint the stones. The Crown Prince won’t see the blade until it splits his ribs.
Cold slid down my spine. I couldn’t just sit here, painted and silent, while knives were drawn in the dark. But how could I warn him without giving myself away?
My free hand found his beneath the table. Strong, steady fingers met mine. I traced a line into his palm—the kind of shorthand you used in the Divide when words weren’t safe. Then, pulse hammering, I spelled it out against his skin.
D-A-N-G-E-R.
He didn’t so much as look at me. To the Court, he lounged like sin made flesh, lazy smirk in place, lifting his goblet as if the whole feast existed for his pleasure. But the muscle in his arm went taut, a flash of truth beneath the act.
His thumb pressed once against my knuckles. A promise. Then another stroke, deliberate against my skin.
U-N-D-E-R-S-T-O-O-D.
Relief loosened my chest—but only for a breath. Because even as I tried to steady myself, another thought pierced through the crowd’s murmur:
Tonight, we’ll gut the prince while he chases his whore.
Ice slid down my spine. I lifted two fingers, brushing them across the silk hiding my scar. A second warning. A plea.
Please gods, let him understand the rest.
Kieran rose from the head table, goblet in hand, and the courtyard fell quiet. Not silent—never silent—but the hum of laughter and music dipped low, anticipation crackling through the air.
His voice carried easily, smooth and commanding, steeped in the kind of confidence only centuries could breed. “Tonight, Morathen remembers what it is to hunt. To chase. To claim. To test ourselves against the dark.”
The nobles leaned forward, eager, restless. My stomach clenched at the way their eyes slid toward the companions seated at their sides, each dressed in finery that looked more like bait than celebration.
“Some of you will protect what is yours,” Kieran continued, letting the words drip like blood into a river. “Some of you will not. But all of you will be seen.”
Laughter rippled cruel as broken glass, the sound skittering down my spine. My fingers twitched beneath the table, itching for the hilt of the dagger I’d hidden in my skirts.
Kieran lifted his goblet higher, gaze sweeping the crowd. The torchlight turned his eyes to chips of ice, his fangs catching the firelight when his mouth curved.
“Run well. Feed well. Make them remember why this Court is feared.”
The horn’s echo rattled through my bones, low and brutal, vibrating up from the stones beneath my feet.
Around us, the companions stiffened, their silks whispering like leaves in a storm.
The nobles smiled, lips curving around fangs and hunger, the gleam of anticipation brighter than the steel at their belts.
Kieran set his goblet down, the sound final as a gavel, and reached for my hand. His grip was firm, claiming, but the pressure of his thumb told another story: stay close.
The head table emptied, chairs scraping back as courtiers surged toward the open gates of the courtyard.
Beyond them stretched the Hunt grounds—an expanse of tangled woods lit only by torches at the edge, their shadows swallowing everything past the tree line.
The air shifted, cooler, carrying the musk of earth and pine, undercut by iron and smoke.
Beside me, Kieran was all cold poise, his stride long, purposeful, every movement calculated to remind the Court that Morathen’s prince led the way.
But I felt the coil of tension in his body, the careful edge in every step.
He’d read my warning. He knew the knives weren’t only waiting in the dark—they were already in the hands of those walking at our sides.
We passed beneath the torchlit arch and into shadow. The trees closed in fast, thick with mist, branches clawing overhead until the night swallowed the feast’s light and music whole.
A ripple of thought rasped against my skull. Run her down first. Break her. Make the prince watch.
My chest squeezed. I couldn’t tell where it came from, whose hunger had painted it in my head—but it was close. Too close.
I shifted, fingers brushing the dagger hidden in my skirts. Cold steel met my skin, grounding me, even as my pulse thrashed against the beaded collar at my throat.
Kieran’s hand tightened on mine, anchoring, steady. But his pace never faltered. He walked as if the woods belonged to him, as if the predators in the dark were nothing but audience.
And maybe they were.
The second horn split the night, higher than the first. It shivered through my bones, and then the courtyard erupted.
Companions bolted, skirts and cloaks flashing dark as they scattered into the trees. Nobles followed with the slow, deliberate grace of predators who already knew their prey couldn’t escape. Laughter speared through the smoke, fangs gleaming in torchlight before the shadows swallowed them whole.
Kieran’s hand left mine. The loss of it jarred me more than the horn. He moved like the ground belonged to him, slow and certain, as though the Hunt itself bent to his command. Every step drew eyes, even in chaos. Even mine.
I forced myself to break away, skirts rustling as I slipped into the tree line with the others. The forest clamped down quick, damp earth and pinesap smothering the reek of the feast. The music faded behind me, replaced by breath and branches snapping as bodies crashed through the dark.
Something shifted to my right—a flash of silk between trees, a companion running blind. Her thoughts were white noise, panicked and scrambled. Behind her, the tread of boots, steady, hungry. My chest tightened.
Then another ripple, closer, meant for me. Divide-born. Soft target. She’ll scream pretty when we bring her down.
My pulse spiked. Not if I put steel in their ribs first.
I sank low, skirts catching on bramble, and forced my breathing quiet. The shadows pressed close, thick enough to choke, but I welcomed them. I’d grown up in darker places than this. Let them think I was prey.
They’d learn the hard way that the Divide didn’t breed weakness.
It stomped it out, starved it, but it sure as fuck didn’t feed it.
The woods swallowed the last of the torchlight quick, shadows thick and wet with mist. My breath clouded in the cold air, loud in my ears. I forced myself still—knees bent, weight on the balls of my feet, dagger slick in my palm.
Too many thoughts flooded in, ragged and greedy. Catch her first. Break her. Make him watch.
I pushed past them, searching for the real threats, the ones barbed with intent. Somewhere in this mess was the strike meant for Kieran’s ribs. If I could just—
He hit me before I even saw him move. A blur of silk and fangs, a fist cracking across my jaw so hard my teeth clacked together. My head snapped sideways, stars bursting across my vision. I staggered, caught a root with my heel, and went down hard enough that my breath ripped out of me.
Leaves stuck to my cheek. Cold earth filled my mouth. By the time I rolled, he was already there—dagger arcing down.
I twisted, the steel skimming my ribs, hot and vicious. Silk tore, skin split, blood wet and slick down my side.
“Pathetic,” he hissed, looming over me, breath iron-thick. “Divide gutter rat.”
I slashed upward with my weapon, wild, desperate. He caught my wrist mid-swing, grip crushing, bones grinding. Pain shot white-hot through my arm as he slammed my hand into the dirt. My blade jarred loose.
His laugh was low and smug, his fangs bared. “You’ll scream for me.”
Rage roared hotter than fear. I drove up my knee. It caught, but he twisted, taking the brunt on his thigh instead of his balls. He snarled and backhanded me. My head cracked against bark, sparks blotting out the world for a heartbeat. Warm blood flooded my mouth, copper and salt.
No. Not like this.
My fingers scrabbled through dirt and roots until they hit steel. I clenched, yanked Kieran’s dagger free again just as he lunged to pin me. His weight crushed down, suffocating, every inch of him stronger, faster, built to tear me apart.
I jammed my forehead into his nose. Cartilage gave with a sickening crunch. He reeled back, blood pouring.
I didn’t think. I moved.
My arm screamed as I rammed the dagger up under his ribs.
The resistance was awful—grating bone, tearing flesh—before the steel punched through.
His breath hitched, wet against my cheek.
His hands clawed my shoulders, raking furrows that burned like fire, but I shoved harder, twisting, grinding steel into heart muscle.
Blood filled my mouth, spilling past my gritted teeth as I shoved the blade deeper, close enough for him to see the fury in my eyes.
His body jerked once. Twice. Then went slack, weight collapsing heavily across me. For a heartbeat, I thought he’d rise again. Thought I’d botched it. Then the light bled from his eyes, and the forest went too quiet.
I heaved him off, gasping, chest burning, dress shredded and sticky with blood—his and mine. My arms trembled with exhaustion. My side throbbed where his dagger had sliced deep. My jaw ached, my mouth full of blood and dirt.
But I was still breathing. He wasn’t.
For a moment, all I could do was kneel in the dirt, the world tilting around me.
My hands shook as I wiped the dagger clean on what was left of his coat, smearing red across already-ruined silk.
His weight lingered like a bruise, phantom fingers crushing my throat, phantom teeth ready to rend flesh.
A scream split the trees—not mine. Too far away, but close enough to rattle my skull. It cut off with a wet sound that made my stomach lurch. Laughter followed, low and pleased, predators closing in on their quarry.
I staggered to my feet, dagger clutched tight, and spat blood into the leaves. My ribs shrieked when I straightened, every breath a fresh agony of its own, but I forced my spine upward.
The woods pressed in—mist curling thick, branches snagging at my torn skirts, the night alive with pursuit and pain. Every direction hummed with danger, voices in my head all hunger and cruelty.
This was only the beginning.