Chapter 13
Merrit
My lungs heaved against the silence, every sound in the chamber drowned beneath the hollow thud of my pulse as his touch finally dragged from my skin.
Somewhere between the dirt and his arms, I’d lost my shoes. I couldn’t remember when, only that they were gone now. Bare toes curled against nothing, the ground too far below. Glass glittered across the stone like spilled stars, sharp enough to carve me open the moment I touched down.
But it wasn’t the shards I feared—it was the warmth still slicking my neck and the echo of his words hollowing me out from the inside. I should never have touched you. That cut deeper than any glass ever could.
Kieran’s shadow loomed. He didn’t speak. Didn’t apologize. Just lifted his hand and bit into his own thumb, a bead of crimson welling at the tip. His fingers caught my chin, tilting my face until my throat stretched bare, and then he pressed that blood against the punctures he’d left there.
The sting was instant, brutal as fire. His blood burned as it sealed my flesh, sinking under my skin until it felt less like healing and more like being branded. My jaw locked, nails biting crescents into my palms to keep from flinching away.
Mercy shouldn’t have felt like cruelty. His touch shouldn’t have felt like chains.
When the last of the heat faded, he released me. His hands shifted lower—one at my waist, the other braced at my thigh—and he lifted me down from the wreckage of the table. My bare feet touched stone just shy of the shards, his grip the only thing keeping me upright when my knees buckled.
And then he let go.
He turned without a word, the sweep of his coat cutting through the air like a backhand I never saw coming. The sound of the latch catching was louder than the shatter of glass, sharper than his teeth had ever been.
The door shut behind him, final as a blade, and I was left shaking in the ruin he’d made of me—blood cooling on my throat, glass at my feet, and nothing inside me but the ache of what he’d taken away.
I stood there, bare, bloodied, the tatters of my dress shredded beyond use. His blood slicked my throat, warm where it had sealed the punctures, a brand I couldn’t scrub off. The heat of him still clung between my thighs, sliding down my legs with every tremble, proof of what he’d taken and left.
The chamber was silent but for the uneven drag of my breath. I forced myself toward the arch leading into the washroom, each step unsteady, my skin prickling cold in the vast silence.
Inside, brass taps waited, carved with runes that glowed faintly as I twisted them. Water surged into the stone basin, steam curling up, hot and clean, threaded with the mineral tang of magic.
I lowered myself into the heat and hissed when it lapped against bruises, when it found the cuts his blood hadn’t touched. My scar tugged tight at the heat, my chest rising, tightening with the burn.
I slid deeper until the water covered me, until steam blurred the world, until my skin prickled raw.
The sob rose fast, vicious, lodging in the back of my throat. I clenched my teeth until my jaw ached, refusing to let it free. Not for him. Not for anyone.
Never again.
I scrubbed. Hard. Nails dragging over my throat, my chest, my thighs—anywhere he’d touched, anywhere his blood lingered, anywhere I still felt him. I scraped until my skin burned, until the water turned cloudy, until I felt hollow and scraped thin inside.
But the more I tried to wash him away, the deeper he sank in.
When the water cooled and my skin was rubbed raw, I climbed out, dripping, bruises blooming purple against pale flesh. Steam ghosted off me as I wrapped myself in a towel, but it did nothing for the cold squatting inside my chest.
The chamber beyond was still. The glass had been swept away, the oak table scrubbed clean as if nothing had happened. A tray waited in its place, silver domes hiding food that smelled rich and spiced, meant to tempt, to soothe, to bind me tighter.
I wanted to spit on it. To shove it away untouched.
But survival was a louder voice than pride. My stomach knotted and growled, and I’d bled too much already. Refusing food wasn’t defiance—it was suicide.
I sat, pulled the tray close, and forced myself to eat. Bite after bite went down like stone, no matter how tender the meat or sweet the bread. It filled the hollow in my gut, but not the one he’d carved in my chest.
When the worst of the hunger dulled, I dug through my satchel until my fingers closed on the thin vial Sable had pressed into my palm before I left the Divide. Elixir. Harsh, bitter, necessary.
I pulled the cork with my teeth and tipped it back. The liquid burned like acid, biting all the way down, but I swallowed it anyway.
A choice.
My choice.
When the last of the elixir burned down my throat, I set the empty vial on the table, its tiny clink against the wood a reminder to myself that I hadn’t let him take everything.
The food and potion dulled the edge of my hunger and steadied my hands, but the ache inside me only grew heavier. Every muscle trembled with it. Even my scar felt tight, like a seam ready to split.
I wrapped the towel tighter and glanced toward the door leading out of his chambers.
For one heartbeat, I thought about walking.
About finding another room. About sleeping on the cold floor before I’d let myself crawl into anything that smelled like him.
Hell, I considered strapping on my boots and hiking back to the Divide.
Then a wave of dizziness hit, black creeping at the edges of my vision, and my knees gave just enough to remind me how much blood I’d lost.
Survival over pride. Always.
I stripped the towel, slid between the sheets of his bed, and sank into the dark.
The linens smelled of cedar smoke and cold iron and him—every breath another needle stitching his ghost deeper into my skin.
The mattress was warm, but my chest stayed cold.
My eyes stung, but I clenched my jaw until my teeth ached, refusing to give the sob an inch.
The betrayal sitting in my chest wasn’t his. It was mine. Because as much as I didn’t want it to, it had meant something. Every single second, every scrape of teeth and clutch of hands—I’d trusted him. I’d let myself believe, and he’d proved me a fool.
And the worst of it all? I knew better. I knew better than to trust him, knew better than to ache for someone that would never be mine. This was a business transaction, nothing more, and I’d let it spiral away from me, hanging my heart on hopes and dreams instead of hard, cold reality.
I wouldn’t let him play me again. Not ever.
I curled tighter, tucking my knees up until the world narrowed to the scent of him and the weight of the sheets. The elixir’s warmth dulled my limbs, pulling me under, even as my mind spun. The ghost of his mouth still throbbed at my throat, a brand I couldn’t scrub off.
And in the silence, alone in his bed, I finally slept.
The sheets were cold when I woke.
Not all of them—just the hollow on the other side of the mattress, indented deep where a body had lain. His body.
Kieran had come back. After walking out, after tearing me open with those words, he’d returned long enough to leave his weight pressed into the linens.
The dip in the mattress mocked me, bitter as the memory of his mouth.
Proof he hadn’t stayed, not really. Proof I’d been foolish enough to hope for more.
My chest tightened, stupid and traitorous. He’d gone before I woke, left without a word, without a trace. I shouldn’t have cared. Saints help me, I shouldn’t have cared. But hope and loss both squatted in my chest, fighting for space—I didn’t want to give either.
I rolled onto my back and froze.
I wasn’t alone.
The shadows in the far corner were wrong. Too thick. Too still. They shifted when I blinked, stretched like they had shape of their own, and then a woman stepped from them, leather whispering against leather.
“You’re finally awake,” she drawled, flipping a knife lazily in her hand. “Good. Saves me the trouble of poking you with something sharp.”
My stomach dropped. My gaze flicked to the table where my dagger should have been, but the wood was bare. She noticed, her mouth curling like she’d read the thought right out of me.
“If I wanted you dead,” she said, casual as smoke, “you wouldn’t have woken up at all.”
She tossed something at me, the heavy black fabric settling across my stomach—a robe.
“Put that on,” she said, quirking a brow. “Might make you feel better. Or not. But strutting around naked in the Crown Prince’s chambers is a bold move when half this Court already wants you gutted.”
My jaw clenched, but I shoved my arms through the sleeves, anyway. The robe was thick, smelling faintly of cedar and the subtle citrus oil from the trunks Serenya had brought in yesterday.
She paced while I covered myself, the shadows of the room drawn to her, twitching at her heels like obedient dogs. She twirled the knife once, then caught it by the hilt with a bored flick.
“Name’s Nadia,” she said, dropping onto Kieran’s chair like she owned it, one boot hooked on the edge of the table.
"I keep to the dark corners. Makes me good at hearing things people would rather I didn't. And before you wonder—I've been watching you for weeks.
I know you hear just fine, so let's skip the signing and save us both time. "
I lifted my hands, precise and deliberate. “And what exactly do you want with me?”
Her grin sharpened. “Relax, Divide-girl. I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to keep you alive—whether you like it or not. Funny thing about staying alive…” She leaned closer. “Someone put a hit out on you before the Hunt even started.”
My brows rose, my signs clipped with frustration. “No shit.”
I’d already tasted it in the chaos of their dying thoughts, the splintered fragments that told me I was never meant to walk out of those woods.
Nadia wasn’t telling me anything new. She was just putting words to the rot I’d already felt pressing in, the truth I’d pieced together in blood and silence.
Nadia barked a laugh. “Oh, I like you. No wide-eyed ‘why me,’ no pathetic handwringing. Just straight to the meat of it. You’re already more fun than half this Court.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I signed, slower this time.
“Yeah?” She leaned forward, closer this time, shadows twitching with the motion.
“Then here’s what you didn’t figure. The order didn’t come from outside the walls.
It started inside them. The kind of rot that doesn’t creep in from the edges, but blooms at the center from the ones you’re supposed to trust most.”
The room shrank around me. I tugged the robe tighter, cold settling in my chest like a stone.
She saw it but didn’t soften. Just flipped her knife end over end, shadows curling up her wrist. “I was there, you know. In the forest. Watching his back. Sorry I didn’t get to you sooner, but between him and you, I’m betting on the man who can pay my rate.
You? I don’t know. Him? He’s got coin, reputation, and a way of surviving impossible odds. It’s basic math.”
Her gaze slid back to me, sharp as her tongue. “Don’t take it personal.”
My hands rose, still sluggish from the elixir’s weight. “Business is never personal. And no offense, but I don’t trust the barkeep who pours my ale half the time. Why the fuck would I trust you?”
It was the truth. In the Divide, I’d dealt with enough men and women who talked like friends, who smiled while they thrust the dagger in your back. Nadia didn’t bother with a smile, but that didn’t make her any safer. It just made her honest about the blade in her hand.
Her laugh came low, amused. “You shouldn’t. You don’t owe me trust. You owe yourself caution. Remember that.”
She pushed to her feet, pacing again, dagger flashing with each turn. “But since I’m feeling generous, there are two things you should know.” She counted them off with the blade.
“One: that elixir? Not exactly street stock. Too rare, too pricey, and too fucking noticeable when someone’s using it.
Maybe your supplier’s loyal, maybe they’d never sell you out—I don’t care.
Doesn’t matter. Because word about who even has access to it travels fast. You drink it too often, and the wrong people start asking questions.
Like maybe why some backwoods barkeep even needs something that powerful.
I’d bet you don’t want your name anywhere near those conversations. ”
My stomach clenched, but I kept my face smooth. Of course she’d dig where it hurt—that’s what people like her did. No point proving her right. I’d survived the Divide by keeping my secrets close, not by handing them to the first shadow who came sniffing.
The knife twitched, point lowering toward me like a warning.
“Two: the king’s already asking questions.
Quiet ones. That’s worse than the loud ones.
He likes having a file on everyone, likes pulling it out when it’s useful.
If he doesn’t like the story attached to your name, he’ll make you into an example.
Considering there’s nothing about you before the age of ten when you showed up bloody on the steps of a Divide orphanage, I’d be concerned. ”
She let that hang before tucking the dagger away, shadows licking higher up her arms like restless pets. “So, around these vultures, keep your answers short. Keep a blade close enough to draw blind. And when you leave a room, watch your back. People move in patterns. Learn them or bleed for it.”
She tilted her head, eyeing me with a glint of something I couldn’t name. “Then again, you’re from the Divide. I figure you know how to watch your own back already, don’t you?”
A flush of something hot rose in me—gratitude or anger, I couldn’t tell. My hands flexed, forming the signs anyway. “Nice to know who you picked to save. I suppose I should be grateful you gave me anything at all.”
Nadia’s smile flickered. “Yeah, well. He pays better. But you’re alive, aren’t you? Play it smart and you might even stay that way.”
A knock rattled at the chamber doors. Serenya’s voice followed, dry with impatience. “Kieran, open up.”
Instinctively, I turned toward the sound. And when I looked back, Nadia was gone. Not a sound. Not a whisper. Only shadows trembling in the corner, settling back into nothing, like she’d stepped through them into some private dark that belonged only to her.
Saints, I should’ve stayed in the Divide. Better the wolves I knew than the shadows in this place.