Forty-Eight
ChApter
Staja finishes twisting my hair into a loose, elegant braid and fastens it with a clasp that gleams like polished bone. She gives me a onceover, then nods. “It will do,” she whispers.
She opens the door, and I step out of the room.
The hallway beyond is dim, the stone floor slick beneath my bare feet.
Iron sconces cast long, flickering shadows, and every ten steps, another Dulcamaran guard stands sentry.
Their armor is matte black, with jagged pauldrons that catch the candlelight like teeth.
They watch me with eyes like slate—unfeeling, unreadable.
Then another figure approaches, and I feel a chill run up my spine.
“Finally awake, I see.” Osrem, Torbin’s advisor and spy, scrutinizes me. This is the man King Silas mistakenly sent to search for Torbin, not understanding fully how loyal he was to the monster his son has become. “Let’s not keep Prince Torbin waiting.”
With Osrem leading the way, and the guards following behind me, we make our way down the hall.
Each step I take, flanked by Staja, feels like walking into an elaborate trap.
My skin glitters with a shimmer that doesn’t feel like mine.
My stomach clenches with fear that Nadya may be harmed.
And my heart aches with words that may never reach the one person I need to hear them.
“Please, Dante. Hear me. I’m still yours.”
And I pray with everything I have left that the bond between us is stronger than the darkness rising around me.
The wind cuts sharp against my skin as Osrem leads me through a room and continues toward glass doors that lead out to a balcony. As I step outside, the cold, northern air coils around me like unseen chains. The sheer curtains behind me flutter in the freezing wind.
I keep my spine straight, my chin lifted, refusing to shiver, even as the thin silk of my gown offers little protection.
The fabric grips me, shimmering like frost-kissed water, the delicate embroidery of silver vines trailing over my arms. The slits in the skirt expose far too much of my legs, and every movement makes the cool silk whisper against my skin like a ghost’s breath.
The dress is beautiful, elegant—but impractical, meant for display rather than warmth.
Perhaps that was Torbin’s intent.
Heat. I imagine heat.
I inhale slowly, steadying my breath against the bitter air. I should be freezing.
But I’m not.
A strange warmth lingers beneath my skin, spreading through my veins, pulsing from somewhere deep inside me. I will my body to stay warm, and it does.
I don’t understand it, but I expect it’s the battle of mixed magic in my body. Instinctively, I check my nose and my ears, but there doesn’t seem to be any blood, and I don’t sense any pain other than the lingering ache from the bump on my head.
But I don’t have time to question it right now, as Staja leads me farther onto the balcony.
It stretches wide, its white marble railing etched with intricate carvings of winter birds. Beyond it, the kingdom of Dulcamar sprawls in shades of grey and light blue, mist curling between the distant spires, snowy mountains standing like jagged shadows against the evening sky.
At the center of it all, waiting for me, is the man who betrayed my trust.
Torbin stands beside an ornate dining table, draped in deep-red silk, the silverware gleaming under the soft glow of hanging lanterns.
A feast has been prepared, featuring roasted meats, spiced wines, platters of fresh winter berries.
It feels like an illusion of civility. The air is thick with the scent of charred fat and cinnamon, but beneath it all, something darker simmers—coppery, metallic.
Torbin is dressed like a prince, his navy doublet adorned with silver embroidery, a fur-lined cloak draped over his shoulders. But his eyes betray him.
There is something wrong in them. A gleam that doesn’t belong to the boy I once knew.
But it is not his gaze that holds me captive.
It is his scars. A burn mark mars one side of his face, just along the edge of his jaw—the exact place where my hand seared his skin when I pushed him off the balustrade at Ivystone.
And at his temple, a thin, jagged scar disrupts his otherwise-flawless features, a reminder of the antler crown that pierced him when he fell.
A reminder that I threw him to his death.
Yet here he stands. Whole. Alive. Smiling. The sight of it sends something sharp through me, like a splinter driven beneath my ribs—revulsion and guilt twisted into one.
Torbin’s lips curl at the edges as he takes a step forward, hands outstretched in mock welcome. His eyes move slowly over the length of my body. “You look ravishing, Celeste. As always.”
I instinctively rub at my arms, uncomfortable with his gaze, especially since this dress is so revealing.
“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come,” he muses. “That would have been… unfortunate.” His head tilts slightly. “For Nadya.”
I try to disclose my tight swallow. I turn my head to where Staja was, but she is gone. Osrem has also disappeared into the shadows, leaving us alone.
“You won’t hurt her.” I try to minimize the grinding of my teeth as I speak to him.
He cants his chin. “You’re awfully confident.”
“If you kill her, you’ll lose your leverage.”
“Is that something you’re willing to bet her life on?” He smirks, his eyes traveling the length of me. “Then again, maybe it was simply hunger that brought you here.”
“What I’m doing here is exactly what I’d like to find out. What do you want from me?”
Torbin gestures toward the elegantly set table, his smile smooth, practiced. “Please, sit.”
I don’t move. “I have no appetite.”
His expression flickers—a tightening of his jaw, a brief narrowing of his eyes—before he exhales through his nose, as if forcing patience.
“You could join me for dinner,” he says, his voice light, conversational.
Then, with a casual shrug, he adds, “Or I could give one of my carnoraxis access to Nadya’s room, where it may or may not jump at the chance to claw her insides out. ”
Ice floods my veins, and my vision pulses at the edges. For a split second, I forget how to breathe.
“The choice is yours.” He waits, his brow lifted.
A sharp retort burns at the back of my throat, but I swallow it down, biting hard against the inside of my cheek. I won’t give him the satisfaction of my anger. Instead, I lower myself into the chair he gestures to, keeping my movements slow, controlled, as if this is my choice and not his command.
Torbin watches me as he takes his own seat across the table, the soft scrape of his chair against the stone unnervingly loud in the silence between us.
I do not look at him. Instead, I turn my head, letting my gaze drift over the landscape beyond the balcony, the endless, frozen sprawl of Dulcamar stretching before me.
Mountains rise in jagged peaks, their icy slopes cutting into the sky, swallowed by the thick, swirling haze that floats on the valley below.
The snow-covered ground is vast, untouched, except for the winding, treacherous paths carved into the cliffsides, the only roads leading in or out of this place.
I shiver, though not from the cold.
I am so far from home. How long did it take for him to bring me here? I don’t remember any of it. Whatever he used to incapacitate me, to make me lose consciousness, must have been strong. It must have been the same thing the tsar’s men used on my uncle.
The weight of it presses deep into my chest, settling like a stone in my ribs.
It must have taken days. If anyone were to come looking for me, it would take just as long. What if no one finds me before the tsar uses me for his malicious scheme? What if I am already lost?
I press my nails into my palm beneath the table, grounding myself against the creeping dread.
I am not lost.
I will not let him win.
Finally, I shift my gaze back to Torbin, my face carefully blank. “You still haven’t answered my question. What do you want from me?”
His smirk deepens. “My dear, in case you’ve forgotten, you promised yourself to me.”
“What?” I spit out.
“We are betrothed.”
He smiles, and I flinch in shock. His canines are longer than the rest of his teeth. Sharper. He’s becoming more like the monsters he creates.
I stiffen my jaw, my muscles going taut. I bring my hands to rest upon the tabletop, and the glint of the silverware catches my eye. I’m overcome by the instinct to grab the knife, but as my fingers inch toward it, Torbin clicks his tongue.
“It would be foolish of you to think you’re stronger than I am,” he says.
I press my lips together in frustration and retract my hand.
“Besides, that knife wouldn’t do any damage I couldn’t overcome.” He leans slightly back in his chair, as if we were simply talking about the weather. “Have you forgotten what strength the carnoraxis potion has given me?”
I fix my focus on the burn mark on his jaw. “Doesn’t look like it’s any good at erasing scars.”
His smirk is laced with venom. “Ordinary scars are not a problem. But the ones infused with fae magic appear to be… trickier.”
“Good to know.” I tilt my head and allow myself a cocky smile.
He scrutinizes me for a moment, and then he laughs. “I’ve always admired your spirit, Celeste. I can see why you’ve risen in the ranks of the regiment. It will make you a worthy match in our inevitable marriage.”
“In case you didn’t get the message when I threw you from the tower, our engagement has been called off.”
His laugh is heartier this time. “Hunger always did make you grumpy.” He gestures to the plates between us. “Let’s eat.”
Torbin leans forward, grabbing his silverware and cutting into the slab of meat in front of him.