Chapter 4
The Black Chalice was the Summit’s dining hall.
But it might as well have been a kingdom of its own.
Its borders weren’t marked by gates, but by serving lines.
Wealth gleamed in polished oak serving tables and crystal goblets; power flashed in the keen edge of mezzaluna knives slicing roast. At the center, the Firstblood nobility dined in private alcoves, their silk-draped benches bathed in the warm glow of glittering chandeliers.
The Turned kept their distance, seated on sleek, polished benches under stark, wall-mounted lamps that cast a cold, artificial light, marking them as something less than natural.
And at the farthest edge, the Lycans and humans lingered in shadow, hunched over battered tables that had never known polish.
The hierarchy was built into every seat, every glance, and Eris felt it pressing down on her, tightening like a vise.
But even under its weight, a vivid thought pushed through, refusing to stay buried.
Her fingers drifted to her lips, her eyes fluttering closed as memory surged.
"It’s you, Eris. The only one I will ever belong to."
The words lingered, raw, carved into her like an oath too sacred to speak aloud. She could still feel him: the ghost of his mouth on hers, the way he had held her, as if nothing else in the world existed. Stephan had always been careful, controlled, until last night.
Last night, he hadn’t been the prince or the future king. He had simply been hers, and she had been his. She still carried his scent, sandalwood and rain. Wild and aching. Her fingers tightened in her lap. Would she have stopped him, if they had not been interrupted? Would she have wanted to?
Gods, she already knew.
A shiver rippled down her spine, leaving heat in its wake.
A jarring sound rang out: silver striking porcelain. An intrigued murmur followed.
“Another one, I heard.” The words snapped her out of her reverie. “An Obsidian Order general.”
Eris blinked as the hall snapped back into focus.
“That makes three now,” someone said. “Blood everywhere.”
“The Lycans again,” another voice added. “Kareon Duskbane, no doubt.”
“Savage,” yet another muttered. “They should be leashed.”
Eris stilled.
Kareon.
They spoke of him like a beast, not a man. But she had seen the bruises. She had watched the Lycans vanish, hunted, erased. Why wouldn’t they strike back? Why would they ever trust vampires?
Her gaze shifted to the high table, where the nobility dined in careless luxury, gossiping over bloodshed they had never tasted. This was what Stephan would inherit: an empire of blood and silence. And she… gods, she didn’t want that for him.
Her breath slowed. She wasn’t sure what terrified her more: the rebellion rising in the shadows, or the fact that she understood it.
The Black Chalice hummed with low conversation and the heavy tang of wine.
Whispers of assassination drifted among the noble tables, until a tray’s sharp clatter caught Eris’s attention.
She turned. Across the hall, beneath the cold, artificial glow of the Turned's enclave, a Lycan girl stood frozen, her tray shattered at her feet.
Food spilled across polished stone, metal dishes skittering as the Turned erupted in laughter.
Eris recognized her—Bellara, a young Lycan working as a server for the Summit. Bellara’s hands trembled as she knelt, head bowed, willing herself to disappear.
“I told you. Use both hands,” one of the Turned sneered.
Another chuckled. “Maybe she needs them free for something else.”
Something hot and bitter curdled in Eris’s stomach.
“Careful, sweetheart,” a red-haired Turned drawled, sipping from his goblet. “You wouldn’t want to spill on us again. Lycans already smell bad enough.”
Bellara flinched as laughter rippled through their section. No one moved to stop it. The nobles watched with faint amusement while the Lycans kept their heads down. This was expected.
Eris moved before she could think. She slid from her chair, knelt beside Bellara, and began collecting the fallen plates.
The hall stilled.
Bellara inhaled sharply and so did half the room. A Dragov kneeling? Helping a Lycan?
Eris ignored every stare as she reached for a goblet and set it back on the tray. Bellara froze.
“Princess,” she whispered. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” Eris said gently. “But I want to.”
Bellara accepted the dish, hands still trembling. Eris offered a soft smile, the kind Bellara had never seen aimed at her before. The silence thickened.
“How touching,” the red-haired Turned muttered, leaning forward with mock sweetness. “Didn’t know Firstbloods were such devoted dog lovers.”
Laughter stirred again, but weaker this time. Eris stood, fingers tight around the goblet, eyes glacial.
“I was not aware Turned vampires had lost all sense of dignity,” she said.
The laughter died as the redhead’s smirk faltered.
“Dignity?” he echoed. “Forgive me, Princess, but I didn’t realize Lycans had any to begin with.”
His friends chuckled, but the sound was uneasy.
“Apologize,” Eris said sternly.
Bellara tensed beside her. The Turned stared.
“Excuse me?” the redhead asked, tone light but edged.
Eris tilted her head, chandelier light catching in her emerald eyes.
“You humiliated her for your amusement. You will apologize.”
The amusement soured. A few nobles shifted. The Turned hesitated: the room was watching. It was too risky. She was a Dragov after all. His jaw tightened.
“Fine,” he muttered, flicking a glance at Bellara. “Apologies, pup. Should’ve known better than to expect balance from a tray.”
It wasn’t much, but it was something. Eris held his gaze a breath longer, then gave a small nod.
“I’m glad we understand each other.”
She turned to Bellara and extended a hand. For a moment, Bellara only stared. Then, slowly, she reached out, her fingers trembling. The warmth of Eris’s touch startled her. No one had ever stood up for her. No one had ever made them see her. Not until now.
The Edge of Truth
Eris’s time at the Summit had been a quiet war, marked by fractures: power wielded like a blade, bruises hidden beneath silk, whispers that echoed the slow unraveling of a kingdom in decay.
The weight of it pressed against her chest. She wanted to change something, anything. But where could she begin?
The Summit had become a cage. So, she fled. She rode deep into the woods, the wind tearing through her hair, the scent of pine and sea sharp in her lungs. Here, the storm inside her began to still. She belonged to the wind, the trees, the sea.
At the lakeside clearing, she dismounted and tied the reins to a low branch.
Sunlight splintered through the canopy as she knelt by the water, cupping her hands to drink.
Her reflection fractured in the ripples.
Then came a sharp snort. The mare pawed the ground.
Eris stilled. Unease prickled across her skin.
“Easy, girl,” she murmured, though her pulse betrayed her calm.
The forest had gone still. The air had shifted. Something was watching.
She leaned toward the water, gaze fixed on her reflection, until a second figure appeared behind her, distorted in the ripples. She gasped and scrambled back, landing on her hands.
Kareon.
He stood over her, arms crossed in a stance both casual and commanding. Sunlight cut through the trees, casting his face in sharp angles, golden eyes gleaming with quiet menace.
“You really shouldn’t wander out here alone, princess.” His voice was smooth, almost lazy, but edged with something harder. “The woods aren’t as forgiving as the Summit.”
Her heart pounded, but she didn’t retreat. Rising in one smooth motion, she squared her shoulders, chin high, defiance burning in her eyes.
“I can take care of myself.”
He smirked, stepping closer. “That’s what they all say… right before they disappear.”
Her eyes flicked left, then right, assessing, calculating. Kareon tracked the movement with a knowing glance.
“Looking for a way out?” His voice dipped, amused. “There isn’t one. Just you and me.”
She exhaled sharply. “If you’re trying to scare me, you’ll have to try harder.”
His golden eyes glittered. “Scare you? No.” He leaned in, breath warm against her skin. “But I do wonder… how much fear it would take to make you run.”
She met his gaze, steady. “You won’t hurt me.”
His smirk faltered, just slightly. “And what makes you so sure?”
The air thickened. Eris stepped back, but Kareon followed until her spine pressed to rough bark. His breath ghosted her cheek, warm despite the chill. Too close. The space between them shifted.
“Because if you were going to,” she said evenly, “you already would have.”
Kareon’s eyes narrowed. Her defiance disarmed him. The forest faded. The moment coiled tight between them. She had a point. She always did. And moon above, he hated how much it fascinated him.
His gaze dropped to the corset laced over her waist, tight, elegant. Defiant. Her pulse thrummed beneath the fabric. His own breath hitched, barely, but something inside him gave way.
Her scent curled around him, warm, sweet. Laced with damp earth. It wrapped him like a snare. She stood there, unflinching in the half-light. Soft, never weak. A contradiction of steel and silk. Commanding, even in stillness. And that gaze—direct, unsettling—made him reckless.
His fingers lifted, hooking beneath one of her corset strings. His voice dropped, rough.
“Still so sure of yourself, princess…” The touch lingered. His pulse pounded. But beneath the desire: a question. Was her courage real… or a lure?
To Eris, the contact wasn’t just a threat or invitation. It was a test. A reminder of every time power had been used to contain her. And she was done being contained. She didn’t flinch. Her eyes found his, fierce.
“Kareon, please. Don’t.”
Her voice was soft but firm. A line drawn clearly, no less sharp for its gentleness.