Chapter 35
ARK
The sun, too bright for a day like this, glanced off the marble terraces of Agmon manor—the Varil family’s nearest neighbor, separated by sprawling winter fields and a thick stone wall that marked the end of one property and the beginning of the other. It had never felt so thin.
The manor rose ahead of him, and he understood its design immediately.
Glass. Walls, ceilings, entire wings of it—faceted panels set in wrought iron frames, every surface angled to catch, hold, and multiply the afternoon sun.
Light invaded, pooling on marble floors, bouncing off crystal decanters, saturating every corner until shade became an afterthought.
A glass house in every sense—the kind of place where nothing could be hidden and everything was meant to be seen.
A Sanguine paradise, through and through.
Ark kept walking. He read the gathering as he moved through it.
Every face was a demon, a sea of Daemaric blue.
Every coat, every jewel, every sigil stitched into a sleeve or collar belonged to prominent houses.
No elves, witches, or humans. In a city built on the promise that four groups of people could coexist, a guest list this pure seemed more a political declaration than a social preference.
A steward moved to intercept him, then faltered, recognition blooming across his face. Ark didn’t need to wear Daemaric blue to be known, but a Nocturne walking uninvited into a Sanguine gathering in a glass house flooded with afternoon sun signalled trouble.
Inside, the light was worse. He spotted Alderrath at the centre table, laughing loudly at something a seated guest had said.
Silver hair fell in soft waves around his shoulders, his blue jacket lined with black fur.
Ark didn’t stop. He ignored the hush that fell as his shadow—what little of it the glass allowed—reached the first row of guests and strode straight to the head of the gathering.
Faces turned, curious, calculating. Alderrath looked up, still smiling.
The same curated expression he wore like a cravat, as if Ark’s arrival were an amusing surprise, no more disruptive than a change in weather.
“Arkenoth,” he drawled, lifting his goblet. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”
“Didn’t you?” Ark said, voice cool. “Why send an invitation, then.”
A twitch—small, almost imperceptible—flickered at the corner of Alderrath’s mouth.
“Ah, yes. I’d almost forgotten.” He turned slightly toward the table, one hand sweeping wide in performance. “But now that you’re here, I suppose we might as well be civil.”
He gestured to the empty seat beside him. A seat that had clearly, conspicuously, been left vacant.
Ark didn’t move. “It is far too late for civility.”
“Come now. No one got hurt. Including your Untethered witch.”
The words landed like a slap, but Ark didn’t flinch. He only watched, gaze steady. “Only the children at Starlight,” he said. “But I suppose they don’t count when their blood isn’t pure enough.”
Alderrath waved a hand, as though brushing away crumbs. “Starlight is already mine.” He tilted his head, mock-thoughtful. “But . . .”
He let the word hang, a hook baited with false generosity. “I am, at my core, a reasonable demon. With proper incentives, the property can be relinquished.”
Ark wanted to laugh. “So generous? After all your effort to acquire it?”
Alderrath shrugged, leaning back indolently.
“Starlight was never the goal, Arkenoth. It was the leverage. I wanted your attention—and now I have it.” He picked up his goblet, smiling as though he’d triumphed.
“But worry not. Once I have what I need, I’ll return it—but only if you agree to my terms. Otherwise, I will take full possession in fourteen days. ”
He gestured with his glass toward Lucindra. “My sister represents the purest expression of our lineage. Imagine it, Arkenoth. Our bloodlines, merged, to mark the dawn of a new dynasty. She’s been groomed since birth to become the next Daemaris. Even you can’t deny the match would be advantageous.”
Ark didn’t look at her. His gaze stayed on Alderrath—watching the blatant calculation.
A marriage. A leash. A noose in silk. This was the third time Alderrath had offered his sister, and the prospect did not get any more enticing.
But something needled at his thoughts.
Alderrath had fought viciously for Starlight—Constructs, legal warfare, threats to children—and now he was offering to return it?
And what did he mean by ‘once I have what I need from it’?
Was it what he’d suspected, after all? It wasn’t Starlight’s land or building that Alderrath truly wanted, but the magic that had burned Ark’s hand and repelled purebloods at the threshold—an entity in the basement powerful enough to ward an entire building for fifty years without maintenance.
That kind of magic didn’t just protect a house.
It could be a weapon. A currency. A key to some greater power Ark couldn’t yet see.
The realization was a lightning strike, terrifying and illuminating—but Ark let none of it show.
He couldn’t. It wasn’t over yet. They still had fourteen days before the Sanguine took possession.
If Alderrath so much as suspected that Ark knew what he was after, he would accelerate his plans, move to seize the entity before they could protect it.
So Ark would do what he did best: play the indifferent heir. Let Alderrath believe he was exactly as oblivious as the Sanguine wanted him to be.
But before Ark could speak, Lucindra’s silverware clattered to her plate, the sound echoing through the silence.
“Again, Alderrath, really?” She cut him off, her eyes burning. “I came for dinner, not to be shown off like a trophy. Don’t mistake my presence for permission.”
Her chair scraped against the floor. She rose and turned to Ark—no apology in her gaze. “It seems we are both being forced into roles we didn’t audition for.” Her voice was cool, almost cold. “Go ahead. Decline your part. You won’t offend me.”
Ark held her gaze for a heartbeat. Then, he inclined his head. “My utmost thanks, Lucindra.”
Her eyes softened. “I dare say you already hold someone else in your heart. I’ve met her. She seems like a wonderful person.”
“She is.” After a breath, he added, “Perhaps, one day, you’ll visit her. She’d welcome your friendship.”
Despite her brother’s glare burning holes into her, Lucindra smiled. “I’d like that.”
Ark turned at last to Alderrath. “Any other relatives you’d like to offer up for leverage?”
Chair legs screeched across the floor. Alderrath surged to his feet, palm slamming the marble. “You’d throw it all away—for her? No name. No title. No bloodline. No one at your back. You’ll be peerless. Alone—”
Ark didn’t raise his voice. “You see someone with nothing; I see someone with everything. If she is Untethered, then I will tether myself to her. We will never be alone again.”
A cold smile touched his lips. “Keep your dynasties. I’ve already chosen my legacy—it smells of cinnamon and feeds the children your houses would step over in the street.”
Alderrath’s eyes gleamed, and Ark knew the scum hadn’t reached the end of his scheming path yet. “Does your father know about this? How would he feel, in his condition, when he learns his oldest son and heir is ready to throw away everything he’s worked for—for what?”
Ark’s jaw tightened. So that was Alderrath’s angle—weaponize his father’s illness, use it to destabilize the Council, plant doubt. He opened his mouth to cut the thread—
And then a voice, dry as old parchment but twice as sharp, cut through from the doorway.
“My. House Agmon is certainly comfortable deciding how I should feel about my own son.”
The voice was enough to still the whole gathering.
Then, as though by an unseen tether, everyone parted, their gazes fixated upon the entrance.
Ark’s own eyes followed. There stood his father, a cane in hand, though he managed to make it look more like a prop than a necessity.
He was pale, yes, but he was upright. His mother stood beside him, Oromon following just behind.
His father began to walk, then paused just as he approached the luncheon circle, surveying the stunned nobles like a bored examiner at a poorly staged play.
“Tell me, my love,” he said, glancing sidelong at Delphyne, “am I mistaken, or did we not receive an invitation?”
His mother—draped in a Daemaric-blue velvet cloak, the diamonds on her horns catching the light—arched a brow.
“Not a whisper. I was beginning to think we’d been forgotten.
” She turned to Alderrath, cool and cutting.
“Which would be terribly rude, considering how eager he seems to tie our houses together.”
Kassenor hummed. “Ah. So this is courtship. Don’t you think he should be more polite to the family he’s so desperate to crawl into bed with?” He offered a mild smile. “Back in my day, we sent flowers, not threats. Do you remember that?”
“You sent me a bouquet of poisonous flowers, darling.”
“You said you loved them.”
“Poison builds immunity.”
Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat, the political theatre fell away. Ark caught a glimpse of the private, unshakable foundation beneath their marriage. The coldness he’d once accused them of wasn’t the absence of feeling—it was the ferocity of a bond so absolute it needed no audience.
Ark watched Alderrath’s face harden before he recovered, offering a thin smile. “I invited Arkenoth. I wasn’t aware the rest of his family would be joining us.”
His mother smiled back, and somehow managed to look amused and bored at the same time. “Don’t fret. We’re only here to return what belongs to you—or your spy, to be precise.”