“You’re going to be alone with that bastard for a night a week.” His breath came ragged. “I can’t let that go.”

  Through clenched teeth, I hissed, “Why the hell not?”

  Varyth’s entire body snapped taut.

  His hands were shaking now, his entire frame trembling with the effort of holding himself together. “Because I—” He stopped, jaw working, eyes squeezed shut like the words were being torn from him. “Fuck.”

  I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs, something fragile and terrifying unfurling in my chest. “Varyth⁠—”

  “Don’t.” His eyes snapped open, silver blazing with an anguish so profound it stole my breath. “Don’t say anything. Not now. Not like this.”

  The cell had gone utterly silent around us. Even Darian’s laboured breathing seemed muted, as though the very air was holding its breath.

  Varyth stalked toward me, his entire body humming with unchecked energy.

  When he reached me, his hands found my face, fingers trembling as they traced my cheekbones.

  “Because I can’t lose you,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Because the thought of his hands on you, of him hurting you—” His thumb brushed across my bottom lip. “It’s going to destroy me.”

  My breath caught. Everything I’d been holding back, the feelings I’d been burying beneath survival and rage, clawed their way up my throat.

  “Varyth—”

  “I know.” His forehead pressed against mine, our breaths mingling in the space between us. “I know it’s selfish. I know you did what you had to do. But gods, you’re spending the night with that piece of shit⁠—”

  The words cut off, his entire body bracing as though he couldn’t even say it out loud without choking on it.

  “I can’t stand it,” he finally said, softer now, but no less lethal. “I can’t stand it, Isara.”

  I swallowed. Hard.

  For one long, unbearable moment, Varyth didn’t move. His body vibrated with rage, the heat of him radiating through every inch where we weren’t quite touching. His hand was braced against the wall, his knuckles white from the force of it.

  I saw the moment his control—whatever threads had been holding him together—snapped. He surged forward. One moment we were facing off, the next his mouth crashed against mine with bruising force.

  The kiss was pure savagery. Teeth clashed, his breath was hot and desperate against my lips. I gasped, but his other hand was already tangling in my hair, angling my head back, taking more, more, more.

  Somewhere behind us, someone choked.

  Someone muttered a curse.

  But Varyth didn’t care.

  He pressed closer, his body shoving mine harder into the stone, the weight of him demanding. His fingers dug into my waist, his grip fierce, like if he let go, he’d lose himself. Because I was kissing him back. I shouldn’t have. But my hands were already gripping his shoulders, my fingers already curling into his shirt, pulling him closer, pulling him deeper.

  And for a moment⁠—

  For one single, blinding moment⁠—

  There was nothing else.

  Varyth kissed me like he could erase everything through touch alone. The kiss sought to consume me, undo the nightmare of this place, wipe Ashterion’s name from my lips, and make sure that I only ever belonged to him.

  I let him.

  Gods help me, I let him.

  I arched into him, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, closer, needing more, needing everything.

  The kiss deepened, heat spilling down my spine as his tongue met mine.

  Somewhere, distantly, I knew the others were watching.

  I broke the kiss long enough to mutter, “The others.”

  “They’re lucky,” Varyth’s voice was all gravel and sin, “that all I’m doing is kissing you.”

  His mouth slanted back onto mine.

  I lost myself.

  Because Varyth was already lost, too.

  “Gods-fucking-damn it,” Linc muttered from somewhere behind us. “Are you serious right now?”

  Varyth ignored him, his mouth trailing fire down my throat, teeth scraping against my pulse point. An involuntary sound escaped me before I could bite it back.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Shaelith snapped. “At least take it to a corner.”

  Varyth finally broke away, his chest heaving. Without a word, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the darkest corner of the cell.

  The shadows claimed us, offering the barest semblance of privacy as Varyth pinned me against the stone wall.

  “You think I can let this happen?” he breathed against my neck. “You think I can watch you walk away with him and not lose my fucking mind?”

  I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice beneath the weight of his touch. “Darian needs⁠—”

  “I don’t care.” His forehead tipped against mine, his breath uneven. “I need you to be safe. I need you to be mine.”

  My hands came up to frame his face, thumbs brushing across his cheekbones, trying to anchor him, and maybe myself.

  “I am yours,” I whispered fiercely. “A night in his chambers won’t change that.”

  “You don’t understand what he is. What he’ll do to you.”

  “I made my choice,” I said against his lips. “I can’t take it back.”

  Varyth’s fingers tightened in my hair. “Then I’ll kill him. The moment we get out of here, I’ll tear his fucking heart out.”

  I placed my palm against his chest, his heart thundered beneath my touch.

  I searched for words, but they crumbled beneath the weight of his gaze.

  What could I possibly say?

  That I wasn’t afraid? That would be a lie.

  That everything would be fine? Another lie.

  That I knew what I was doing? The biggest lie of all.

  Instead, my hands slid into his hair, pulling his mouth down to mine.

  The surprised sound that rumbled in his chest melted into a groan as he responded, his arms banding around me, crushing me against him as if he could somehow fold me into himself, keep me there, safe from everything that waited beyond this moment.

  I wrapped myself around him, trying to convey everything I couldn’t say. That I was his. That I would always be his. That nothing Ashterion could do would change that.

  Varyth’s hands trailed up my back to tangle in my hair, pulling just enough to tilt my head, to deepen the kiss until I couldn’t remember how to breathe. My body arched against his, seeking more, needing him closer.

  Every point where our bodies touched burned—my hands in his hair, his chest against mine, his thigh pressing between my legs. The world narrowed to his mouth, his hands, the desperate sounds rumbling in his chest.

  His fingers dug into my hips with bruising force, lifting me against the wall as my legs wrapped instinctively around his waist. The rough stone scraped against my back through the thin fabric of my shirt, but I barely noticed it through the haze of sensation that was Varyth’s touch.

  “Mine,” he growled against my throat, it vibrated through my skin, through muscle and bone, settling deep in my core. His teeth scraped against my pulse point, sending lightning racing down my spine. “Say it.”

  “Yours,” I gasped as his hips pressed forward, pinning me harder against the wall. My head fell back, exposing more of my throat to his hungry mouth. “Gods, Varyth⁠—”

  His growl was animal, feral, the sound of something wild breaking free from its cage. One hand slid beneath my thigh, hiking me higher against the wall as he crushed the hard length of his body against mine.

  “You have no idea,” he breathed against my neck, sending shivers racing across my skin. “What it’s taking not to fuck you right here, right now.”

  My breath caught in my throat, heat flooding through me at the raw need in his words. His admission sent liquid fire coursing through my veins.

  “Varyth,” I gasped, clutching his shoulders with desperate fingers.

  “I want to tear these clothes off you.” His mouth was hot against my ear, voice pitched low enough that only I could hear. “I want to mark every inch of your skin until there’s no doubt who you belong to.”

  My body trembled against his, desire coiling tighter with each word that fell from his lips.

  “I want to make you scream my name,” he growled, his hips pressing harder against mine, the evidence of his need unmistakable through our clothing. “So loud that even he will hear it.”

  “I want that too.” My lips brushed his.

  Varyth’s pupils dilated until only a thin ring of silver remained.

  “When we get out of here,” he promised, “I’ll take days with you. Weeks. Until you forget anyone else ever existed.”

  He captured my mouth again, swallowing whatever reply I might have made. His kiss was consuming, desperate—the kiss of a man marking what belonged to him before someone could take it away.

  The cell door crashed open.

  Light flooded the space as the door hit the wall with a deafening clang. Varyth and I broke apart, panting, his body instantly shifting to shield mine from view as guards poured in.

  “The healers,” one announced gruffly, stepping aside to reveal two stone-faced healers who stepped inside.

  Varyth’s body remained tense against mine, his breathing ragged as he released me, allowing my feet to touch the ground again. His eyes never left the guards, his posture radiating violence.

  My lips were swollen from his kiss. My back ached where the stone had bitten into it. But I didn’t regret a single fucking second.

  The healers moved swiftly toward Darian and Fenric, their expressions blank as stone masks. One knelt beside Darian’s fevered form while the other examined Fenric’s still-bleeding wounds. The cell remained eerily silent except for the rustle of their movements and the ragged breathing of the injured.

  I stood frozen, Varyth’s heat radiating against my body, his presence both a shield and a storm. His fingers brushed mine, a fleeting touch of possession, of promise.

  He didn’t say anything. But in his face, I saw it.

  That if he could kill a god to take this choice back from me, he would.

  Fenric let out a quiet, choked groan as the healer pressed glowing hands to his wounds, a shimmer of gold light spilling across his ruined skin. His fingers twitched. His head lifted. I could already see the blood slowing, the tremors in his muscles easing.

  Darian, still unconscious, didn’t react as the other healer knelt beside him, peeling back the filthy, blood-soaked bandages before their hands glowed. But I saw it—the faint colour returning to his face, the agony in his breathing dulling, his body starting to fight back.

  A shuddering breath left me.

  This was worth it. This was why I had done it.

  Even as the others refused to look at me⁠—

  I knew.

  I had made the right choice.

  At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

  Because if I didn’t, I’d never survive what was coming next.

  61

  The prick had immediately demanded I bathe again. So here I stood. Washed. Dressed in fresh clothes. But still filthy. Maybe I’d never be clean again.

  Ashterion sat in his lavish chair, one leg crossed over the other, turning a glass of wine idly in his hand. The deep red swirled against the crystal, catching in the glow of the candlelight.

  I hated that I was here. Hated him. Hated myself for the fear curling in my stomach, no matter how hard I fought to bury it.

  But this was the deal. This was what I had agreed to.

  I raised my chin, glaring at him. The words were poison as I forced them out. “What… what do you want from me tonight?”

  Ashterion let his eyes trail over me. Slow. Calculating.

  But then, he sighed, as if I had missed the obvious.

  “I assure you, Isara,” he said, his voice smooth as silk, “I have no interest in a female who reeks of another High Lord.”

  The implication coiled tight in my ribs.

  “Just sit down.”

  I didn’t bother wasting energy on a fight I wouldn’t win—not yet.

  I moved toward the small lounge positioned opposite him, lowering myself onto the plush cushions.

  “I must say, Isara,” Ashterion tapped a finger against the rim of his glass, “I expected more fight. I thought you’d have at least thrown something by now.”

  I clenched my jaw. “Give me something heavy enough and I might.”

  Ashterion’s lips curled into a smirk. “Spirited. Good. I’d hate for this arrangement to become dull.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find plenty of ways to entertain yourself at my expense.” Every syllable from my lips was honed to flay. “Tell me, do you always make a habit of collecting enemies and then playing host to them?”

  His smirk widened. “Only the interesting ones.”

  Gods, I wanted to break something. Preferably his jaw.

  Ashterion took an agonisingly slow sip of his wine, watching me. Every movement was deliberate, meant to test, to provoke.

  I kept my expression blank, my fingers curled into my lap to hide the tension in them.

  Smooth as ever, he plucked a second glass from the table beside him and, with a slow, lazy tilt of his wrist, poured me a drink.

  “Go on.” He held it out toward me.

  I didn’t take it.

  “What, are you afraid I’ve poisoned it?”

  I scoffed. “If you wanted me dead, I doubt you’d waste wine on it.”

  Ashterion gave a low chuckle, pressing a hand to his chest. “Isara, please. Give me some credit. I’d at least be creative about it.”

  I snatched the glass from his hand, throwing him a withering glare.

  He leaned back, the picture of smug ease, his smirk carved onto that scarred face.

  “You know,” he said, swirling his wine again. “Even after your bath, you stink of him.”

  I went rigid.

  “Varyth,” he drawled, almost bitterly, as if saying the name tasted wrong. “It clings to you. Power, scent, the imprint of him.” Something close to a sneer crossed his face for a split second. “Did you give your companions a show in your cell? A last indulgence before your evening with me?”

  My fingers tightened around the glass so hard I thought it might shatter.

  He saw it. Laughed.

  “You must’ve been quite the distraction. All bloodied and broken, wrapped in a High Lord’s scent.”

  I snarled. “Funny to hear that from you, of all people.”

  His brows arched, a thread of true confusion forming. “Oh?”

  “I’ve heard what they call you.” I bared my teeth in a feral grin. “The Shadow Drask?”

  Ashterion’s smile didn’t fade, it vanished. Gone, wiped from his face as though it had never been there. He rose, slow and controlled, every movement a warning.

  “What did you say?” His voice vibrated with lethal intent behind the quiet.

  I stood too. If I was going to die here, I’d do it on my feet.

  “You heard me.”

  “Say it again.”

  The shadows behind him twitched. I should’ve shut up. I didn’t.

  “Shadow. Drask.”

  Ashterion didn’t move. Not right away. But the temperature dropped. A chill swept down my spine. The shadows behind him shifted, growing teeth.

  But then he laughed. A brittle sound, like glass cracking under too much pressure. His hands came together, fingers lacing, masking tension as discipline.

  I still saw it.

  His thumb rubbed compulsively along his left ring finger, where the gleam of his wedding band caught the firelight. “Do you even know where that name comes from? Or are you simply parroting what your male whispers in your bed?”

  The insult didn’t land the way he wanted it to.

  I met his gaze, steady and cold. “Well, considering Varyth spoke quite clearly in that meeting of services you offer to other courts…” I shrugged, feigning nonchalance even as the realisation hit me in real time. “Even a dumb little human like me can put things together.”

  The tension radiating off Ashterion was like a wire drawn too tight, one wrong move and it would snap.

  He leaned forward, his expression turning to ice. “That’s hardly a matter I feel the need to discuss with a dumb little human.” A subtle tremor ran through him, though whether from rage, or something else, I couldn’t tell. “But if you already know the truth... then why are you asking me?”

  I didn’t flinch. Didn’t let him turn this on me.

  “I’m not asking,” I said evenly. “Just pointing out someone who’s trading companionship for power, perhaps shouldn’t judge me for how I smell.”

  His expression fractured, an old wound bleeding too hard, too fast. Ashterion turned away, paced a few steps, exhaling through his nose as if cooling something that threatened to burn.

  When he turned back, he was composed again. “How my wife and I gain alliances.” The words were honeyed, but carried the precision of a weapon. “Does not concern you.”

  I watched Ashterion, noting how his shoulders had tightened, how he let his hands fall open, as though he was physically releasing the will to argue.

  “It concerns me when your alliances involve torturing me and my friends.”

  Ashterion’s jaw tightened. “There are worse things than torture, Isara.”

  “Like being a political commodity?”

  His movements were too fast to track. One moment he was standing across the room, the next he was before me. His eyes burned with something ancient and terrible.

  “Choose your next words carefully.”

  “Did I strike a nerve, High Lord?”

  The room darkened around us, the air growing thick and heavy as his power bled past whatever control he normally maintained.

  “You think you understand,” he said. “You think you’ve pieced together some grand revelation about me.”

  I held my ground, though every nerve lit up in warning. “I think I understand more than you want me to.”

  “No, Isara. You understand nothing. Do you truly think my… bargains are some grand secret?”