“Words that will cost you more than your pride, Malachi.” She stepped closer, her tone dropping. “Kaelith is a lot of things, but he’s not forgetful. And he’s not merciful.”
“I don’t need his mercy.”
“No,” she said softly. “But she might.”
That hit harder than it should have.
“She’s different,” Lysara murmured. “Whatever is buried in her—I felt it this evening.”
“I felt it long before that.” Dreamwalkers had vanished with Eryndis’s exile. Only those marked by her blood could bend a dream back on its maker. No mortal should have been able to break my hold. And yet she had.
“Then be careful. Prophecy and oath have broken stronger men. And tonight, you chose her before he could name anyone.”
Kaelith hadn’t specifically ordered someone to dance with Aurelia. But I knew if anyone else had, he would have murdered them for touching what was his. It was a test, and I knew the answer.
“You think I’m softening.”
“I think you already have.” She turned and left, fading into the dark.
I made my way back to the feast. Kaelith had dismissed most of the nobles, calling it a night of indulgence. A woman sat in his lap, trailing chocolate from her finger into his mouth. He bit her gently, then grabbed her hair, pulling her head back and exposing her neck.
His gaze lifted, locking with mine, before he sank his fangs into her pulse, draining her slowly, purposefully. He never broke eye contact.
Kaelith and I were Vampyres, born of the oldest blood—relics of the first children Atrox forged when the Nightmother turned from him. We were shaped from what he tore out of her—fragments of stolen divinity hardened into something eternal and hungry.
We were keepers of balance, sworn to Eryndis, our bloodline a bridge between death and divinity.
Our blood carried the echo of Atrox’s first dark—old magic that answered to neither tide nor flame nor bloom. Thegoddesses granted borrowed power through their marks, but our kind drew from something deeper, older. Balance was a word we told ourselves long after we’d learned to crave what tipped it.
Blood wasn’t sustenance—it was indulgence. Pleasure. Power.
When shared willingly, it bound blessings, amplified magic, braided two bloodlines into one. But when taken—drained—it fed something darker. A stolen life folded its blessings and memories into the one who drank it.
Everything the victim carried remained—another voice added to the chorus inside us.
That was how Kaelith had risen above the rest. His power here wasn’t just strength of arms or command of shadows—it was multiplicity.
He carried centuries of other people inside him. One man, echoing with dozens of voices, dozens of stolen magics. He could summon flame, weave illusions, breathe underwater as if Nerissa herself had blessed him. Every ability he harvested became his own.
Kaelith let the woman’s limp body slide from his lap, her exsanguinated form collapsing onto the stone floor with a sickening thump.
He stood, arms open in mock welcome. “Malachi, my brother. You’re missing all the fun. Come, let us have a nightcap in my chambers. Acantha—bring us two. Maybe Malachi will finally decide to join in the fun.”
We made our way to Kaelith’s chambers. He poured two glasses of wine, crimson and thick, but handed me nothing.
“Let me ask you something,” he said smoothly. “Have I not treated you fairly? Let you prowl close to the edge of the mist? Am I not your future king?” He turned toward me.
“You are my prince,” I said evenly. “Tell me,” Kaelithmurmured, stepping closer, “why you imagined you had the right to threaten me over how I treat myfuture wife.”
His grin sharpened.
“‘Careful,’ you said.” He mimicked the exact cadence of my voice, soft and cold.
He laughed, savoring the heat beneath the mockery. “As if your warnings mean anything here.”
“Kaelith—”
“You will refer to me as yourprinceuntil I am yourking!” he roared, slamming his goblet down. Wine splattered across parchment, dripping down the desk.