Caspian's breath came in, ragged.
He stood in the centre of his chamber, the taste of blood still clinging to his lips. Metallic, sharp, utterly unsatisfying.
He had fed twice.
Once from a courtesan with trembling hands and ivory skin. She had moaned beneath his bite, her eyes fluttering closed, drunk on the pleasure that pain gifted in small doses. He hadn't spoken a word to her. No names. No commands. Just hunger, swift and cold, like winter wind through broken glass.
And then from her.
Selene Vael.
That had been... different.
She arrived without invitation, as she always did, slipping through the corridors of the castle like strong perfume. Unavoidable and suffocating. Draped in thin velvet the colour of ink, her hair braided with silver thorns, she was every inch the predator cloaked as prey.
She hadn't asked questions. She simply tilted her neck, baring pale skin and a smile that knew too much.
He bit her harder than he intended.
His fangs sank deep. Deeper than necessary. He drank until she swayed. She had gasped and clung to him whispering his name like both a promise and a prayer. But he'd shoved her away the moment the thirst receded.
"Get out," he had growled.
Her lips had bled where his fangs grazed her too harshly, but she only smirked. "Still chasing ghosts?" she purred. "Or has the little human already ruined you?"
Her words had been too sharp. Too accurate.
He hadn't answered. He couldn't.
Maybe because she was right.
Her eyes glittered with cruel understanding. She liked it. The pain. The push and pull. The illusion that she still had some hold over him.
But she was wrong.
Even now, it wasn't her taste he remembered.
It was Lyra.
Her kiss. Her warmth. The tremble of her breath when he touched her. The way her blood pulsed beneath her skin, untouched, yet devastating all the same.
He leaned against the marble window frame, his hands shaking as he gripped the edge. Outside, dawn slowly crept over the mountains, painting the sky in a bruised blend of silver and violet. But the storm inside him raged louder and wilder.
His chest still beat.
Loud, erratic and alive.
That shouldn't have been possible. Not for him. Not for what he was.
Not with the curse.
It pounded like war drums in his ribcage. And beneath the echo of his heartbeat, something older stirred.
A voice. A presence. A darkness.
> "She is the spark. Take her. Consume her. Break her. Or she will break you."
He knew. It was Vaelith. But why now?
The ancient voice curled through his mind like smoke. It had always been there, murmuring, waiting. But since the kiss, since the heartbeat, it had grown bolder.
Hungrier.
Caspian roared and slammed his fist against the stone wall. Again. Again and again. Blood smeared the surface like spilt ink. But it didn't silence the voice.
He didn't want to feed.
He didn't want to feel.
He didn't want to want her.
But gods… he did.
And it was destroying him from the inside out.
-----
Lyra's Chamber...
I didn't sleep.
Not truly.
My eyes closed, but I didn't drift. I hovered in that space between waking and dreaming, trapped in the memory of him, his mouth on mine, his hands tangled in my hair. His expression twisted in confusion and fear. The way he'd looked at me like I was both salvation and something he could never deserve.
And then the way he had left.
Vanished. Like the moment between us had been a hallucination. A mistake.
I sat curled at the edge of my bed, hugging my knees tighter, as morning light seeped in through the high windows, pale and cold. My wedding gown still hung untouched across the room, like a discarded promise.
The castle was unnaturally quiet.
No word. No explanation.
Not even a message from Caspian.
Just silence.
I brushed my fingers across my lips again, remembering the kiss. The hunger in it. The pain.
And the way his hands had clutched me, like he was at war between holding me or tearing me apart.
It felt real. No, it was real.
And now, it felt like nothing at all.
I was drowning in questions I couldn't voice.
Did I scare him? Did he hate that he kissed me?
Had I done something wrong?
Had I triggered something in him?
A soft knock came at the door.
I stiffened. For one wild heartbeat, I thought... Him? For a foolish second, hope bloomed. But then the door opened gently, and it was Alina.
She stepped in, already dressed in a black court dress, her long braid coiled tight into a bun. Her expression was unreadable as her eyes took in the room... me, the undone and weary me, the shadows under my eyes, the silence thick as grief.
"It's time," she said, her voice calm.
"For what?" My throat was dry.
"The first morning breakfast," she replied. "With the king. The princes. The council elders. And the rest of the court. It's tradition."
I blinked, as if the words were in another language.
"You're a Drayveil now," she continued. "That means you sit at their table. Even if half of them want your blood."
My stomach twisted.
"I thought..." I faltered. "After last night..."
"You're a bride," Alina said, stepping closer. "Not a ghost. You will eat. You will smile. And you will endure."
She paused, her voice softened slightly as she took in my pale face and dishevelled gown.
"Get up," she said. "You'll want to look like you weren't crying all night."
I hadn't cried.
I couldn't.
The ache in my chest had numbed everything else.
Alina moved toward the wardrobe and pulled out a gown with blue so deep it was nearly black, embroidered with subtle silver thread. It shimmered faintly under the morning light, elegant but restrained.
"It's tradition. Everyone will be watching. They'll expect to see weakness." She paused. "Don't let them."
I rose slowly and let her begin to undo the buttons of my nightgown.
"Where is he?" I asked quietly.
Alina didn't answer for a long moment.
"He's... not himself," she said finally.
My heart raced. "Did he...?"
"He fed," she interrupted. "But it didn't help."
I turned to face her. "Fed from who?"
She met my eyes evenly. "Does it matter?"
I looked down biting the inside of my cheek
It shouldn't have. But it did.
I finally looked away, letting her dress me. Her hands moved quickly, lacing the corset, smoothing the sleeves, adjusting the collar until I looked less like a broken bride and more like a crown princess.
"Do you think he regrets it?" I whispered. "The kiss?"
Alina paused behind me. Her voice was low. "I think he regrets everything," she said. "And that's what makes him dangerous."
I swallowed hard.
I turned slowly towards the mirror and what I saw wasn't the same frightened bride from yesterday.
My hair was brushed and braided, my dress perfect, my expression empty.
But behind my eyes... fire stirred.
Because I would not be broken.
Not by this curse.
Not by this palace.
Not by him.