Blood burst across the banquet table, a hot, scarlet arc splashing over the silver platters. The masked guests stayed still, while a few leaned in, as if tasting the moment like a drop of dark wine. Isabella stumbled backward, the dagger sliding from her grasp and striking the cold stone with a sharp, metallic ring. The bound man sagged in his ropes, lifeless, while his last word thudded through her mind like a struck bell. Run—feet pounding hard against the pavement. The woman in the raven mask flicked her hand, and two dark figures hauled the body off as casually as wiping spilled wine from a white cloth. Isabella's breath came faster, her gaze flicking to Lucien, yet his eyes stayed on her, not the cold, still body. His crimson eyes locked on her, sharp and unblinking, as if he were weighing not her fear but the way she met his stare."Congratulations," he said softly. "The oath is sealed."
She swallowed hard. "What did he mean?"
Lucien's head tilted slightly. "What did who mean?"
"The man. He leaned in and murmured, "Congratulations," his voice barely louder than a breath."The oath is sealed." She swallowed, the taste of iron lingering on her tongue."Dying men say many things. "What did he mean?" Lucien tilted his head just a fraction, as if trying to catch a faint sound."What did you mean?"
"The man—the one in the faded blue coat."Just before he died, he let out a slow, shaky breath. His mouth twitched at the corners, as if fighting a smile that never came. Men on the edge of death often speak, their voices thin and urgent. Most of them were pure nonsense—a jumble of half-formed thoughts. Still, she wanted to believe him. There was nothing accidental in the way he'd watched her, no hint of nonsense in the low, deliberate weight of his voice."What aren't you telling me?"
He didn't answer right away. It felt deliberate, urgent—like someone snapping their fingers for you to move."Drink. The banquet carried on around them as voices swelled, glasses chimed, and low conversations wove together with the faint, dry crackle of black fire torches."What is it?"
His eyes locked on hers. "Part of the oath."
Against her better judgment, she took a sip. But Isabella's mind kept drifting, the words around her blurring like rain on glass. Her skin seemed to shrink around her bones, her pulse thudded in her ears, and the twisted black crown etched into her palm beat in time with her heart. She stepped in, the faint scent of jasmine drifting toward Lucien as she drew closer."What aren't you telling me?" I asked, but he only stared at the table, fingers drumming once before falling still."Do you hear it?"
She nodded, unsettled. "What is it?"
"The voices of the oath. Instead, he picked up a goblet of thick, dark wine—nearly black in the firelight—and passed it to her."Take a sip."She hesitated, but the thought of it holding her steady—like a firm hand on her shoulder—kept her still."What is it?" he asked, his gaze holding hers like a steady hand."Part of the oath." She ignored the warning in her gut and let the bitter liquid touch her tongue."Come. The flavor was rich and weighty, with an unexpected sweetness, and as it slipped down her throat, a sudden warmth flared in her chest like a small ember catching fire. Her vision snapped into focus, and the flames along the walls burned brighter while the shadows pooled darker in the corners. She caught the whispers now—soft, curling threads of sound drifting from the masked guests, even though not a single mouth stirred."Where are we going now?" she asked.
Lucien's fingers grazed her wrist, light as the whisper of silk."To show you the cost of betrayal."
The path twisted through the forest, the black torches flickering on either side. "Do you hear it?"
She gave a quick nod, her eyes fixed on the shadowy corner."What is it?"
"It's the voices—sworn like an oath, low and steady in the dark.""What are they?" she whispered.
"Oathbreakers," Lucien said simply. "Their bodies died, but their souls are mine until the debt is repaid."
She stepped closer despite herself, and one of the shadows lunged. Everyone tied to me leaves behind an echo, faint as a footstep fading down an empty hall. You'll get used to it, they murmured, though something strange threaded through the whispers like a chill under the door. Under the low, aimless murmurs, one phrase broke through—sharp as a bell in the quiet. Go track down the First Oath, the one whispered like a secret in the cold dawn air. Her gaze darted to Lucien, yet he was already pushing back his chair with a sharp scrape."Come on.""The night's not over." She trailed after him into the courtyard, where the cold bit at her cheeks like icy fingers.