The truce settled over the room, not with the relief of a ceasefire, but with the heavy, expectant silence that follows the pull of a trigger. Rhyian slowly lowered his hand, his expression unreadable. The raw emotion from our confrontation was gone, replaced by the familiar, carefully constructed mask of the Sovereign. It was a subtle shift, but it was a reminder that this truce was a fragile, conditional thing.
"Thank you," he said, the words formal and stiff. "The terms are simple. You and Rowan remain within the secure floors of the tower. You will want for nothing. In return, you will not attempt to leave, and you will allow me to neutralize the threat."
"And what about you?" I asked, crossing my arms. "What are your terms?"
"My terms?" He seemed taken aback by the question.
"Yes. You get to play the protector, to ease your guilty conscience. What do I get? Besides this luxurious prison cell." My voice was sharper than I intended, laced with the bitterness that still churned in my gut. I had agreed to a truce, not a surrender.
He considered my question for a long moment, his silver eyes studying me with an unnerving intensity.
"You get answers," he said finally. "Information. You want to know about the Ash-Scythe Coven? I will tell you. You want to understand the politics of my court, the vipers you've been thrown to? I will teach you. I will arm you with knowledge, Carys. That is a power no one can take from you."
I hadn't expected that. It was a shrewd, intelligent offer. It appealed directly to the hunter in me, the part that survived by knowing my enemy. It was also a way for him to control the flow of information, but it was better than being left in the dark.
"Fine," I agreed. "And one more thing. My son. You will not try to... influence him. You will not tell him who you are. Not yet. Not until I decide the time is right."
A muscle in his jaw tightened. This, I could tell, was a harder bargain for him to accept. His desire to claim his heir was a palpable force in the room.
"He is my son," he countered, his voice low.
"And he is my son," I shot back, unflinching. "For six years, he has only been mine. You don't get to swoop in and detonate his entire world overnight. He is a child, not a pawn in your dynastic games. He needs stability, not a revelation that his father is an ancient, blood-drinking creature of the night. Do we have a deal, or is the truce off?"
We were locked in a silent battle of wills. I could see the conflict in his eyes—the Sovereign's need to command versus the father's yearning to connect. For a long, tense moment, I thought he would refuse.
"Very well," he conceded, the words clipped. "For now, I will be... his bodyguard. As he suggested. But this is a temporary measure, Carys. The truth cannot be hidden forever."
"Then we'll deal with forever when it gets here," I retorted. "For now, we deal with tonight."
With the uneasy terms established, a new, awkward reality dawned. We were two former lovers, now adversaries bound by a common cause, standing in a room that felt too big and too small all at once. The exhaustion of the night began to settle deep into my bones.
"I'm tired," I said, the admission feeling like a weakness. "I need to sleep."
"Of course," he said, stepping back, granting me space. "As I said, the suite is yours. The system will provide anything you need. My own quarters are through there," he gestured to a large, unmarked door on the opposite side of the room. "I will be near if there is any trouble."
He started to turn away, but paused.
"Carys," he said, his back still to me. "The men who attacked you... the ghouls... their bodies have been disposed of. Your shop is being 'renovated.' A story about a gas leak has been disseminated. Your old life has been... erased."
A cold dread washed over me.
"Erased? My things... my work..."
"Anything of value, including your tools and the contents of your safe, have been retrieved. They will be brought here tomorrow," he assured me. "But the shop itself, the life you had there... it is gone. It had to be. It was the only way to sever the trail that led the coven to you."
It was a practical, logical move. A necessary sacrifice. But it felt like another amputation. He hadn't just taken me from my home; he had burned it to the ground behind me, leaving me with no path to return.
Without another word, he walked to the far door, which slid open at his approach and closed behind him, leaving me alone in the vast, silent suite.
Alone. The word felt foreign. For seven years, I had been solely responsible for every decision, every danger, every moment of my life and Rowan's. Now, that crushing weight was... shared. I didn't know if the feeling was relief or a new kind of terror.
I walked into the second bedroom, the one meant for me. It was as opulent as the rest of the suite, with a bed large enough for four people and a private bathroom that looked like it was carved from a single piece of marble. On the bed lay a set of folded clothes: simple, soft black sleep pants and a silk camisole. The building had listened to me, too.
I stripped off my torn, blood-spattered clothes and left them in a heap on the floor, a final testament to the life that had ended tonight. I stepped into the shower, the hot water a blessed relief on my aching muscles and the raw skin of my neck. As the water sluiced away the grime and the blood, I wished it could wash away the memories, too.
But it couldn't. It couldn't wash away the image of Rhyian's face when he spoke of the prophecy, the raw pain in his eyes that looked so horribly genuine. It couldn't erase the terrifying power I felt when he killed the ghoul, or the venom in Serafina's stare.
My mind was at war with itself. One part of me, the cold, pragmatic hunter, was screaming that this was all a lie, a sophisticated trap. He wanted to control me, to control Rowan, and this prophecy was the perfect tool.
But another part, a smaller, more treacherous part, whispered, what if it's true? What if every cruel word, every moment of his abandonment, was a twisted act of love? What did that mean? Could such a wound ever truly be healed?
I stepped out of the shower and pulled on the silk pajamas. They felt alien against my skin, too soft, too luxurious. I missed the worn-out comfort of my own clothes. I missed my own bed. I missed the ticking of a hundred clocks lulling me to sleep.
Here, the only sound was the faint, almost imperceptible hum of the tower itself. The sound of my cage.
I knew I wouldn't sleep. I walked back into the main room and stared out at the city lights. I was a prisoner, but Rhyian had made a mistake. He had promised me answers. He had promised me knowledge.
He thought he was arming a guest. He didn't realize he was arming his most dangerous inmate. The truce was on. And I would use it to learn every one of his secrets, find every one of his weaknesses, and secure my own freedom. Whatever the cost.