Sleep, when it finally came, was a shallow, restless thing, haunted by shadows and the phantom taste of metallic static. I woke with a jolt, my hand instinctively reaching for the stiletto that wasn't there, my heart hammering against my ribs. The room was dark, the silence absolute. For a terrifying second, I didn't know where I was.
Then I saw it—a thin sliver of pale, grey light bleeding from under the door. The first morning.
I slid out of the enormous bed, the silk sheets cool against my skin. My bare feet padded silently across the plush carpet to Rowan's room. I eased the door open and peered inside. He was still fast asleep, a small lump in the center of the vast mattress, his plush dragon tucked under his arm. He looked peaceful, safe. A bitter irony, given we were in the heart of the monster's den.
I closed his door and walked into the main living area. The floor-to-ceiling window was no longer a pane of blackness reflecting the suite's interior; it was a breathtaking canvas of the dawn. The relentless rain of Cinderfall had broken, and the rising sun was painting the undersides of the clouds in strokes of fiery orange and soft rose. The city below was still draped in shadow, a sleeping beast.
I felt exposed, standing there in the morning light. Vulnerable.
A soft chime, like a single note from a crystal glass, sounded from the wall. The same panel that had produced Rowan's dinner slid open, revealing a tray. On it sat a steaming silver pot, a single porcelain cup, and a small plate of exquisite-looking pastries. It was coffee. Black, just how I liked it.
He knew. Of course, he knew. The thought sent a chill down my spine. This wasn't just a building that listened; it was a building that remembered. Rhyian's memories were its operating system.
I poured a cup, the dark, bitter aroma a small comfort, a ghost of my old morning routine. I took a sip, leaning against the cold glass of the window, and watched the city wake up. My city. From up here, it looked like a map, a place of patterns and grids, not the chaotic, living entity I knew. I could almost trace the route I would have taken on my morning run, the path to the bakery where I bought Rowan's favorite scones, the street that led to my now non-existent shop. A wave of profound loss washed over me, so sharp it almost brought me to my knees.
The door to Rhyian's private quarters slid open with a soft hiss. I didn't turn. I felt his presence fill the room behind me, that familiar, oppressive weight.
He was silent for a long moment. I could feel his gaze on my back.
"I see the system remembered your preferences," he said finally. His voice was rested, calm. The turmoil of last night might as well have been a dream.
"It's efficient," I said, my voice flat, not looking away from the window. "I'll give you that."
"Efficiency is survival."
I heard the soft clink of porcelain as he presumably helped himself to coffee. He came to stand beside me, not too close, but near enough that the cold radiating from his body was a tangible presence. He was dressed not in a suit, but in simple dark trousers and a grey cashmere sweater. The casual clothing was somehow more disarming than his formal armor. It made him look younger, more like the man I once knew. I hated it.
"The sun doesn't bother you?" I asked, gesturing with my cup to the brightening sky. It was one of the first questions I'd ever wanted to ask him, back when I was a naive girl in love.
"An old myth," he said, taking a sip from his own cup. "Direct, prolonged exposure can be... debilitating. Uncomfortable. But the light through treated glass is of no consequence. It is one of the many falsehoods humans tell themselves about my kind. It makes you feel safer."
"We need to feel safe," I retorted, finally turning to look at him. "Because of things like you."
His jaw tightened, but he didn't rise to the bait.
"The threat against Rowan is not a myth. I was in contact with my sources overnight. The Ash-Scythe Coven is more organized than I initially believed. They have cells operating outside of Cinderfall. The attack on your shop was not their opening move. It was an act of desperation after their other attempts to locate you failed."
"Other attempts?" My blood ran cold. "What other attempts?"
"In the last six months, there have been three minor incidents on your block. A mugging that was interrupted by city patrol. A fire in an abandoned building two doors down. A 'stray' dog of unusual size and aggression that was put down by animal control. My people flagged them as potentially supernatural, but the connection was too tenuous. We didn't know they were probes. We didn't know they were looking for you."
I thought back. The mugging—I'd heard the sirens. The fire—I'd smelled the smoke. The dog... I remembered seeing it, a hulking, black beast with eyes that glowed faintly in the dusk. I had felt a prickle of unease and steered Rowan across the street. I had been in their sights for months, completely oblivious. My carefully constructed anonymity had been an illusion.
"So your protection failed long before last night," I stated, accusation clear in my tone.
"My information failed," he corrected, his voice hard. "An error that has been rectified. The point is, they are growing bolder. And they will not stop."
"So what's your plan?" I demanded. "We just hide up here forever while you play general?"
"For now, you stay here where you are safe," he said. "My Seneschal, Serafina, will be your primary point of contact for your needs. She will also begin your... education. Today."
I balked.
"Serafina? You want the woman who looked at me like she wanted to set me on fire to be my teacher?"
"Serafina, for all her abrasiveness, knows more about the political landscape of the supernatural world than anyone in this tower, myself included," Rhyian stated calmly. "Her loyalty to the court is absolute. She will obey my command to instruct you. And," he added, a glint in his eye, "it will be a useful exercise for you to learn to handle her. She is a prime example of the kind of courtier you will encounter."
He was throwing me to the wolves to see if I could fight. Another test.
Before I could argue further, the door to Rowan's room opened. He stood there, rubbing his eyes, his hair a wild mess. He was holding his dragon.
"Mom?" he said, his voice sleepy. "I'm hungry."
Rhyian's entire demeanor shifted. The cold Sovereign vanished, and his focus narrowed entirely on the small boy. He knelt, just as he had last night, making himself smaller, less threatening.
"Good morning, Rowan," he said, his voice soft. "What would you like for breakfast? The walls are listening."
Rowan stared at him, then at me. He remembered the deal. I was in charge. I gave him a small nod of encouragement.
"Pancakes?" Rowan asked, his voice barely a whisper, directing the question to the air.
"Chocolate chip pancakes coming right up," the smooth voice of the tower replied instantly.
A slow smile spread across Rowan's face. The fear was already being replaced by the novelty of his new reality. This was Rhyian's power: the ability to wrap you in a cage so comfortable, so magical, that you forgot you were trapped.
I watched the man I hated charm the son I loved with magic walls and endless pancakes. The truce was barely a few hours old, and I could already feel the ground shifting beneath my feet. I was losing.