Riven's POV
The door slams behind me, and I'm alone.
My hands won't stop shaking. I press them against the stone wall—cold, solid, real—because nothing else makes sense anymore. Six hours ago, I was waiting to die. Now I'm married to the most dangerous man in the kingdom.
I married him.
The words taste wrong in my mouth. Marriage was supposed to be... something else. Not this. Not a warlord buying me like livestock because I'm "valuable."
I pace the tower room, counting steps because it's the only thing that calms me. One, two, three, four. The room is bigger than the servant quarters where twenty of us slept. There's an actual bed with blankets that look clean. A window with glass. A basin with water that isn't brown.
It's the nicest prison I've ever been in.
Magic flickers at my fingertips—angry, confused, as mixed up as I am. I shove it down hard. Even here, even now, hiding is safer. Always safer.
Except Kieran already knows. He saw what I did at the manor. He knows I'm dangerous, and he married me anyway.
Why?
The question chases itself in circles through my head. He said I was valuable. He said the King wanted me dead. He said—
A knock makes me jump so hard I nearly trip.
"I'm coming in," a man's voice calls. "Don't blast me, please."
The door opens before I can answer. A man walks in carrying a bundle of clothing. He's broad-shouldered, with scars on his face and kind eyes that don't match the rest of him.
"You look like a cornered animal," he observes.
"Should I not?" My voice comes out sharper than I mean. "I just got sold to a man who kills people for breakfast."
"Kieran doesn't kill people for breakfast." The man sets down the clothes. "He kills them before breakfast. More efficient."
I stare at him. "That's not funny."
"Wasn't trying to be funny. I'm Thorne Blackwood, Kieran's second-in-command." He gestures at the bundle. "Those should fit better than servant rags."
I don't move toward the clothes. "Why are you here?"
"Because someone needs to explain how things work, and Kieran has the emotional warmth of a frozen rock." Thorne leans against the wall. "So let me be clear: you're stuck here. Running would be stupid. The mountains would kill you in three hours, and that's if the wolves don't get you first."
Fear crawls up my spine. "So I'm a prisoner."
"You're his wife. There's a difference." Thorne's expression softens slightly. "Look, I know this isn't what you wanted. But you need to understand something—Kieran doesn't do anything without a reason. If he chose you, it means you matter. Politically, strategically, somehow."
"I'm a tool," I say bitterly. "Just like I've always been."
"Maybe. Or maybe you're more than that, and you just haven't figured it out yet." He moves toward the door, then pauses. "One more thing—magic isn't forbidden in the North. We don't care about bloodlines here. Only strength."
The words hit me like cold water. "What?"
"You heard me. Whatever power you've been hiding? You don't have to anymore. Not here."
He leaves before I can respond, and I'm alone again with words that don't make sense.
Magic isn't forbidden.
I look at my hands. Slowly, carefully, I let a tiny bit of power free. Shadows dance between my fingers—beautiful, terrifying, mine. No one is watching. No one is going to hurt me for this.
For the first time in eighteen years, I don't have to hide.
The thought is so huge I can't hold it all at once. It spills over into something that might be hope or might be more terror—I can't tell the difference anymore.
I'm still staring at the shadows when I hear it.
Footsteps in the hallway. Heavy, measured. Getting closer.
My magic snaps back inside me like a frightened animal. The door opens again, and Kieran walks in.
He doesn't knock. Of course he doesn't. This is his fortress, his territory, his—
His wife.
The word sticks in my throat.
"We need to talk," he says.
"About what? The marriage you forced on me?"
"About the fact that King Aldric just sent three assassins to kill you." His voice is flat, matter-of-fact. "They're dead now. But there will be more."
My blood turns to ice. "What?"
"You really don't know, do you?" Kieran moves closer, studying my face like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve. "You have no idea what you are."
"I'm a servant with forbidden magic—"
"You're the last living heir of House Valdris." He says it quietly, but the words explode through me like thunder. "The royal bloodline everyone thinks is extinct. That's why the King wants you dead. That's why I married you."
The room tilts sideways. I grab the wall to stay upright.
"That's impossible. My mother was a servant—"
"Your mother," Kieran interrupts, "was a princess in hiding. And if the kingdom finds out you survived, every noble house will either try to kill you or use you to start a civil war."
No. No, this can't be real.
"Why should I believe you?"
"Because—" He stops. Tilts his head. His hand drops to the sword at his hip. "Someone's in the castle who shouldn't be."
"What? Who—"
The window explodes inward in a spray of glass and magic.
I scream as a figure lands in the room—wrapped in shadows, face hidden, power radiating off them like heat. Kieran's sword is out instantly, but the intruder isn't looking at him.
They're looking at me.
"Hello, daughter," the figure says, and pulls back their hood.
I see a woman's face. Older, scarred, but with eyes exactly like mine.
"It's time we talked about your father," she says. "And why he's been hunting you since the day you were born."