DAMIEN'S POV
"She has spirit, I'll give you that," Seraphina said, her voice dripping with a casual cruelty that made my fangs ache. She walked back to the table, her silver silk gown whispering against the marble floor like a snake in the grass. "But spirit doesn't mend a broken heart, Damien. And it certainly doesn't appease the Council."
"Get your hands off me, Seraphina," I growled, finally turning to face her.
The shadows in the room responded to my mood, coiling around my boots like restless hounds. I had spent a millennium in a frozen slumber, dreaming of the day I would reclaim my throne. But now that I was awake, the throne felt like a cage, and the woman in front of me was the jailer.
Seraphina didn't flinch. She smiled, revealing teeth that were too white, too perfect. "You've changed. You used to crave power more than blood. Now, you're playing house with a mortal girl whose soul is already half-evaporated. Do you even realize what you're doing to yourself? You're pouring your essence into a leaking vessel."
"What I do with my essence is my business," I snapped, walking toward the balcony to avoid her gaze. The sight of the moon, blood-red and low in the sky, reminded me that time was slipping away. "Blair is Target Thirty. She is a catalyst. Nothing more."
"Liars should have better control over their eyes, Damien," Seraphina's voice was right behind me now. I could feel the cold chill of her presence. "You look at her like she's the sun, and you're a man who has spent too long in the dark. But the sun burns, my Prince. Especially someone as fragile as her."
She leaned against the stone railing, her silver eyes reflecting the moonlight. "The Council knows about your little 'Sovereign Bride' stunt. They've sent me here not just to negotiate, but to offer you a way out. One final chance to regain your full power without the need for a thousand deaths."
I narrowed my eyes. "And the catch?"
"The Ancestral Rite," she whispered. "You know the legend. A union between two High Clan vampires—a true blood-bond—can ignite the dormant magic within your core. It would break the Ash Curse instantly. You wouldn't need Blair. You wouldn't need any more sacrifices. You would be the King of the North again, stronger than ever."
I felt a jolt of recognition. The Ancestral Rite was real, but it required a total merging of souls. If I did it with Seraphina, she would have a permanent anchor in my mind. I would be King, but she would be the power behind the throne.
"And Blair?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Seraphina chuckled, a cold, hollow sound. "She's a human, Damien. Once the Rite is complete and your magic is restored, her purpose is served. We can let her go... or you can let nature take its course. Without your constant supply of essence, her heart will stop within the hour. It's a clean break. A gorgeous way to die, as she put it."
My hand gripped the balcony railing until the stone began to crumble into dust. The logic was sound. It was the choice of a King. To save my people, to reclaim my throne, and to end the cycle of death, I only had to let one girl go. One girl who was already dying.
It's just a trade, the beast inside me whispered. A crown for a corpse.
But then, the image of Blair's violet-tinged blood flashed in my mind. The way she looked at me with that reckless, beautiful defiance. The way she called me 'King' as if she were the only one who truly believed it.
"I won't do it," I said, my voice like grinding stone.
Seraphina's expression shifted. The mask of elegance slipped, revealing a glimpse of the ancient, bitter creature beneath. "You would choose a dying human over your own kind? Over your own immortality?"
"I choose what is mine," I hissed, turning to her with my eyes blazing crimson. "And Blair is mine."
"Then you've signed her death warrant," Seraphina said, her voice turning deadly quiet. "The Council won't wait for the Ash Curse to take you. If you won't take the Rite, they will send the Shadow Assassins. They won't target you, Damien. They know they can't kill you. They will target the one thing that makes you weak."
My heart—the one I thought was dead—coldly stuttered.
Suddenly, a piercing scream erupted from the West Wing. It was a sound I would recognize anywhere. A sound that tore through my soul like a jagged blade.
"Blair!" I roared, vanishing into a swirl of shadows.
I reappeared in her chamber in less than a second, but I was already too late.
The room was a disaster. The furniture was overturned, the black silk curtains torn to shreds. On the floor lay a silver crow mask—the mark of the Council's Enforcers.
But Blair was gone.
In her place, nailed to the headboard of the bed with a silver dagger, was a piece of parchment soaked in that strange, violet blood.
"The Tithe must be paid, King. If you won't give us her soul, we will take her life. Meet us at the Altar of Ash by dawn, or watch your Queen become the very dust you fear."
I fell to my knees, my hand trembling as I touched the violet stain on the sheets. The smell of jasmine was still in the air—Seraphina's scent.
I didn't just feel rage. I felt a void opening up inside me, a hunger more devastating than any curse. They had taken her. They had taken the only light I had found in a thousand years.
"Damien?" Seraphina's voice came from the doorway, sounding suspiciously calm.
I didn't look at her. I stood up, the shadows in the room expanding until they consumed every light, every candle, every glimmer of hope. The walls began to crack, the floor vibrating with a power that was no longer being held back by a fragile human heart.
"Seraphina," I whispered, and the windows shattered outward from the sheer force of my voice. "If she has so much as a scratch on her, I won't just kill the Council. I will tear down the sun itself."