Seraphine's POV
Nothing, I gasp, trying to pull my wrist free. I'm not hiding anything!
Daemon's burning grip tightens, and pain shoots up my arm. His red eyes bore into mine, searching for lies, and for a terrifying moment I think he'll burn through my skin to see what's underneath.
Then he releases me abruptly and leans back. Liar.
But there's something strange in his voice—not anger, but curiosity. Like he finds my defiance interesting rather than insulting.
Everyone sent to me is hiding something, he continues, watching my face carefully. The question is whether you're clever enough to keep your secrets, or stupid enough to think I won't find them.
I cradle my wrist, the skin red but not burned. Which would you prefer?
His eyebrows rise slightly. Brave words for a sacrifice.
I'm going to die anyway, aren't I? The words tumble out before I can stop them. So why pretend to be meek when it won't change anything?
Silence fills the carriage. Daemon studies me with an intensity that makes me want to look away, but I force myself to hold his gaze. If I'm going to die, at least I'll do it with some dignity.
Then, impossibly, he laughs.
It's not the cold, mocking sound from before. This laugh is genuine, surprised, almost rusty—like he's forgotten how to make the sound and is relearning.
Seven brides before you, he says, and not one of them ever spoke back to me. They cried, begged, screamed. But they never challenged. He tilts his head. Perhaps you'll last longer than I thought.
I don't know if that's good or bad.
The rest of the journey passes in tense silence, but it's different now. Before, it felt like sitting with a predator ready to strike. Now it feels like sitting with something far more dangerous—someone who's actually paying attention.
When the carriage finally stops and the door opens, heat blasts inside. I stumble out and freeze.
The Black Fortress rises before me like a mountain of shadow and fire. Volcanic stone walls tower overhead, reflecting the red glow of lava flows that circle the structure. It's massive and terrifying and beautiful in the way a storm is beautiful—deadly but impossible to look away from.
Impressive, isn't it? Daemon appears beside me. Without his armor in the darkness, I see him properly for the first time. He's younger than I expected—maybe thirty, not ancient like the stories suggest. Scars cross his jaw and neck, but they don't make him ugly. They make him look like a survivor. My ancestors built it over a volcanic vent. The heat powers everything—forges, heating, even the torture chambers.
I jerk my head toward him. Torture chambers?
His smile is sharp. I'm joking, little bride. We haven't used them in at least three years.
I can't tell if he's serious or not, and that terrifies me more than anything.
Guards in black armor flank the entrance. They bow as Daemon passes, but when I follow, one deliberately spits on the ground. I flinch.
Daemon stops walking. The temperature drops so fast I see my breath.
Captain, Daemon says softly. The guard who spit goes pale. Did you just disrespect my guest?
My lord, I
Answer the question.
The guard's jaw works. She's Northern scum, my lord. She doesn't deserve—
She's under my protection. Daemon's voice is deadly quiet. Which means disrespecting her is disrespecting me. Do you want to disrespect me, Captain?
The black veins on Daemon's skin pulse visibly. The air around him shimmers with heat.
No, my lord! The guard drops to his knees. Forgive me!
For a long moment, Daemon just stares at him. I hold my breath, certain I'm about to witness an execution.
Then Daemon turns away. Clean the latrines for a month. Maybe it'll teach you manners.
He walks inside without another word, leaving the guard trembling with relief.
I hurry after him, my mind reeling. He defended me. The Blood King who kills every woman sent to him just defended me from his own soldier.
Why?
Inside, servants in gray uniforms stop and stare. Whispers follow us through corridors lined with weapons and torches. An elderly woman approaches and bows low.
My lord. The chambers are prepared.
Good. Daemon doesn't slow his stride. Mara, this is Lady Seraphine. She's your responsibility now. Keep her alive and out of trouble.
The woman, Mara, looks at me with something like sympathy. I'll try, my lord.
Don't try. Succeed. He stops and turns to face me fully. In the torchlight, his red eyes are less terrifying and more... tired. Like something in him is exhausted beyond measure. Mara will show you to your rooms. Dinner is at sunset. Don't be late, and don't wander. This fortress has areas even I avoid after dark.
What's in those areas? I ask before I can stop myself.
Something flickers across his face—almost like respect. The parts of me I'm still trying to control. The curse doesn't always discriminate between enemies and... He pauses. Others.
He walks away before I can ask what he means.
Mara takes my arm gently. Come quickly, child.
She leads me through winding corridors, up stone staircases, past rooms where servants stop and stare. But instead of open hostility, I see pity in their eyes.
Seven peace brides before you, one whispers as we pass.
Poor girl doesn't know yet, another murmurs.
Mara walks faster. Finally, we reach a heavy door. She pushes it open and practically pulls me inside.
The room takes my breath away. A large bed with silk sheets. A real fireplace with a warm fire. Windows overlooking mountains that glow red with volcanic light. It's beautiful—far nicer than my servant's quarters ever were.
Listen carefully, Mara says urgently. Seven brides before you. All dead within a month.
My stomach drops. How?
Different ways. The curse... it makes the king unpredictable. When he loses control, people die. She grabs my shoulders. Stay in this room at night. Don't wander. Don't anger him. And don't trust anyone—not even me. Everyone here serves him first.
Then why are you helping me?
Her eyes fill with tears. Because I knew him before. Before the curse, before the war, when he was just Prince Daemon. He was kind once. Gentle. And somewhere under that monster is the boy I used to serve. She releases me. Maybe if you survive long enough, you'll see glimpses of who he was. Maybe that's worse than just seeing the monster.
She leaves before I can respond.
I stand alone in my beautiful cage, trying to process everything. Daemon defended me from his own guard. Mara says he was kind once. Nothing about this matches the stories.
My trunk arrives, carried by silent servants. I wait until they're gone, then kneel and search through my belongings until I find it—the poison vial, wrapped in cloth.
I hold it up to the firelight. The dark liquid swirls like living shadows.
Can I really poison him? The man who just defended me? The man who Mara says was kind once?
I think of Elise's threats. Of Mara and Thomas and Anna suffering because I failed.
My hands steady. I need to hide this somewhere safe.
I test stones in the fireplace until one wiggles loose. I tuck the vial inside and replace the stone. Now I just need to wait for the right moment. Gain his trust. Get close enough—
Shouting erupts in the corridor outside.
I freeze as footsteps thunder past my door. Guards running. Orders being barked. Then a sound that makes my blood run cold—a roar that doesn't sound human.
Silence falls like a blade.
I move toward my door, pressing my ear against the wood. I hear distant sounds—people moving urgently, something heavy being dragged, whispered prayers.
Someone knocks.
I jump back as Mara enters, her face pale as death.
What happened? I ask.
Get ready for dinner. Her voice shakes. The king expects you in one hour.
But those sounds, that roar
The curse. She won't meet my eyes. He lost control for a moment. A guard got too close, said the wrong thing. It happens sometimes. That's why you must be careful. Always.
She leaves me with those terrifying words.
An hour later, guards escort me through corridors that smell faintly of smoke and fear. They bring me to massive doors and push them open.
Inside is a great hall with a long table. Thirty people sit in tense silence. At the head, Daemon sprawls in a high-backed chair.
His eyes glow brighter than before. The black veins pulse visibly across his skin. But when he sees me, something in his expression softens, just for a second, so quick I almost miss it.
Ah, little bride. He gestures to the chair beside him. Come. Let's see if you can survive your first dinner.
I walk toward him on shaking legs and sit.
The moment I'm seated, he leans close. His breath is hot against my ear, but his voice is surprisingly quiet. I apologize for earlier. The guard who... he won't bother anyone again.
I turn to look at him, shocked. You're apologizing?
Don't get used to it. But there's something almost human in his eyes. You're my guest, little bride. That means something, even here. Even to me.
He pulls back and addresses the table. This is Lady Seraphine Ashford. She's under my protection. Anyone who harms her answers to me personally.
The threat hangs in the air like smoke.
A sharp-faced general across the table speaks up. My lord, surely you don't expect us to trust—
I expect you to obey. Daemon's voice cuts like steel. Or find employment elsewhere. Permanently.
The general's jaw tightens, but he bows his head.
Daemon turns back to me, and when he speaks, his voice is low enough that only I can hear. Now then, little bride. Let's discuss why the North really sent you. And this time— His burning hand settles over mine on the table. Try honesty. I find it so much more interesting than lies.
His touch burns, but not as badly as before. And underneath the heat, I feel something else—a tremor, like he's fighting to maintain control.
What if I don't know why they sent me? I whisper back. What if I'm just as confused as you are?
He studies my face for a long moment. Then, surprisingly, he smiles—a real smile, tired and sad and human.
Then I suppose we'll figure it out together, won't we?