The candles had burned down to stubs, but the darkness in the Royal Suite was kept at bay by a different kind of light.
It wasn't the warm glow of fire. It was the faint, rhythmic pulse of the silver snowflake mark on Vera's collarbone.
Vera lay awake, staring at the heavy velvet canopy above the bed. She was trapped. Not by chains, but by an arm that felt like a steel bar across her waist.
Emperor Kassian was asleep. Again.
And, just like the first time, he was using her as a human body pillow. His face was buried in the curve of her neck, his breath slow and even against her skin. His massive frame was curled around her, practically engulfing her smaller form.
It was... intimate. Terrifyingly so.
But what kept Vera awake wasn't fear. It was the sensation.
She could feel the magic flowing between them. It was a physical pull, like the tide responding to the moon. The "fire" in Kassian's blood was constantly trying to surge, to burn him from the inside out. But every time it spiked, the "ice" in Vera's veins rose to meet it, neutralizing the heat with a cool, soothing wave.
It was a symbiotic cycle. He was a furnace; she was a glacier. Together, they were pleasantly lukewarm.
I am a vessel, Vera thought bitterly. A living cooling draught for a tyrant.
She tried to shift her leg, which was starting to go numb under his weight.
"Don't move," a sleepy, gravelly voice murmured against her throat.
Vera froze. "I thought you were asleep."
"I am," Kassian mumbled, his arm tightening around her waist possessively. "But if you move, the cold stops. And if the cold stops, I wake up. And if I wake up..."
"You get cranky and burn down a city," Vera finished for him.
Kassian let out a low sound that might have been a chuckle. He didn't open his eyes. He just nuzzled closer, inhaling her scent. "You talk too much for a pillow. Go to sleep, little thief."
Vera glared at the top of his platinum head. Arrogant jerk.
But despite her anger, the exhaustion was pulling at her eyelids. The bed was softer than anything she had ever slept on. The silk sheets were cool. And—she hated to admit it—the heat radiating from Kassian was comforting. For someone who had been perpetually cold for years, being this warm felt like a luxury.
Just for tonight, Vera told herself as her eyes drifted shut. Tomorrow, I negotiate.
*
Morning arrived with the subtlety of a hammer to the face.
The heavy double doors of the suite were thrown open with a bang. Sunlight flooded the room, blinding Vera.
"Rise and shine!" a sharp voice barked.
Vera bolted upright, heart pounding. She reached for the dagger that wasn't there—the maids had taken it.
Beside her, Kassian didn't even flinch. He just groaned, pulling a pillow over his head to block out the sun. "Damon," he growled from under the silk. "If the palace is not on fire, get out."
Commander Damon stood at the foot of the bed, looking entirely too awake and too pleased with himself. He was holding a scroll of parchment that unrolled all the way to the floor.
"The palace is fine, Your Majesty," Damon said, his amber eyes scanning the bed with a clinical detachment. "But we have a schedule. And your... guest... has a contract to sign."
Kassian finally sat up. The sheet pooled around his waist, exposing an expanse of scarred, muscular chest that made Vera quickly look away. His hair was a chaotic mess of white strands, and his blue eyes were groggy.
"Wine," Kassian demanded, extending a hand.
A terrified servant rushed forward from the hallway, placed a silver cup in his hand, and vanished before the Emperor could even blink.
Kassian took a long sip, then gestured to Vera. "Deal with him. I need to wash."
He climbed out of bed, completely unbothered by his near-nudity, and strode toward the bathroom. The door clicked shut, leaving Vera alone with the Commander.
Damon didn't waste time. He tossed the heavy scroll onto the bed. It landed with a thud next to Vera's knee.
"The terms of your employment," Damon said.
Vera picked up the scroll. It was dense, filled with legal jargon and royal seals.
"Let me guess," Vera said, scanning the text. "Clause one: I am a prisoner. Clause two: If I leave, I die."
"Essentially," Damon nodded. "But we phrased it more politely. 'Royal Consultant for Magical Anomalies'."
Vera raised an eyebrow. "Consultant?"
"It sounds better than 'Human Ice Cube'," Damon said. "Read the compensation section."
Vera scrolled down. Her eyes widened.
The monthly pay listed was enough to buy the entire building she and Milo lived in. Twice. And there was a clause for Milo's education at the Royal Academy—a place reserved for the highest nobility.
"This is real?" Vera asked, her voice trembling slightly.
"The Emperor is generous to those he values," Damon said. "Milo is already settled in the East Wing safe house. He has a tutor, a warm bed, and three meals a day. He thinks you have been promoted to a high-ranking servant position."
Vera felt a lump in her throat. This was everything she had stolen for. Everything she had risked her life for. Safety. A future for Milo.
"And what do I have to do?" Vera asked, looking up. "Besides sleeping here?"
Damon's expression darkened. He tapped the hilt of his sword.
"You have to stay alive," he said seriously. "And that will be harder than you think."
"Why?"
"Because," Damon said, lowering his voice, "The Emperor has enemies. The Church believes his curse is a sign of divine punishment. The Grand Dukes want to replace him with a puppet. If they find out that his madness is cured... that his weakness is gone... they will panic."
He leaned in closer. "And if they find out that you are the source of his cure, you will become the most targeted person in the Empire. Every assassin, poisoner, and spy will be coming for your head."
Vera swallowed hard. "So I'm a target."
"You are the weakness," Damon corrected. "The Emperor is invincible. You are not. Protecting you is now a matter of national security."
The bathroom door opened. Kassian walked out, water dripping from his wet hair onto a fresh black shirt. He looked refreshed, sharp, and dangerous.
"Did she sign it?" Kassian asked, toweling his hair dry.
"Not yet," Damon said.
Kassian walked over to the bed. He leaned down, placing his hands on the mattress on either side of Vera, caging her in. The scent of soap and sandalwood filled her senses.
"Sign it, Vera," he whispered, his blue eyes locking onto hers.
"Or what?" Vera challenged, though her heart was racing. "You'll burn me?"
"No," Kassian smirked. "Or I'll have to find another way to keep you here. And I can be very... creative."
He reached out, tucking a stray curl of copper hair behind her ear. His touch was warm, possessive.
"I need you," he said simply. "And I always get what I need."
Vera looked at him. She looked at the contract. She thought of Milo eating a warm breakfast.
She grabbed the quill from the bedside table and, out of pure habit, scribbled her fake name at the bottom: Lia.
She put the quill down, a flicker of satisfaction in her chest. Technically, a contract signed with a fake name was void in the eyes of the law.
Damon didn't say a word. He simply reached out, picked up the parchment, and read the signature.
A dry, humorless smile touched his lips.
Rip.
He tore the contract in half, slowly and deliberately, his amber eyes locked on hers.
"Cute," Damon said, dropping the torn pieces onto the bed. He pulled a fresh copy from his coat and slammed it onto the table in front of her. "Now sign it again. With the name on your birth record. Or I send the guards to the East Wing right now."
Vera grit her teeth. Her little trick had failed.
She snatched the quill again. This time, she pressed down so hard the nib nearly snapped, carving her real name into the paper like a curse.
Vera.
"Done," Vera said, dropping the quill. "Now, where is my breakfast? I'm starving."
Kassian laughed. It was a genuine sound, one that made Damon look at him in shock.
"Feed her, Damon," Kassian ordered, walking toward the balcony doors. "Feed her whatever she wants. And get her a dress that covers that mark. We have a visitor."
Vera froze. "A visitor?"
Damon snatched the contract, rolling it up. "Grand Duke Lysander is arriving in an hour. He claims he is here to 'check on the Emperor's health', but he is really here to see if Kassian has finally snapped so he can call for a vote of no confidence."
"Lysander?" Vera whispered. She knew that name. Every thief knew that name. Lysander ran the underworld of the capital while pretending to be a saint. He was the one who had put the bounty on the ruby chalice she was trying to steal.
"He will be expecting a madman," Kassian said, staring out at the city. He turned back, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Imagine his surprise when he finds me awake, sane, and very, very angry."
He looked at Vera.
"You will be there too," Kassian added.
Vera shook her head vigorously. "No. Absolutely not."
"You are my 'Personal Maid' now," Kassian said, dismissing her fear. "You will pour my wine. You will stand by my chair. And you will stay within arm's reach."
He walked back to her, grabbing her chin and tilting her face up.
"The madness has passed, Vera. I won't slaughter him over a misplaced word today. But the fire..." He took a shallow breath, his thumb grazing her jaw. "The fire never truly sleeps. It just hums. And I have no intention of enduring even a dull ache while listening to Lysander's lies."
"So I'm just a painkiller?" Vera asked dryly.
"You are a luxury," Kassian corrected. "If I tap the table, you touch me. A hand on my shoulder. A brush of your arm. Just enough to silence the burn."
"In front of the Grand Duke?" Vera hissed. "That's suicide. Protocol dictates that no servant can touch the Imperial person. If he sees the Emperor letting a maid touch him..."
"Let him see," Kassian said, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "Let him wonder why I am so unnaturally calm. Let him fear the silence."
He leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead, a mock blessing that felt more like a brand.
"Welcome to the game, little thief. Try not to get eaten."