THE SADISTS SMILE

 

Valkhara

The blood on the window had already started to dry.

It left streaks across the obsidian glass, a spiderweb of rust-red veining that caught the morning light and threw it back like a warning. The man who died in the pit had been cocky—built like a fortress, but soft where it counted. He screamed the way prey does: loud, panicked, and useless. His guts were still being scraped out of the sand when I stepped away from the glass.

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t feel a damn thing.

And then the air shifted.

You don’t always see power enter a room—but you feel it. It sinks under your skin before you can name it. Like smoke. Or poison.

He didn’t announce himself. No footsteps. No dramatic fanfare. Just silence, thick and full of something heavy. I felt it before I saw him. A low pulse in my spine. The bond flaring under my skin like it had been waiting.

When I turned, he was already watching me.

He leaned against the archway like he’d been carved into it one boot braced against the stone, arms crossed, his head tilted slightly like he was studying a particularly dangerous piece of art. Not admiring. Assessing. Choosing where he’d touch first if he could.

And fuck, he was beautiful.

Sharp jaw. Pale grey eyes like fractured stormlight. Lips that looked like they’d been made to smirk and sin in equal measure. He wore tailored black and silver, but the open collar and rolled sleeves made it look like armor he’d been born into, not dressed in. His energy? Effortless. But lethal.

He didn’t speak right away. Just looked me over like he was taking inventory of every bruise I hadn’t covered, every piece of skin still damp from the bath, every heartbeat I thought I had under control.

“You didn’t even blink,” he finally said, voice low and amused.

I didn’t respond. Not yet.

He pushed off the wall and took a slow step forward, hands sliding into his pockets like he had all the time in the world.

“Most of them flinch when they watch someone die for the first time,” he added. “Some cry. One of the girls threw up on her own boots. But you? You watched like you’d seen worse. Like you’d done worse.”

“I have,” I said.

That smile.

Gods, that smile.

He moved closer, slow and smooth, each step a deliberate test to see if I’d retreat. I didn’t.

The bond screamed under my skin, snapping taut between us like it wanted to tear through my ribs. I felt heat rise in my neck, across my chest, lower. My thighs clenched without permission.

Fuck.

Not now.

Not for him.

“Valkhara,” he said my name like it was his. “It fits.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

He smiled again, slower this time. “Sevrin. House Vaelthorn. First heir to the Eastern Court.”

“Should I kneel?”

“Only if you plan on biting me while you’re down there.”

I didn’t smile. I didn’t move. But the temperature in the room shifted again.

He stopped just in front of me, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body. Close enough that the bond crackled between us like lightning waiting for a storm.

“You feel it,” he said quietly. “I know you do.”

“I feel a lot of things,” I said. “Most of them uninvited.”

His smile faltered just a breath—then came back sharper.

“You’re resisting it,” he said, eyes flicking down to my mouth. “Interesting.”

I tilted my head, letting him look. Letting him think he had a chance.

“You think you’re the only one?”

That stopped him.

Just a flicker. Barely there. But I saw it.

Good.

Let him wonder.

Let him feel the sting of knowing this pull wasn’t exclusive. That whatever thread bound us together? It bound me to someone else too.

Maybe more than one.

He moved a little closer. I didn’t step back.

“I came to see if the rumors were true,” he said. “That the girl from the Burned Vale didn’t just survive… she slaughtered.”

“She did.”

“I thought they were exaggerating.”

“Are you disappointed?”

He let out a soft laugh, low in his throat.

“No,” he said. “I’m absolutely fucking thrilled.”

There was something behind his eyes then. Not hunger. Not lust.

Obsession.

Like the bond had hit him harder than it hit me and he was trying to pretend he still had control.

I leaned in slightly, letting my breath ghost over his jaw.

“You’re not the first to want me,” I whispered. “You won’t be the last.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“But I’ll be the only one who gets you,” he murmured.

I stepped back, dragging my gaze down his body, slow and deliberate.

“Keep telling yourself that,” I said, and turned on my heel.

His voice followed me, rich and dark.

“I’ll see you in the next Trial, Valkhara.”

I made it halfway down the corridor before I realized I was still shaking.

Not visibly. Not enough for anyone to see. But inside? My bones felt hollow. My blood buzzed like I’d just downed a bottle of lightning. The bond was still there—throbbing in my spine, pulsing behind my ribs like a second heartbeat I hadn’t agreed to.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

I’d imagined a bond might be warm. Gentle. A slow awakening.

This was violent.

It felt like being torn open from the inside and stitched back together with thread I didn’t choose. Like Sevrin had reached inside me and anchored himself there without permission.

I hated it.

And gods help me, I wanted more of it.

My thighs still ached from the heat he left behind. My mouth was dry. My heart beat too fast for someone who prided herself on calm.

This wasn’t love. This wasn’t romance.

This was war.

I made it back to my chambers without acknowledging a single soul. I locked the door. Pressed my back to it. Exhaled.

Sevrin’s voice echoed in my ears.

“You feel it. I know you do.”

He wasn’t wrong.

But he didn’t know who he was dealing with.

Let the bond burn. Let it crackle and claw and scream.

I’d outlast it.

Or I’d burn us both trying.

Later, after the heat had faded and the fire in the hearth burned low, I stood in front of the mirror.

The robe hung open around my frame, damp hair clinging to my shoulders. I looked... flushed. Not weak. Not shaken. But touched.

Marked.

Not with a brand. Not with fangs.

With him.

With that bond that had no business wrapping itself around my spine like a collar waiting to be claimed.

I stared at myself for a long time. At the way my pupils were still blown. At the heat that still lingered along my throat, between my thighs.

No one had touched me.

But Sevrin had come close.

Too close.

And I’d let him.

That was the worst part.

I dragged my fingers through my hair, jaw tight, trying to breathe him out of my lungs. Trying to find the edges of myself again.

He wouldn’t win.

Not because I wasn’t tempted.

But because I had too much to lose.

The Trials weren’t a game. The other heirs would try to kill me. Try to claim me. Try to use me.

Let them.

Let them all come.

I’d win. I’d survive. I’d rule.

And they?

They’d kneel.

One by one.

Even him.

Especially him.