He Chose His Lover and Lost Everything

"Caine?"

The young man in black jerked his head up. When he recognized me, his pale skin seemed to drain of what little color it had, and the food case in his hands nearly slipped from his grasp.

The young woman noticed nothing and smiled as she took the case from him. "Adrian actually sent you himself tonight?"

Caine's throat bobbed. His fingers, clenched around the short sword at his hip, were white at the knuckles. For a long moment, he couldn't manage a single coherent word.

I recognized that case. The blood jelly from the Twilight Parlor was made with licensed blood and night roses and served in silver-rimmed crystal bowls. It was cloyingly sweet. Adrian never touched sweet blood, but I loved it. A few days ago, I had casually mentioned wanting to try a new flavor, but he had replied flatly that the Night Council kept him too busy for such trivial indulgences.

So, when he had time, he simply saved his thoughtfulness for another woman.

"Ma'am, why do you keep staring at the case?" The young woman lifted the lid, and the sweet fragrance of roses and blood immediately filled the air. "If you'd like some, I can share it with you."

Caine lurched forward and blocked her with his body. With his head bowed, he said, "Lillian, this lady was just passing through. She'll be leaving soon."

This guard, who had hunted down traitors alongside Adrian and never flinched at hunters' silver crossbows, was now lying to my face to cover up his master's affair.

My stomach turned.

"No need." I turned toward the staircase. "I don't care for sweet blood."

When I walked out of the jewelry shop, the lingering glow behind the fog stung my eyes. My maid, Claire Bennett, hurried over with an open parasol and steadied my arm. "Ma'am, you look terrible. Are you all right?"

I shook my head. The black carriage rattled over the wet cobblestones, and the early autumn chill crept in through the gaps in the window. All I could think about was how I had spent three years trapped in the estate, learning to be a quiet, proper wife who would never embarrass the Magistrate. Meanwhile, my husband wore his mask of restraint and integrity and built another woman the most expensive love nest in the city.

After nightfall, Adrian came home. He wore the Night Council's dark crimson formal coat, with the silver chain on his shoulders marking his authority as Chief Magistrate. A servant took his coat; he washed his hands and sat down across from me by the fireplace.

"You went out at dusk?" He picked up his unsweetened blood wine, his tone flat.

"I took a walk on Duskbell Street."

Adrian was handsome and always stayed calm during public trials. Anyone who met him would praise him as the fairest magistrate in Greyharbor. He took a sip of blood wine and frowned. "Stay away from places like that. They're full of merchants. You are the Magistrate's wife. You shouldn't spend time with people like them."

For three years, he had controlled every part of my life with that same cold, superior tone. I couldn't laugh too loudly at banquets, look through merchant ledgers, or visit the underground theater to hear the night poets' latest work, because he said it would ruin his good name.

I lowered my gaze. Then I noticed a faint smear of dark rose sugar glaze on his cuff.

I laughed.

Adrian set down his glass. "What's so funny?"

I looked him straight in the eye. "The rose blood jelly from the Twilight Parlor. Did you enjoy it?"