97

EZRA

When I wake, it’s not to chains or cold stone.

It’s silk.

Warm, soft, suffocating silk.

The ceiling above me is polished obsidian, etched with the old markings of my house, the ones they never removed, no matter how far I fell. A chandelier dangles in the corner, the scent of nightshade oils and fresh linen clinging to the air.

I blink once.

Twice.

No dungeon. No court. No Malik’s snoring to the left. No guards standing with virex-laced spears at the door.

Just my room.

The one I locked after leaving for the human world, the one they locked after my disgrace and the one I thought I'd never see again.

I try to move, and a dull ache grips my limbs and my chest. Residual virex still burns in my veins and then, everything comes rushing in.

Thea.

The trial.

The screams.

The trade.

Her memories.

My jaw tightens so hard it clicks.

They took her from me. 

She gave them everything.

And I let her.

Rage rises, thick and black in my chest.

I’m going to tear this place apart even if it kills me.

I throw the covers off and force myself upright just as the door creaks open.

She walks in like she owns the sky.

Isla.

She’s carrying a tray with a single silver goblet. The scent hits before she’s halfway across the room—blood. Warm. Fresh. Laced with a drop of something richer she always did like theatrics.

“Wow,” she croons, her voice soft and sugary. “You’re awake.”

I don’t answer.

I just glare.

She sets the tray down on the table by my bed and straightens her dress, running her fingers through her hair like she’s preparing for a date, not a war.

“You’ve been out for three days,” she says, casually. “The Shadow Guard really outdid himself this time. I thought your skull cracked from the sound of it.”

“Too bad it didn’t,” I rasp.

She clicks her tongue. “You’re welcome, by the way. I’ve been the one tending to you.”

I narrow my eyes. “Tending, or watching?”

She smiles and doesn’t deny either. “Bit of both.”

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, wincing as the sting settles in. “Why am I here?”

“Because you needed healing.”

“I meant—why here. Why not the dungeons?”

She shrugs. “You’re no longer a prisoner for now.”

I scoff. “Right. So you put me in a gilded cage instead.”

She walks over, slow and elegant, and picks up the goblet before holding it out to me.

I don’t take it.

“You’ll need strength,” she says, tilting her head. “If you plan to storm the gates and kill everyone, as I imagine you’re already fantasizing.”

I still don’t take it. “Tell them I’m going back to the surface.”

Her brow lifts, bemused. “Going back?”

“I’m going to find her.”

Her smile fades a fraction. Just a sliver. But I see it.

“You can’t.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

She laughs. Low and soft, but not unkind. “Oh, Ezra. Still so dramatic. Do you think they’ll let you walk out of here just because you bat your pretty red eyes?”

“I don’t care if they let me. I’m going.”

Now she sighs. Then, she takes a slow sip from the goblet herself before placing it back down.

“Then you’ll die.”

“Then I’ll die.”

“You’re such a romantic.” She walks past me, trailing her fingers over my shoulder. “But you’re forgetting something.”

I don’t ask. I wait.

She turns, leaning her hip against the wood, arms crossed loosely.

“You’re not done being punished.”

That makes me pause.

“…What?”

She raises a brow, smile returning. “Did you really think a mortal’s memories were equivalent exchange for Eternal Slumber? That love as tragic and poetic as yours may be was enough to balance your crime?”

“She made the deal,” I grit out.

“And now you must fulfill the next half.”

I stare at her and my stomach turns.

“There’s more?”

“Oh yes.”

She pushes off the desk, graceful as ever, like she's not gutting me with every word.

“You broke the law, Ezra. One of the oldest ones. The blood pact for the mate bond is sacred. Her sacrifice stalled your slumber. It didn’t erase your debt. Moreover…” Her eyes flash, smug.

“We only accepted it to get rid of the little thing so I’ll be what’s left.”

I laugh.

A broken, bitter sound that tastes like iron in the back of my throat.

I should’ve guessed. Of course it wasn’t mercy. It was strategy. Politics.

“What now?” I rasp. “Do they want my heart in a box? My wings clipped?”

She smiles, and it’s all teeth.

“No, darling. That’s too… poetic.”

She steps closer, and I force myself not to move. She always circles like a predator when she thinks she’s won.

“And like I said,” she purrs, voice low, silk-wrapped threat, “it’s time for the next punishment. Even though I hate the word ‘punishment’ for us. Sounds so cruel when it's actually heaven.”

She leans up, face inches from mine, her breath warm.

“But guess what?”

I say nothing. Because nothing I say will matter.

“I’m getting you. One way or another. Because you are mine. Always were. Always will be.”

My hands curl into fists at my sides.

She leans back again, and then claps once, sharply. Too cheerful. Too final.

“Well then!” she says, sweetly. “Now that you’re awake, I’ll inform Lord Naskai. You’ll be ready for your second trial in two hours.”

Trial.

Like this is all some divine test, and not a damnation written in her handwriting.

She spins toward the door but pauses in the frame, glancing back over her shoulder.

“Looking forward to being us, husband.”

Her smile deepens.

“There’s really no way out of this. Be wise.”

And then she’s gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

Silence swallows the room, thick and unbearable.

I stare at the goblet she left behind.

Blood.

Fresh.

Still warm.

I reach for it with shaking fingers before stopping halfway.

Because I don’t know if I’m drinking it to survive…

Or to kill.