LOGINSerah's POVThe morning light filtered through the narrow windows of the palace like it had decided to be gentle for once. I was still trying to wrap my head around the sudden shift when maids appeared at my cell door, faces bright and nervous. They unlocked it, their voices soft and respectful. “My lady, Lord Jethro has called for you, please allow us to prepare you.” They led me upstairs. I expected more questions or another round of accusations, but instead they took me straight to the bathing chamber.Warm water steamed in the large copper tub as they helped me undress, poured scented oils into the bath, and washed my hair with careful fingers. It seems I was dreaming when another group of maids brought my son, cleaned him gently, and dressed him in soft white linen embroidered with silver thread. They even bowed to me! I mean actual bows, heads lowered, and voices respectful."My lady," one whispered, "Lord Jethro wants to see you when you're ready."I sat there in fresh silk, my
Tristan's POVI stood frozen in the shadows just outside the palace gates, staring at the tall stone walls that had once been everything I knew. The wind carried faint sounds from inside with distant voices, the clink of armor, but my mind was somewhere else entirely. Centuries peeled away like old paint, and suddenly I was eleven again, small and scared, watching my mother on her knees in the grand hall.She scrubbed the marble floor with a rag that was already brown from dirt and blood. Her back was bent, hair falling loose from its knot, but she never complained. Another queen, tall, jeweled, and cruel, walked past and stopped to watch. "Do it well," she said, her voice dripping honey with venom. "Scrub it harder! We don't want streaks."My mother nodded without looking up, then the queen moved on. I stayed hidden behind a pillar, my heart hammering. When the rogues came, I followed them quietly, slipping through side passages I'd learned by heart. They dragged my mother to a priva
Serah’s POVThe dungeon door clanged shut behind me with a sound like finality. They hadn’t even bothered to chain me this time, just shoved me inside and left. I landed on my knees in the straw, dust puffing up around me. The place smelled of the usual damp stone, old blood, and faintly sour. I looked around at the familiar bars, the narrow slit of window high up that let in thin gray light, and a small, tired smile tugged at my lips.“Looks like home again,” I whispered to myself. The words tasted bitter, but they were true in a twisted way. This place had seen me at my lowest, chained, bleeding, and begging. Yet here I was again, breathing, and fighting. I pushed to my feet and brushed straw from my skirt, but the real truth is... I can’t stay here long. Not with my son upstairs in their hands, after what happened today, trusting Mirabel around my child will be my last thought.She’d lied so easily in front of the whole hall. How could I be sure she wasn’t hurting him right now? And
Tristan’s POVThe chamber glowed soft red from the low lanterns hanging on iron chains as I sat in my chamber with my legs stretched out, the heavy goblet of blood resting easily in my hand. The room was warm from the low fire, and the soft sounds of laughter and moans filled the air. Two of my people, a young couple, were tangled together on the cushions across from me.She had her head slid back a bit, eyes half-closed, while he kissed slow trails down her neck, leaving dark hickeys that bloomed like flowers under his lips. Their hands moved lazily over each other, clothes half-undone, bodies pressing closer with every breath. It was intimate, unhurried, the kind of display meant to remind everyone here that we lived free of the rules that choked the palace or other packs. I watched them and sip from my goblet now, then letting the scene wash over me like background music.The blood tasted rich tonight, warm, fresh, laced with just enough spice to take the edge off my thoughts. But
Serah's POVI knelt by the stone basin in the servants' yard, scrubbing my baby's tiny clothes with numb fingers. The water was cold, turning my hands red from the tiny clothes I scrubbed. My son's little shirts and soft wraps floated in the suds, so small they barely covered my palm. I worked the soap into the fabric with slow circles, trying to focus on the rhythm, but my mind kept drifting back to the border.Tristan's mouth on mine. The way he tasted, cool and wild, like night air after rain. The kiss had been slow at first, careful, then deeper, hungrier. I could still feel the gentle press of his lips, the soft scrape of his teeth, the way his hand cupped the back of my neck like I might disappear if he let go. Heat climbed up my cheeks just thinking about it. I smiled without meaning to, small and secret.I shook my head hard. "Stop it," I muttered to myself. "You can't have him. If you let this grow, everything they whisper will become truth. They’ll say you really are the adu
Lydia's POVI stormed down the corridor, cheeks still burning from the slap I'd given myself in my own mind a dozen times over. The baby's laugh echoed in my ears like a taunt, and my skin felt sticky with my own blood that he'd spat back at me. My fists were clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms. Then I saw Jethro leaning against the stone archway, arms folded, watching me with that quiet intensity he always wore when something was wrong.He stepped into my path, blocking the way. "Lydia, what happened?"I didn't answer with words. I grabbed the front of his shirt, yanked him close, and crushed my mouth to his. The kiss was messy, desperate, all teeth and tongue. He tasted like the wine I'd spilled earlier, and I needed every bit of it right now.He groaned low against my lips, hands sliding down my waist to grip my hips hard enough to bruise, and the hands slid down to grip my ass. We stumbled backward together, lips never breaking, until we crashed through the door of his pr







