Chapter 4

As the runes of the fire blazed around me, Seraphina approached with a narrow black case in her hands.

She opened it slowly.

A slender spike rested on a bed of crimson velvet. Its handle was carved from white bone, while its long silver point glowed with a light so pure that every vampire in the hall instinctively leaned away.

My blood turned cold. The Saint’s Thorn.

Forged from consecrated silver around a shard of sunstone, it had been created to execute vampires too powerful for an ordinary stake.

The smallest cut could set immortal blood aflame.

Driven through the heart, it would reduce a vampire to ash.

“The Blood Council brought this sacred relic from its vault especially for you,” Seraphina said.

She lifted the Thorn by its bone handle and drew the glowing point along my cheek.

It never broke my skin, yet heat scorched a path beneath it.

If Seraphina drove it into my heart, what would happen to Lucian?

Would the pain tear him from his blood sleep?

Or would he turn to ash before he ever opened his eyes?

Panic finally shattered what remained of my control.

“Let me go!” I threw myself against the restraints. “You’re going to kill him!”

The chains rattled violently. Consecrated silver tore deeper into my wrists until blood ran down my hands.

No one moved.

“You arrogant fools!” I screamed. “Every wound you give me is being inflicted on Lucian tenfold!”

Seraphina stepped back, watching my struggle with sorrowful eyes.

“High Elder,” she said, “the Saint’s Thorn is ready. We may begin the purification.”

Alaric nodded from the judgment dais.

“Proceed. Let His Highness finally know peace.”

Peace.

They were about to murder their prince and call it peace.

Seraphina turned the Thorn toward my chest.

“You may suffer,” she whispered. “Close your eyes. It will all be over soon.”

I stared at her until my eyes burned.

These vampires did not care whether I spoke the truth. They had decided what they wanted to believe long before dragging me into this hall.

A human could not matter to Lucian Voss. A sacrifice could not become a prince’s weakness.

And if the evidence threatened centuries of pureblood pride, then the evidence had to die.

The glowing point settled over my heart.

Fear lent me strength. I twisted against the execution post, trying desperately to move away, but the silver restraints held me in place.

My pulse hammered beneath the tip of the Thorn.

I had once believed Lucian was the greatest danger in Blackthorn Castle.

I remembered the first night I saw him upon his throne, beautiful and merciless, his crimson eyes fixed on the sacrifice kneeling at his feet.

Me.

I had hated him for keeping me here. I had feared every glance, every touch, every moment his fangs came too close to my skin.

But he had never bitten me.

Now, with death resting above my heart, I understood something far more terrifying than the weapon in Seraphina’s hands.

I did not want Lucian to die.

“Please,” I whispered.

Seraphina smiled, mistaking the plea for surrender.

But I was not speaking to her.

Wake up, Lucian.

Just this once, please hear me.

“Do not be afraid,” Seraphina murmured. “The Light will forgive you.”

Then she thrust the Saint’s Thorn forward.

It tore through my gown and sank an inch into my chest.

My scream ripped through the hall. The pain was beyond fire.

White light poured into the wound, spreading beneath my skin as if thousands of burning teeth were tearing into my heart.

Around the hall, the nobles watched in silence.

To them, I had never been a person. I was a disposable offering who had somehow survived past her purpose.

One inch.

The Thorn had entered only one inch, yet I already wanted the pain to end at any cost.

Lucian would be feeling ten times this agony.

Was he still alive?

Seraphina tightened both hands around the bone handle.

“Goodbye, Elara.”

She began to push the Thorn deeper.

The foundations of Blackthorn Castle shook.

Stone cracked beneath the galleries. The blood-red windows shattered inward, and every flame in the hall went black.

A monstrous force erupted from beneath the castle.

It rolled through the Hall of Judgment like a storm, ancient and furious enough to force every vampire to their knees.

Seraphina froze.

The towering iron doors exploded from their hinges.

Through the smoke and falling stone came a voice I knew better than my own heartbeat.

“Who gave you permission to touch her?”