Their Spare Daughter, His Second Choice

Tonight was supposed to be my binding night.

Before all of House Ashenveil, Kane Blackthorn would offer me his blood and drink mine in return. The ritual would seal our bond and name me his future consort. We'd trained together since childhood. Everyone said we were perfect for each other. A future lord and his lady. Balanced. Predictable. Safe.

I smoothed the front of my cloak for the hundredth time and looked toward the entrance again.

Still nothing.

Not my parents. Not my brother, Dax.

Not even Kane.

Just me, standing alone in the silence.

I pulled out my phone and checked it for the fifth time. No new messages. My thumb hovered over Kane's name before I called again.

Two rings. Voicemail.

I stared at the screen, torn between laughing and smashing it against the chapel wall.

Then a notification from the House's official feed lit up my screen.

WELCOME HOME, IRIS DARKTHORN

The video started automatically.

There they were. My family. Every last one of them, gathered at the North Ridge private terminal as a jet rolled to a stop. Father was beaming. Mother had tears in her eyes. Dax lifted Iris off her feet and spun her around.

Even Kane was there, waiting just behind her.

Iris's golden hair gleamed beneath the terminal lights. She slipped her arm through Kane's as though that was where she belonged.

She'd always been good at that.

Something burned behind my ribs.

A moment later, my phone vibrated again. Kane.

“Don't be dramatic, Vera,” he said, sounding as if I'd called to complain about the weather. “We can do the binding later. Iris just got back from heir training at the Nocturne Academy—”

The call ended.

I stared at the screen. My fangs pressed against my lower lip.

Around me, the chapel was silent except for the faint rustle of night-blooming petals falling onto stone.

I looked down at the cloak I'd spent hours embroidering with silver thread. It pooled around my feet, suddenly absurd. A costume for a woman no one had bothered to come and see.

I took it off.

Left it there.

By the time I reached Ashenveil Manor, the welcome-home party was in full swing.

Someone was warming bloodwine in the back kitchen. Iris's perfume filled the corridor, roses and sweetgrass so thick they smothered every other scent. Laughter spilled out of the drawing room, loud and careless.

No one noticed me come in through the kitchen door.

I went straight to my room and sat on the edge of the bed. My journal lay open on my lap. Inside was a list. Nothing elaborate. Just every time they'd forgotten me. Overlooked me. Left me behind.

I added one more entry.

Blood-binding. No one came.

I'd told myself that if they came tonight, I would stop keeping count. We could start again.

I turned to the next page and wrote two words.

LAST CHANCE.

Then I crossed them out.

A knock sounded.

The door creaked open before I answered. Dax walked in like he owned the place, his boots heavy on the floorboards.

“There you are.” His gaze swept over me, then caught on the everyday cloak folded beside my desk and the half-written letter to the Council. “Iris wants your spiced bloodwine. The hot blend. Says she's missed it.”

I looked at him, my hands resting in my lap.

“You missed my binding.”

Dax blinked. Then he shrugged.

“It's a ceremony. You and Kane can do it next month. Or the month after. Iris is home, Vera. We haven't seen her in a year.”

He picked up my journal and flipped through it without asking.

“You're still keeping this thing?” His gaze stopped on the page after my latest entry. Two words stood at the top.

LAST CHANCE.

He snorted. “What's that supposed to mean? You're going to run away? Go houseless?”

He tossed it onto the bed.

“Just make the bloodwine, Vera.”

I stood slowly and walked past him into the kitchen. My hands stung as I took a sealed blood decanter from the cooler. The new cleanser they'd brought home—Iris's favorite brand—had left angry red patches across my skin.

Dax leaned against the wall behind me, watching a little too closely.

“Why are you so quiet?” he asked. “Planning to poison her or something?”

Before I could answer, Iris called from the drawing room.

“Daxy! My pomegranate!”

He rolled his eyes, muttered, “Coming,” and left without another glance.

I ran cold water over my hands and watched the redness fade to pink. My gaze drifted toward the counter.

The binding cake I'd ordered sat untouched.

Beside it, our rings waited in their velvet box.

I didn't cry.

I just stood there for a long time, looking at everything that was supposed to have mattered.

The hunger inside me had been quiet all evening. Now it stirred, sharp and restless. I'd called that instinct Vespa for as long as I could remember. Giving it a name made it easier to distinguish its ruthless certainty from my own excuses.

They've made their choice, Vespa whispered.

Now we make ours.

Beyond the window, the trees of the northern forest swayed in the night wind.

I dried my hands and left the kitchen.

In my room, the half-written letter to the Council lay beside my desk.

I sat down and finished it.

Then I signed my name, folded the page, and put it in my bag.