All Chapters of A Wager for The Siren: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

For three seconds, Amelia Corvo was happy.Warm blankets.Morning light.Silence.Her eyes remained closed as she stretched beneath the covers.Something smelled like lavender.Someone had opened the curtains.Her head hurt slightly.Probably champagne.Amelia inhaled.And remembered Felix’s mouth against hers.A smile almost formed.Then she remembered why she’d cried herself to sleep.Her eyes opened.The ballroom.The screens.Messages.Dante.Felix.The wager.First one she falls for wins.Amelia stopped breathing.Memory returned violently.Not gradually.All of it.The observatory.Whatever I want.Felix holding her waist.Dante asking permission before kissing her.Her hands tangled in expensive jackets.Their laughter.Together?Together.Then—AND IF SHE FALLS FOR BOTH?Amelia squeezed her eyes shut.No.She pulled the blankets over her head.Absolutely not.She was going back to sleep.Perhaps if she slept long enough, she could wake up yesterday morning.Before the gala.Be

Amelia did not sleep.She tried.For eleven minutes.Then Maximilian’s final journal entry replayed in her head.If I kill the bond before it completes, maybe Mia will never—Again.Again.Again.By three in the morning, Amelia had abandoned the idea of rest entirely.She sat cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom surrounded by Maximilian’s journals, old photographs, Felix’s research on House Vaelor, and the information Dante had pulled from Sera’s anonymous messages.Elara slept on the chaise near the fireplace.Or pretended to.Amelia wasn’t sure anymore.She lifted the silver Crownmark.Three crescents surrounding a crown.The same symbol that had appeared against her skin at the Founder’s Gala.She turned it over.Nothing.No inscription.No date.No clue explaining why her dead brother had owned something connected to a bond supposedly awakening through her.“You’re doing it again.”Amelia looked toward the chaise.Elara hadn’t opened her eyes.“Doing what?”“Thinking loudly.”

Maximilian Corvo did not believe in coincidence.Not anymore.Eight years beneath death’s veil had cured him of that particular luxury.He stood beside a dark roadside somewhere outside Vienna, one hand pressed against the side of the black vehicle while the hooded man watched him.The sensation had vanished.But Max could still feel the shape of it.Not Amelia.Amelia’s magic was unmistakable now.Bright.Restless.Threefold.This had been different.Smaller.Younger.And somehow—his.Max turned.“Where are we going?”The hooded figure remained beside the vehicle.“You’ve asked that three times.”“Then answer differently.”“You aren’t in a position to make demands.”Max laughed.The sound was low.Almost pleasant.Then he crossed the distance between them so quickly the man barely had time to react.Max’s hand closed around his throat.Black magic flared around the hooded figure’s wrists.Max ignored it.“Eight years ago, I let people tell me what position I was in.”His black eyes

Legolas Maximilian Velore snored.Not loudly.Just enough to destroy whatever remained of Maximilian Corvo’s reputation as a terrifying resurrected prince.Max sat completely still on the sofa.Legolas’s head rested against his chest now, one small fist twisted into the fabric of Max’s shirt.Isolde sat beside them.Amelia stood across the room watching her brother stare at his sleeping son as though someone had handed him the most fragile thing in existence.Which, perhaps, they had.“Max.”He didn’t look up.“Hm?”“You can breathe.”“I am breathing.”“Barely.”“He’s asleep.”Amelia’s mouth twitched.“Children generally survive breathing.”Max finally looked at her.“I’ve been a father for approximately three hours.”“Eight years.”His expression changed.Amelia immediately regretted it.“Sorry.”Max looked back down.“No.”His thumb moved gently over Legolas’s curls.“You’re right.”Silence.“I’ve been his father for eight years.”The words were quiet.“I just wasn’t there.”Isolde

Amelia woke warm.That was the first thing she noticed.The second was that she couldn’t move.Her eyes opened slowly.Ceiling.Morning light.Blanket.An arm around her waist.Another hand resting loosely around her ankle.Amelia stared upward.Oh.Right.She turned her head.Dante was behind her.At some point during the night, the careful arrangement of three separate sections of the sofa had completely collapsed. Amelia was curled against Dante’s chest, his arm draped around her middle, his face buried somewhere near the top of her hair.Felix was at the opposite end.Her legs were still across his lap.His hand rested around her ankle.Both men were asleep.Amelia remained perfectly still.This was—nice.Dangerously nice.She should move.Immediately.She didn’t.Instead, she looked at Dante.Sleeping Dante was different.No arrogance.No smirk.No wolfish intensity.Just a man.His hair had fallen over his forehead.Amelia studied him.Then carefully turned toward Felix.Felix