Chapter Nine
Beneath the skin.
The palace never truly slept.
Even after the hunt, when torches dimmed and music hushed, the halls whispered. The marble never lost its chill.
Vivian hadn't slept either. She sat curled by the high window in her chamber, her long, dark curls brushing her knee, watching fog bleed across the garden paths. Her hands still tingled where it had touched the altar.
A memory. A promise. A warning.
Cassian's words looped in her head like a curse. Or a prayer.
A soft knock startled her. Rowan stepped in without waiting. She wore night leathers this time, black with copper embroidery at the cuffs. Her long dark curls was tied into a loose braid down her back. She looked… irritated.
"why do you always look like you've seen a ghost?" Rowan asked, hands on his hips. "Is that your charm?"
Vivian blinked. "I might have. Out there. In the woods."
Rowan tilted his head. "You the king?
Vivian didn't answer. That was enough of one.
The warrior stepped farther in. "You shouldn't follow him into the forest alone."
"I didn't. I was pulled."
Rowan studied her, his face unreadable. "That's worse."
Before Vivian could reply, a servant's bell chimed in the distance—three low tones.
Rowan groaned. "He's summoning us."
Vivian stood, frowning. "Who is?"
The king. Cassian. "Midnight audience."
"Why?"
Rowan smirked faintly. "With him? Could be anything. A war declaration. A wine tasting. An execution."
They gathered in the south wing—a hall lined with tall stained glass and flickering green fire.
Cassian sat on the elevated throne at the end, relaxed in a way that still felt dangerous. His tunic was ink-black again, opened at the throat, silver embroidery spiraling along the collarbone like runes. His crowns rested beside. He didn't need it to look like a ruler.
A few guests stood in semi-circle—angels, vampires, council members.
And a new face.
He was tall and lean, with ice white hair swept back and a cruel smile that didn't reach his violet eyes. His clothes were too sharp, too clean. His presence buzzed, like a string pulled too tight.
"A messenger," Rowan muttered under his breath. "From the kingdom of Shadows."
Vivian only heard stories. That their people were illusions like skin. That they traded secrets for blood.
"Someone's been busy," Cassian said lazily. "Tell your king I'm not hosting negotiations until the Summit."
The man didn't flinch. "This isn't negotiation. It's warning."
Vivian didn't miss the flicker in Cassian's eyes. Subtle. Calculated.
"I don't take kindly to warnings," he replied, voice cool. "Especially from a kingdom whose last prince was found with his throat torn out.'
A few guests stiffened.
The messenger's smile faltered.
Vivian's heart thudded. He wasn't like other kings.
Cassian leaned forward. "Now. If you've delivered your message, you're free to walk out the door---or be dragged through it."
The silence that followed was enough.
The man left.
Cassian stood.
"Enjoy the rest of your night,' he said smoothly. "Try not to bleed on my floors"
The crowed began to dissolve. But Cassian gaze turned to Vivian.
"Not you."
Rowan gave her a look—half warning—half sympathy—then slipped out the doors.
Vivian approached slowly.
Cassian stepped down from the dais. "Do you believe in fate, Vivian?"
She narrowed her eyes. "I don't believe in anything that chooses for me."
That made him smile.
He circled her once. "You don't remember yet, do you?"
"I remember everything that matters."
"Oh?" He leaned closer, just enough that she caught the faint the faint scent of storm and smoke. "Then why does your blood answer to things you don't understand?"
She swallowed.
He tilted his head, voice low now. "The altar in the woods, the runes. The heat in your veins. That isn't imagination."
"Then what is it?"
His lips brushed her ear.
"It's you. Beneath the skin"
Vivian stepped back, breath shallow.
But before she could reply, a faint scream echoed from the west wing.
Both their heads turned.
Cassian didn't hesitate. He was already moving. Vivian followed him through a back corridor, the scent of blood sharp in the air.
They found a maid on the floor, her neck slashed—not cut, but bitten. A trail od blood crimson still glistened across her collarbone.
Vivian froze. Her breath hitched. She had never seen anything like it—so much blood, so still.
A vampire guest stood nearby, lips stained red, looking… serene.
Cassian's expression didn't change.
"Feeding outside sanctioned hours is against the palace rule," he said.
The vampire licked a smear from his thumb. "She offered herself, I simply obliged."
Vivian stepped closer, heart hammering in fear. Real soul-deep fear. This was her first glimpse into what they truly were.
The vampire turned to her, amused. "And you are?"
Cassian didn't let him finish. In a flash, he was in front of the man, one hand around his throat.
Cassian's voice was ice. "She is mine.'
The vampire froze.
Vivian's breath caught.
"I don't care your kingdom feeds." Cassian continued, tightening his grip "But here in my court, no blood is taken without consent, and no death goes unpunished." He let go. The vampire stumbled back, clutching his neck.
Cassian turned to a guard. "Take him to the holding cells. I'll deal with him tomorrow."
The king brushed past Vivian—but his voice lingered as he passed.
"Go back to your room, Vivian" she didn't move.
His gaze flickered back, sharp. Now.
And gods help her—she obeyed.
Later, alone in her chamber, Vivian touched the pulse at her throat.
She is mine.
The words shouldn't have made her feel anything. They felt like a promise. Or a threat.
Or something much worse.