Chapter Six

KIERAN

The Witches come in nine nights and the Offering is far from ready. Beyond my bedroom beneath the mountain, I can feel the sun sinking behind the horizon, night coming.

But there are no windows here. And when you wake with no windows, you wonder if you’re already dead.

Sometimes I fear I'm already encased in my own tomb.

I push the silk sheets back and rise from my bed. The cold stone of the carved mountain beneath my feet is the only thing grounding me. Making me feel alive.

I am dying. I can feel it in my bones. Two hundred years as a vampire without a drop of blood will do that to you.

I light the candles with a wisp of limited magic. Fuck, I’m tired of bringing the Offering here. Tired from the travel. I need to drink soon.

I dress quickly, pulling on a pair of black pants and a matching jacket. I dress more formally for court nowadays than in my fighting leathers. There’s so much to do there.

But still, even headed for my advisors and throne, I strap my ruby-hilted sword across my spine. Once a warrior, always a warrior. And as my predecessor taught me, a King’s throne room is his most dangerous chance of survival.

And with the state of the Seven Isles these days, the nonbelievers rising, and the ever incessant curse of the sun, I am nothing but my hands.

Nothing but my magicless, weak hands.

Vienna informs me mentally that the Offering is calm and sitting. If she knows what’s good for her she’ll rest up as much as she can. Save up as much of her strength to be able to fight.

But this Offering is not a fighter. In fact, I don’t think she’s ever hurt a fly.

The lock to my bedroom under the mountain clanks open. Xaden is the only one with the magic strong enough to gain access. He doesn’t bother knocking because Xaden is a self-absorbed asshole.

Xaden does not have to hide from the sun. He made a deal with a demon he could not kill a long time ago, longer ago than my existence, and gets to walk the night and day free. Of course, that comes with pros and cons.

The most prominent is his lack of self-control. Hence the half-steel mask.

I made a deal a long time too, with the Witches. They supply me with just enough of the blood I need to keep this land from crumbling, and I turn, promise them every century the youngest Solis Princess. Sometimes I wonder which one of us is worse, me or Xaden.

Maybe we're both just sick pricks.

“You look awful,” he says when he comes in, his half-steel mask dances in the firelight. Self-righteous jerk.

I strap a dagger into my right boot, then my left, all while watching him. The Demon Slayer looks carved from the rockface itself, always ready, like me, to go to war.

To this day I don’t know how I convinced him to join me. Xaden is not known for loyalty or rules, but he’s been by my side for centuries now. And I need him now, more than ever if I’m going to navigate the witches this year. Convince them that I’m healthy and not desperate for their magic reserves.

“Retrieving her was difficult,” I admit.

“I was happy to do it.”

I snort. “And murder the entire family? We do need them to re-populate more heirs.”

Xaden cocks his head, too tortured himself to argue with that. My second command magic is powerful, yes, but there’s a reason he wears a half-steel mask. He is a slave to it at times, to the bargain he made with whatever creature in exchange for their immortal power, just as I am enslaved to my bargain with the witches.

I sense as sunlight disappears, and twilight enters my kingdom. My shoulders relax.

“How is the Offering?” I ask.

“More pitiful than the rest.”

“Not what I asked.”

Xaden sighs. “Same as always. Vienna bathed her, pretending to be her friend. Kallias was nice, and made her feel like she has an ally. Rhodes has only threatened to kill her once.”

I sigh and journey to the sink. The cool water on my face does little to soothe me. My body aches. I am so tired. And so, so fucking thirsty. “Well, that’s less than the others.”

From the other room, I feel Xaden shift. “She stabbed Rhodes' hand at dinner.”

I let the water run into the black marble sink.

I hardly believe my ears. She stabbed one of the twins? The little, helpless doe, stabbed my spymaster’s hand?

If I weren’t so fucking tired, maybe I’d express shock–hope, even. But honestly, after an immortal life of hiding from the sun, I hardly feel a thing.

I pat Xaden on the back. “Let’s get a drink.”