CHAPTER ONE: THE PEACE OFFERING (2)

Because you murdered my family, I thought.Because I’ve practiced your death in my head every night for six years. Because my soul is screaming at me to crawl into your lap, and I’d rather die than obey it.

Out loud, I said: “Because Your Majesty is very tall, and I’m very small, and the shadows here are doing a lot of heavy lifting.”

A beat of silence.

Then — impossibly — the corner of his mouth twitched. Just once. A crack in the glacier, so brief I could have imagined it.

“Charming,” he said, and the word was half threat, half something I refused to name. “The Light Court’s most beautiful princess, wrapped in lies and a very nice dress. You’ll forgive me if I don’t sign your little Accord tonight. We’ll discuss it… privately.”

The guards grabbed my arms.

“Your Majesty,” I said, sweetly, as they marched me out, “I really must insist—”

“You really must scream,” Kaelen Thorne said, settling back onto his throne. “I look forward to hearing it.”

The guest quarters of the Shadow Court were, objectively, the nicest prison I’d ever been in.

And I’d been in a lot of prisons. Professional hazard.

The suite had silk sheets the color of spilled wine, a bathtub the size of a small lake, and a minibar stocked with things I was fairly certain counted as controlled substances in most realms. There were no bars on the windows — the windows were magically sealed with a ward so thick it hummed. No guards at the door — the door was keyed to a heartbeat I didn’t have. And somewhere in the walls, something was watching me with the patient hunger of a shark circling a swimming lesson.

I sat on the edge of the absurdly large bed and took stock.

Situation report: I was exactly where I’d planned to be — inside the monster’s house, one door away from his throat. The plan was proceeding with admirable efficiency, right up until the part where my soul decided to go feral.

Mate.

I pressed my hand to my chest, where my heartbeat was still trying to sync with a rhythm that wasn’t mine. Six years of training. Six years of pretending to be the perfect little princess while I sharpened my hatred into a weapon. And one look at the Night Reaper had my body doing things I’d paid good money to never feel.

“Focus, Vail,” I muttered. “He killed them. He burned the house with them inside. The High Priestess showed you the evidence.”

The evidence. Yes. The evidence.

I’d seen it in the archives, a hundred times. The survivors’ testimonies. The scorched records. The name Kaelen Thorne written in a dead man’s blood — the penmanship of a dying man desperate to name his murderer. The Light Court had kept it safe for me, all these years, waiting for the day I’d be old enough to deliver the verdict.

I was the verdict.

I slid my hand under the pillow and felt the hilt of my favorite blade — the one I’d sharpened myself, the one that had a tiny dent from the night I’d thrown it at a mirror for crying at the wrong time. Tomorrow, at the farewell banquet — because even monsters threw farewell banquets — I’d walk up to the Night Reaper with a smile and a toast, and I’d end six years of nightmares with one clean stroke.

It was a good plan.

It had one flaw.

His heartbeat is so slow, a traitorous part of me whispered.Slow, like he’s been waiting a long time for something.

I shoved the thought into the same dark place where I kept the memories of my mother’s laugh.

The knock came at midnight.

Not with guards. Not with fanfare. Just a soft, almost polite rap at the door — and then the door swung open like it had been waiting for him, and Kaelen Thorne walked into my bedroom like he owned the concept of darkness itself.

I was mid-breath, standing by the window in the silk robe the Shadow Court had thoughtfully provided. A gift, the note said, “to make our guest feel at home.” The note was signed with a threat. The robe was… a choice. It was the color of moonless midnight, and it had been cut with the specific goal of making me forget I had a spine. I’d put it on because it was the only thing in the suite that wasn’t booby-trapped, and because I refused to let the Shadow King know he’d ruffled me.

I was instantly, catastrophically aware that this was the worst strategic decision of my life.

His gaze moved over me like a blade being tested for sharpness. The temperature in the room climbed a degree I could feel in my blood.

“Emissary,” he said. “I trust the accommodations are to your liking.”

“I’ve had better prisons,” I said cheerfully. “But the minibar’s doing a lot of heavy lifting. You should really consider a review.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Interest, maybe. Or hunger. With a face like his, it was hard to tell the difference.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he observed. “Most people are. The little bird from the Light Court should be terrified.”

“I’m a princess of the Light Court,” I said. “We’re taught that fear is a tool. And I’m told Your Majesty prefers his tools… well-oiled.”

It was a risk. A stupid one. But six years of revenge had made me reckless, and there was something about the way he was looking at me that made me want to bite back.