The cold steel trembled in Seraphine's grip, its razor edge pressing against the stranger's throat hard enough to draw a thin line of crimson. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the damp rot of the dungeon air.
"Last chance," she hissed through clenched teeth, her voice raw from screaming curses at her sister. "Name yourself before I carve it into your flesh as a reminder to never toy with me."
He didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. Instead, his gloved hand closed over hers with surprising gentleness, guiding the blade deeper until a ruby droplet traced the elegant line of his collarbone, staining the black silk of his doublet.
"Prince Kaelan of House Dain," he murmured, as casually as if announcing the evening's menu. "Exiled heir to the Thorn Court. And currently..." His other hand brushed a damp strand of hair from her face, his touch startlingly warm against her clammy skin. "Your only path out of this cell."
Beyond the thick dungeon walls, the celebration still roared—Tristan's victory feast. The scent of roasted venison and spiced wine seeped through the cracks in the stone, mingling nauseatingly with the stench of mold and old blood. Somewhere above them, a lute played a merry tune, the notes dripping like honey through the ceiling grate.
Kaelan tilted his head, studying her with eyes like chips of winter ice. "Tell me, Lady Vaelis," he purred, his breath warm against her cheek, "do you want to die a traitor at dawn? Or live long enough to watch them kneel at your feet?"
Seraphine's pulse thundered in her ears, her grip tightening on the dagger. Every instinct screamed that this was another trap, another betrayal waiting to unfold. Yet the cold certainty in his gaze held her captive more effectively than the shackles had.
"What do you gain from this?" she demanded, pressing the blade harder. "No one risks the king's wrath for charity."
His lips curved in a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "A wife with a talent for knives and poisons would be quite the asset," he admitted, his thumb brushing the delicate hollow of her wrist where her pulse fluttered like a caged bird. "And I do so love collecting dangerous things."
A sudden clang of metal echoed down the corridor. Keys jingled. Boots scuffed against stone, growing nearer with each passing second.
Kaelan moved faster than she could blink, his body pressing hers against the damp wall, his mouth hovering a breath from her ear. "Decide now, little viper," he whispered, the words curling like smoke around her. "Run with me..." His free hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. "...or rot with them."
The cell door groaned open.
Torchlight flooded the chamber, illuminating the sneering face of Captain Voris, Tristan's personal guard. His piggish eyes widened at the sight of them.
"Traitorous bitch," he spat, drawing his sword. "You'll hang before—"
Seraphine didn't let him finish.
With a snarl, she drove the dagger deep into the meat of his thigh, twisting until his scream shattered the dungeon's gloom.
Kaelan's laugh was dark velvet as he dispatched the second guard with a brutal elbow to the throat. "I knew I liked you," he murmured, catching her wrist to pull her forward.
The escape became a blur of flickering torchlight and shouted alarms. Kaelan fought like a man possessed, his every movement precise, lethal poetry. A dagger appeared in his hand as if by magic, finding its home between the ribs of a charging guard. He moved through them like a shadow given form, his black cloak swirling around him like living darkness.
When the last body hit the stones, he didn't pause. With a strength that belied his lean frame, he hauled Seraphine over his shoulder and sprinted down the corridor, his boots splashing through puddles of something she refused to examine too closely.
"Put me down!" she demanded, beating her fists against his back.
"Gladly," he grunted, and suddenly she was airborne, landing with a jolt on the back of a massive black stallion. The beast stamped and snorted, its coat slick with rain, eyes rolling white with barely contained energy.
Kaelan swung up behind her, his chest pressing against her back, his arms caging her in as he seized the reins. "Hold on," he growled, his breath blowing hot against her ear.
She barely had time to grip his forearm before they plunged into the storm-wracked night.
Behind them, the castle bells began to toll.
Not for a wedding.
Not for a funeral.
But for war.
And as the first lightening bolt spits the sky, illuminating the manic gleam in kaelen's eyes, Seraphine noticed with dawning horror that she might have just traded one monster for another.