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I exhale, running a clawed hand over my broken horn, an unconscious gesture whenever I’m deeply troubled. Pride surges:I have an advantage.The King cannot suspect that the mortal he wanted sacrificed harbors the bloodline of a being so ancient it defies recorded history. In one sense, this is myfalse victory—I’ve discovered the key to unbinding me from Grymlock’s contract.

An unexpected wave of unease strikes me.She can free me.That’s the best outcome imaginable, so why do I feel this pang of dread? My mind supplies the answer: if the King learns of her identity, he’ll stop at nothing to destroy her, to keep me enslaved. And if I can’t protect her… I might lose the best chance of freedom I’ve ever had.

A growl simmers in my throat, half-protective, half-frustrated.We just slept together, in a savage coupling that left me raw. And now I discover she’s more significant to my existence than I ever dreamed.Rage at the irony floods me, tempered by a strange protectiveness. Another new emotion.When did I start caring about anything beyond my own survival?

I gather the battered remains of the phial and toss them aside. The runic circle glows faintly with spent power, smoke drifting across the floor. I should tell her what I’ve learned. If she suspects her blood is special, it might explain her own uncertain ties to illusions and magic. But a twisted voice in my head warns me that if I let her know the full extent of her power, she might use it against me.She loathes me, and rightfully so, after everything I’ve done to her kind.

I grit my teeth. My horns dip, shoulders tensing.But I need her. I need her trust, or at least enough cooperation to harness that bloodline.Telling her might be the only way. She’s stubborn, and secrecy could drive her away at a crucial moment.

Abrupt footsteps echo outside the study door, drawing me from my thoughts. I sense her approach—the faint, uneven cadence of her stride. My chest tightens. She’s come here, perhaps searching for me, or for answers. I lift a hand, channeling a swirl of chaos flame to erase the leftover scorchmarks from the circle. No reason to let her see how I rummaged through her ancestry in secret.

The door swings open. Valentina stands at the threshold, eyes narrowed. She’s dressed in a mismatched tunic and the coat I provided, the fabric straining over the bandages that hide her bruises. Her hair is half-pulled back, revealing the angles of her face. She’s still exhausted, likely from the illusions and the rawness of last night, but her silver eyes smolder with determination. My heart hammers once more, betraying how her presence unsettles me.

“Looking for something?” I ask, letting my voice roll in a lazy purr that conceals my roiling nerves.

She sniffs the air, frowning. “Smells like smoke. You doing more demonic rituals in here?” Her gaze flickers to the newly cleaned floor, suspicion etched in her features.

I smile thinly, crossing my arms. “Would that worry you? That I might be conjuring nightmares or forbidden hexes?”

She returns my smirk with a steely glare. “Don’t toy with me. We leave for Vhoig soon, right?”

“Indeed,” I confirm. “But first, there’s something I must share.”

She stiffens, obviously recalling how last night ended with a near-despairing exit on my part. “I’m listening.”

I beckon her in, shutting the door behind her. The study feels cramped with her presence, or maybe it’s the tension crackling between us. She stands near the far wall, arms folded as if bracing for another confrontation. My wings flex unconsciously, brushing a bookshelf that rattles with the jostle.

“We both know your blood stifles my contract,” I begin. “It’s why the King’s hold falters whenever we’re close.”

Her jaw sets. “Yes. So?”

I take a measured breath. “I’ve pieced together the truth. You’re Abyssborn—a descendant of the Fallen One.” Her eyeswiden, confusion warring with disbelief. I press on, voice unyielding. “Your lineage runs far deeper than any typical mortal line. It’s older than dark elf rule, older than the surface wars.”

She searches my face, as though weighing whether I’m mocking her. “That’s… impossible,” she scoffs. “I’m just Valentina from Lowtown, a slave with no recollection of my parents beyond a few hazy memories. I’m nobody special.”

“Your blood begs to differ,” I say, stepping closer. Her posture tenses, but she doesn’t back away. “Trust me, I’d not spout legends if I wasn’t certain. The Fallen One’s line was believed extinct. Yet you carry the proof. The illusions bending to your will, the contract’s pain intensifying—these are no coincidences.”

She trembles slightly, eyes flashing. “Then why was I never told? If my blood is so special, wouldn’t the elves have discovered it before?”

I shrug, bitterness lacing my tone. “They likely sensed something, which is why they chose you for sacrifice. Perhaps they believed destroying you would appease or quell any rising threat. Or maybe only a few high-ranking elves suspected. Either way, they wanted you gone.”

She runs a hand over her face, stepping away. “You’re telling me I have demon ancestry? That I’m part… monster?”

I let out a low, humorless laugh. “Not monster. Power. The Abyssborn lineage defies easy labels. The Fallen One was an outcast even among demonkind, rumored to have possessed the ability to unravel cosmic bonds. Which might explain why you’re unraveling my oath to the King.”

She stares at me, shock turning her face pale. “So all this time… I could have done something about your chains? Freed you?”

My chest tightens at her choice of words. “Yes,” I admit, voice rougher than I intend. “Or doomed me, if you’d chosen differently. Abyssborn power can break or twist bonds, depending on how it’s wielded.”

She hugs herself, gaze flicking around the study as if seeking an escape from the magnitude of this revelation. “And you want me to do it—break your contract.”

“Yes.” The word comes out with more desperation than I like. I clear my throat, forcing composure. “That vow has ruled my existence for centuries. With your help, I might finally end it.” A tension-laced silence falls. My horns dip slightly. “I don’t expect you to do it for free.”

Her stare turns calculating. “You think I’d demand payment?”

A wry half-smile tugs at my lips. “You’d be a fool not to. I’ve enslaved humans, helped the dark elves impose their rule. You have every reason to hate me. You could ask for any price—your own safety, the downfall of the monarchy, or something more personal.”

She exhales sharply. “You assume I care enough to name terms. What if I just walk away? Let you remain bound?”