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Clenching my fists, I vow to myself that I’ll rebuild everything they’ve stolen—my domain, my power, my freedom. And I’ll repay their treachery with interest. The contract pulses a last stab of agony, then fades to a sullen throb. They can’t drag me back. Not while I still draw breath, not while Valentina stands by my side.

As dawn approaches, the storm rages on, hammering the swamp and washing away the footprints of our flight. The fortress stands behind us in ruin, but my resolve has never been sharper. We might be cornered, wounded, and alone, but the monarchy has unleashed a beast they can’t cage again.

With Valentina near, I feel the faint stirring of possibility—some cosmic shift that could unbind me from the shackles of centuries. If that means facing armies and storms, so be it.Let the monarchy come. Let them try to bury us.I smile grimly at the swirling mist.They’ll find we’re not so easily erased.

Lightning flashes once more, revealing the endless expanse of bog. The day will break soon, and with it, a new stage in our war. My illusions sputter around me, half-formed, but Valentina’s presence anchors me. She rests a hand on my forearm, eyes filled with defiance, and I feel a flicker of the unstoppable might we could become if we succeed.

Together, we brace ourselves for the next onslaught—because the monarchy won’t stop until they reclaim my head or see her lifeless.They’ll have to pry both from my claws.

13

VALENTINA

Isqueeze through an overgrown archway made of cracked white stone, my breath hitching in the damp morning air. The acrid stench of swamp clings to me, mixing with sweat and blood. My legs tremble from days of running with hardly any sleep. Malphas follows close behind, his larger frame rustling the vines that choke this abandoned structure. Ahead, the tangled remains of a ruined temple rise like a broken promise—columns toppled, walls crumbling, and gaping holes in the roof where the sky peers in like a curious spectator.

Every step I take echoes in the vast emptiness, stirring dust motes that swirl in beams of weak sunlight. My heart lurches at how close the monarchy’s hunters came to snaring us last night. We lost Malphas’s fortress, fled into the swamp, and have been stumbling through bog and ruin for what feels like an eternity. Sleep is a distant memory. Safety is an illusion.

He joins me in what might have once been a grand courtyard. Weeds sprout from shattered tiles, the patterns scuffed beyond recognition. His horns glisten with a sheen of mud; half his face is smeared with dried blood. His once-proud wings remain folded, battered from constant ambushes. Even through thegrime, he still exudes an air of fierce authority—eight feet of lethal muscle, covered in faintly glowing lines that pulse with dark energy. Yet I catch the slump of his shoulders, the slight limp favoring his wounded side. Our flight has exacted a price.

I pause in the center of the courtyard, scanning for threats. Broken statues line the perimeter, each bearing time’s ravages. The hush is eerie, punctuated by the drip of water from the sagging arches. Outside, the swamp teems with hidden dangers, but for a moment, this place is silent. My grip on my short sword relaxes fractionally.

Malphas halts beside me, tail flicking in agitation. “We can’t stay long,” he mutters, voice raw. “But I need to rest. The contract’s backlash nearly crippled me again at dawn.”

My stomach tightens at the reminder. In the final scramble through the marsh, he doubled over in agony, choking on arcane pain. I had to support him until it subsided. Each time he defies the King’s summons, that oath punishes him. He refuses to speak of how close the anguish truly comes to breaking him.

Catching his breath, he glances at a half-collapsed doorway leading into the temple’s interior. Ivy strangles the stone, and faint arcs of light flicker from within. “Let’s see if it’s stable in there.”

I nod, though an unsettling sensation curls in my belly. This temple belongs to some ancient era—maybe centuries older than the monarchy. The architecture hints at a once-holy site. Where we stand might’ve been an altar. Now, it’s nothing but rubble. I wonder which deity was once worshiped here and if their echoes still haunt the ruins.

We venture inside. The main hall is a cavernous space with a vaulted ceiling that has caved in at multiple points. Shafts of pale daylight slice through the gloom, illuminating drifting specks of dust. Remnants of carved reliefs adorn the walls, half-chiseledfigures lost to time. Puddles gather where the roof has failed, forming stagnant pools that reflect our exhausted faces.

Malphas stumbles over a piece of fallen masonry, hissing in pain. I grab his arm, steadying him. Though he towers over me, he leans into my support, a silent admission that his strength is at its limit. My own body shakes from strain and fear, but I find a small spark of resolve.One more step, Valentina. Just one more.

“Over there,” I murmur, pointing to a portion of the hall where the roof mostly holds. A large, upturned statue might provide enough cover, and the floor seems relatively dry.

We limp across the rubble. He eases down, back against the statue’s carved base. The stone figure—once grand—has no head now, and its arms lie scattered in pieces. I press a hand to Malphas’s shoulder, gently lowering him so he can stretch his wounded leg. A fresh wave of guilt hits me, remembering how fiercely he fought to protect me from the monarchy’s ambush. He nearly lost everything.He did lose everything—his fortress. And for what?

My breath catches as I crouch beside him. The tension between us thrums in the stale air. It’s been building since we fled the fortress. The memory of our first frantic coupling still scalds my cheeks. Even battered as he is, I recall how his mouth felt on mine, how I tasted his desperation. I’m furious at him, at fate, at the monarchy—and yet I’m drawn to him in a way that defies sense.

He lifts his gaze, his crimson eyes dimmed with weariness. “You’re trembling,” he says softly.

I swallow hard, forcing a short laugh. “That’s what happens when you haven’t eaten or slept in ages. Let’s try not to starve to death in this temple, okay?”

A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His horns dip, the broken base near the tip is a constant reminder of battles lost. “We’ll rest a moment, thenI’ll conjure illusions to hide our scent. The monarchy’s hounds might not track us here for a few hours. Enough time to patch ourselves up.”

I nod, exhaustion slamming into me now that I dare relax. My knees buckle, and I sink onto a patch of mosaic tile. For a few moments, I simply focus on breathing. The temple’s hush envelops us, an uneasy peace. Our days on the run blur into one relentless nightmare. I can’t recall the last time I felt truly safe.

Malphas shifts, grimacing at the fresh blood stain around his bandages. “I’m not healing as fast as usual,” he mutters. “The contract’s wrath must be siphoning my magic.”

Without a word, I shuffle closer. My supply of salve is nearly gone, but I offer what remains. His horns tilt in grudging acceptance. I undo the soiled bandage, wincing at the raw gash across his ribs. “Does it hurt a lot?”

He exhales a ragged chuckle. “Nothing compared to the oath’s torment. I’ve endured worse, mortal.”

That word—“mortal”—carries less bite than usual. I catch a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze. He tries to mask it, but I sense how close he is to the edge. The unstoppable demon enforcer is battered, cornered, and chained by an oath he hates. My chest tightens.Why do I ache for him, even though he’s half the reason I’m in this mess?

I clean the wound as best I can with a scrap of cloth, pressing the last smear of ointment across the torn flesh. His claws dig into the stone, but he stays silent, enduring. Something about his stoic acceptance of pain stirs a fierce protectiveness in me.He’s done so much to keep me alive. Maybe it’s my turn to shield him somehow.

When I finish, I lean back, exhaustion throbbing behind my eyes. “You should try to sleep,” I say, voice shaky.