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I enjoyed her fear for a moment.

Because I had her. She was mine. There was nothing that would stand between us any longer, and I was exhilarated.

And then it left me like a wave retreating. I watched those rosebud lips quiver, and I felt…something else.

Strange. This is an ideal situation. She cares for Rhett—God knows why—and she’s the martyr type. If I threaten him—even vaguely—she’ll do anything for me. I can bind her to me and start the sweet seduction process later.

She’ll love me eventually. I’ll collect my prize. Right now, it’s necessary for her to fear me.

So why have I been obsessing over every minute spent in that fucking conservatory and wishing I had been a little kinder? I didn’t enjoy the broken sob I heard when I walked out of that room, and I should have. It meant I’d won.

Instead, it had hit me straight in the chest.

It must be that melody she played messing with my head. It called to me. Memories filled my senses. The soft creak of old floorboards beneath my feet. The dim light slanting through faded curtains. And the little girl seated at an upright piano, her back straight, fingers moving like she was casting a spell.

A tiny girl—four or so—playing the piano with such skill? Ridiculous. And where did she come from? The Sacred Light never mentioned keeping a child on that island, and there were no locals at his compound. It would’ve been reckless. Someone could have left and told the wrong people.

No, she wasn’t real. Just a figment—an old longing given shape.

When she played tonight, that longing made me softer by resurrecting an old version of me who wanted different things. Love. Safety. A father figure in the Sacred Light.

Tomorrow, the longing will have faded, and I can resume breaking her down.

There’s a soft knock at the door. A moment later, Coraline walks in. She must have noticed when I left the ballroom abruptly, hours before the party was supposed to end.

I couldn’t stay. I didn’t want to see Ava’s swollen eyes when she finally returned to Rhett.

I didn’t want to see her recoil from me.

Coraline glances over at where I’m stretched out on my bed. “Do you need me tonight, Lord Regent?”

She says the title with sarcastic emphasis. I’m technically acting as regent for Ben since I haven’t been sanctified as Prior yet.

But I don’t stand on that kind of formality. As far as I’m concerned, I am the Prior, and everyone will refer to me as such.

But Coraline sees herself as above all the fraternity members who all only have a sliver of a chance of becoming Four Hundred recruits. Coraline’s father is actually a member of The Four Hundred. He, and many people in my parents’ social circle, expect Coraline and I to get married someday.

And I think Coraline sees it as an opportunity to ascend.

But Coraline is a woman, and as much as the Sacred Lights have tried to interpret our laws to adapt to modern times, tradition has been maintained for the most part. There are only seven women in The Four Hundred.

She’ll likely never ascend, and I pity her for it.

“No,” I say, surprised when the word comes out. “I’m tired.”

Her eyes widen only minutely, but I can sense the shock radiating through her body. I never turn her down. I always want her. She’s one of a handful of people at Thornecroft I respect. We understand each other.

Thriving in this world requires a cool head and, more often than not, a denial of pleasure. Outside our wild, sometimes animalistic sex, Coraline doesn’t particularly enjoy being one of my consorts—one of mymanyconsorts—but she does it because her clear eyes see that her best chance of ascending is through me.

“Tired?” She smirks. “That doesn’t sound like my lord regent.”

And it doesn’t. I’m in a shit mood, and sex is usually the one thing that helps me shut my mind off.

I should want Cora. I did only a few days ago. Instead, another face appears in my mind.

My little doll, the fire in her eyes fading into glowing coals.

Her fear should have ended my fascination. Instead, it rooted itself deeper—somewhere unreachable, somewhere I can’t carve it out.