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It unnerved me a little because he didn’t act any differently.

I knew, based on how wary others were around me when I let my bloodlust rise, that my behavior changed.

It wasn’t just that my temper got a little hotter.

There was just something more to me, like the beast I kept chained down was gazing out into the world and thought everything would look better drowned in blood.

But if it weren’t for his eyes and the claws on his fingers, I’d never know Draven’s bloodlust was out as much as it was. Samara was the same. Something about them was different from other Moroi.

Draven had been damn near death when he’d been dragged down here, but he’d lain on the ground and bounced back within hours. I suspected it had something to do with his Fae heritage. His father was the Seelie King, after all.

A memory of chains disintegrating to dust flashed through my mind.

That day, when everything had gone to hell, Samara had reached for Draven in that throne room, trying to free him.

Everything had been so chaotic, but I could have sworn I’d seen the chains disintegrate.

Draven had barely been alive—if magic had been used, he hadn’t been the source.

There was also the fact that she was sensitive to iron, something she’d been trying to hide, but I’d seen the way she’d grimace ever so slightly whenever she made contact with the bars.

Those two things had caused suspicion about Samara’s heritage to form in the back of my mind, even if it didn’t seem possible.

I’d known both of her parents—neither of them had been Fae—but could one of them have been part Fae like Draven?

I mean, the prince looked like a Moroi. It stood to reason that one or both of Samara’s parents could have had Fae blood running through their veins.

Most likely her father because if Samara’s mother was part Fae, then so was Carmilla.

And given the way Carmilla talked about the Fae as a blight that needed to be destroyed, I didn’t think she had any Fae blood.

I hadn’t spoken my suspicions to anyone. And if anybody else had noticed some of the odd things that had happened around Samara lately, they hadn’t mentioned them in front of me.

The question was . . . did Carmilla have similar suspicions? She hadn’t been spending much time around her niece since seizing the throne, but she still knew Samara well. Maybe there had been other clues earlier in Samara’s life that we’d all missed but she’d seen.

But why not be open about it? Why all the secrecy? My parents had loyally served House Harker and it had never occurred to me to not be the same—until the past couple of weeks.

I’d never questioned Carmilla’s tactics before, but now there were children locked in the dungeon.

Fucking children . I’d brought this up to Carmilla the day they’d been thrown in cells with their families, but she’d reasoned that it was impossible to know where their loyalties stood because Velika could have used the crown on them.

We didn’t know if Velika’s death had voided all the forced blood bonds.

Maybe they were loyal to her even in death.

But we did know that the bonds Velika had created would fade with time. So Carmilla had assured me that everyone would have access to food and water while in the dungeons and would be well taken care of.

It still didn’t sit right with me.

Nor did watching some of the people—particularly those of high rankings who had important knowledge locked away in their minds—be led out of the dungeon to where Carmilla would meet with them. Behind closed doors. While she wore the crown.

I’d done that. It had been me who had handed over the second half of the crown to her, which meant I’d played a direct role in taking away the free will of Moroi.

Carmilla’s reasoning had seemed so sound on paper. The wraiths were chipping away at our protections. Velika—and Draven—had been working with them.

Although Carmilla had left out the fact that Draven hadn’t had a choice.

It was possible she hadn’t known . . . but even I knew that was me being hopeful and only wanting to see the good in her.

Carmilla had been sleeping with Velika’s consort, and Lucian hated Draven.

He also knew a lot about him. It seemed highly unlikely he hadn’t shared some of that knowledge with Carmilla.

I didn’t want to believe that Carmilla was manipulating me. Both because I loved her as if she were family and because it meant I was a fool.

A fool who had betrayed the woman who did love me. The thought jolted me back to the present and Draven’s words. Uneasy dread coiled in my gut.

Did I fuck up? Maybe I should have held onto the crown and tried to have Samara and Carmilla negotiate without either of them possessing it.

“Don’t recall asking for your opinion.” I chucked a canteen through the bars. While Carmilla made sure food and water were brought to Samara and the other Moroi detained in the dungeon, she’d made no such orders for Draven. As far as I knew, I was the only one bringing him sustenance.

Not that he acted the least bit grateful. He did talk to me during these visits though, which was more than I could say about Samara until recently.

I should have stayed away from her. I knew Carmilla wanted me to.

She hadn’t specifically forbidden me from seeing Samara, but she had strongly hinted at it.

I couldn’t stay away though. There was this odd pull inside my chest that I couldn’t explain.

It was like I was always aware of Samara’s existence.

Her location—not that she was moving anywhere—her emotions, and just . . . her.

In what was rapidly becoming a habit, I rubbed the spot over my heart where I felt the tightness.

It was a weird sensation that I was noticing more and more, but I had no idea what it meant.

At first, I thought it was stress, but occasionally, I noticed Samara placing a hand over the exact same place on her chest when I felt it.

There was no point in asking her about it. She’d either lie or spit in my face.

And when she did, that awareness between us ached like a wound that had begun to fester.

It wasn’t like Samara and I didn’t have a history of hostility and distrust, but even during those tumultuous years, Samara had never ignored me.

She’d never loathed my existence.

“How is she?” Draven asked. His tone was even, but a little more red bled into his eyes.

I rubbed my face. “Her cycle started a few days ago and ended last night. She’s due to have dinner with Carmilla, Lucian, and Demetri in an hour.”

Understanding dawned on Draven’s face, and his eyes turned a deep solid red. “And this is the woman you willingly serve? Samara’s blood is still running through your veins. That crown isn’t forcing your loyalty.”

“You’re the son of the Seelie King.” I bared my teeth. “Don’t lecture me about conflicting loyalties when the blood that runs through your veins is the same as the man who’s slaughtered thousands of us.”

He fell silent for a moment, and I started to leave.

“Velika was never a mother to me.” I stopped and turned back to face the prince.

“She always hated me. I never understood why . . . and now that she’s dead, I suppose I never will, but for a while, I thought Erendriel might actually act like a loving parent.

Unlike my mother, he did have my loyalty—for a brief amount of time anyway. ”

“What happened?”

Draven hadn’t talked about Erendriel since telling me who he truly was. Whatever spell had been cast on the Moroi Prince to keep him from talking had clearly been broken. Or maybe he’d been lying about that all along. Samara might have trusted him, but I still didn’t.

But do you still trust Carmilla? a voice whispered in the back of my mind. I didn’t have an answer.

A humorless smile stretched across Draven’s face. “I learned that the Fae King does not love—only uses—and one can either volunteer to be of use . . . or be forced to be.”

Guilt and unease rose, but I kept it off my face. Carmilla had made it clear that Draven was the enemy. She claimed she was only keeping him alive to use against his father, but I suspected the real reason was because she saw Draven as a way to control Samara.

It seemed like one way or another, the Moroi Prince had been a pawn for most of his life.

His mother had controlled him with her half of the crown, and his father had used Fae magic to bind him.

Carmilla condemned Draven because he was half Fae .

. . but he hadn’t had a choice in any of it.

Now, she was going to use that crown to manipulate and bind other Moroi .

. . the same way Draven’s parents had done to him.

Her intentions might be good, but that didn’t make it right . . . did it?

“When I was twelve, Erendriel took me away from Velika,” Draven continued. “I lived with the wraiths for a while. Up until that point, he hadn’t taken much of an interest in me. I didn’t want to be anywhere near Velika, so I did my best to prove my worth.”

“What were they like?”

Until recently, we’d thought the wraiths were just strange shadow monsters that plagued our lands.

There had been some speculation that they were related to the disappearance of the Fae, but not that the Seelie had turned into the wraiths.

It still seemed strange to me because it had been the Unseelie who’d had shadow magic.

So how had it been that Seelie were the ones turned into nothing but shadows?

I thought of that hideaway we’d found near the lake in the Velesian territory.

So many answers could lie there, or in the journals we’d found in the cave near House Harker.

I hadn’t mentioned either of those things to Carmilla.

It felt like my loyalty was being pulled in multiple directions, and I no longer knew which way was right.

Draven flinched and rubbed his forehead.

“There are still some things I cannot speak of.” A look of concentration fell over the prince’s face, as if he was piecing his thoughts together.

“I do not know the specifics of the spell that was cast over my tongue, but I’ve been able to piece some things together over the years.

When something I am forbidden to say becomes open knowledge, it seems to fall out of the scope of the spell. ”

“Like when Carmilla announced your lineage,” I said, following his logic.

“Yes.” He nodded. “It’s happened for other things too. However, every time a new secret is revealed, it’s as if the spell reworks itself and I have to figure out what I can and cannot say again.” He paused—another wince of pain—then shook his head. “I cannot say anything more on the matter.”

“Convenient,” I muttered.

His eyes full of fire snapped to me. “You don’t know what it’s like to not be in control of your own mind. But don’t worry—as soon as the strength of Samara’s blood runs out, I have no doubt Carmilla will give you a taste.”

It was my turn to flinch as his words struck at exactly what I feared.

“If anything happens to Samara while I’m locked up down here, nothing will stop me from getting to you.” Draven leaned forward, something feral swirling in his eyes. “I’ll make you suffer in ways you can’t even dream of.”

“Save your threats for someone else. I won’t allow any harm to come to her.”

Draven laughed darkly. “You already have.”

Again, I flinched.

“Samara won’t allow her lust to rule her, no matter how hard her body is pushing it,” I swallowed and tried to add some confidence into my voice. “And despite what you think, Carmilla won’t allow anyone to take advantage of her that way.”

“Your precious Carmilla is trying to force her niece back into a marriage she doesn’t want, and she’s arranged for this dinner to occur on the night when the lust haze will be hitting Samara the hardest.” Draven gave me an almost pitying look. “You really don’t see her true intentions, do you?”

“So I’ll attend the dinner.” I snapped. “You’re wrong, but I’ll be there anyway to make sure nothing happens.”

Samara wouldn’t touch that piece of shit, even with the intense desire that hit all Moroi who went through the reproductive cycle. And while my faith in Carmilla was waning, it hadn’t faded enough that I believed she’d allow someone to force themselves on Samara.

Still . . . nothing in Lunaria would keep me from that room.

I didn’t know Lucian well, but from what I’d seen this week, he was a cruel piece of shit, and Demetri was an opportunist prick.

Carmilla was likely hoping to wear Samara down, plant a seed of doubt during this dinner that Demetri could jump on while Samara would be using every ounce of her unbending willpower to hold the lust at bay.

She needed a friend in that room. I would be that friend. Even if she wanted nothing more than to bury a dagger in my chest.

“You will keep her safe.” The dust seemed to tremble at Draven’s feet as he spoke, his words somewhere between an order and a plea.

I held his bloodred gaze that promised death to anyone who harmed Samara and said the only thing I could. “With my life.”