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VALERIA

I ’m still trying to catch my breath from my run-in with Sarith when a junior Vrakken attendant finds me in the corridor and informs me that Lord Vaelorian has changed my living arrangements yet again.

I’m to collect my scant belongings at once and relocate to new quarters.

The attendant—a wiry woman with eyes like smoked glass—offers neither explanation nor emotion as she delivers the news; she merely passes Vaelorian’s sealed parchment into my hand.

The paper is crisp, etched in black ink with elegant sweeps spelling out my name, followed by directions to a part of the citadel I haven’t yet explored.

My pulse skips. Ever since Vaelorian asked me to spy on the surly Vrakken in charge of supply routes, I’ve been running on equal parts adrenaline and raw nerves.

Being ordered to move again, so soon after I’ve begun settling into my current suite, rattles me.

But I’ve already agreed to place my fate in his hands. This is the price for survival: do what he commands, hope I’m skilled enough to remain useful.

I hurry back to my old room—well, old by a day or two—to gather what few items I have.

There’s not much: a spare tunic, the official House Draeven identification writ that Vaelorian provided, and a small stack of scrolls from the library.

I cradle them in my arms, ignoring the worried look from the lone guard stationed by the door.

She says nothing as I exit. The tension in the corridor seeps into my bones.

It’s mid-afternoon, and more Vrakken are moving about: some in glossy black armor, others in flowing robes embroidered with cryptic runes.

Their footsteps echo against the ancient stones, creating a continuous murmur of activity.

Once, I would have cowered at the mere sight of so many of these pale-skinned predators.

Now, I keep my chin level, though I can’t claim I’m relaxed.

Fear lingers in my belly, but I don’t let it conquer me.

Following the instructions on Vaelorian’s parchment, I climb a spiral staircase that winds through the fortress’s mid-level floors.

The architecture here is different from the lower halls: the stone is polished to an almost mirror sheen, and the sconces along the walls flicker with a faint violet glow, as if lit by arcane energy rather than mundane flames.

Even the air feels charged, crackling with residual magic.

Eventually, I step into a wide hallway lined with tall windows on one side, each draped in sheer black curtains.

Beyond the glass, I see a sweeping view of the fortress courtyard—its gargoyles perched along the ramparts, its labyrinth of walled gardens, and the distant ridge of mountains.

A faint hush blankets everything this high up, as though the rest of House Draeven is far below.

I pause by a door embossed with a stylized symbol: two overlapping wings and a single thorny rose beneath. It matches the crest on Vaelorian’s parchments, so I check the note in my hand. The final line reads, “Quarters: East Spire. Second door to the right. You’ll know it by the crest.”

I exhale, steadying myself, then push open the door.

Inside, the air is cool and carries a faint scent of candlewax and fresh lilies.

I blink, taken aback by the space. It’s bigger than I expected—opulent, even.

A canopied bed stands near the far wall, draped in heavy black fabric embroidered with silver threads.

A matching set of chairs and a writing desk occupy the room, arranged around a plush circular rug in a shade of midnight blue.

Tall bookshelves fill one corner, though they appear mostly empty, as if awaiting new tomes.

On the left, a pair of double doors leads to an adjoining room.

I poke my head inside to find a washroom with a marble tub and a tall mirror, reminiscent of the grandiose styles favored by the dark elves.

Even so, the carved symbols along the ceiling remind me this is a Vrakken domain—images of serpentine dragons, bat-like creatures, and stylized wings swirl in an unending pattern.

Laying my scrolls and tunic on a nearby chair, I do a quick circuit of the main chamber. Everything is luxurious in a foreboding way, like a splendid palace in a nightmare. But it’s undeniably an upgrade from the smaller suite Vaelorian assigned me initially.

A discreet cough sounds from the doorway, and I startle, nearly knocking into the desk.

“Forgive me,” a voice says, low and male. “I didn’t realize you’d arrived.”

My heart jolts until I recognize Vaelorian, standing in the open doorway with the faintest hint of amusement in his black eyes.

He’s wearing a fitted coat of charcoal leather, his wings partially furled behind him.

Even in the subdued afternoon light, he commands the space with a casual grace that unsettles me.

I straighten, brushing my hair behind my ears. “I only just got here.”

He glances around the room, taking in the sight of me in my disheveled state, arms full of scrolls. He steps fully inside, letting the door click shut behind him. The hush in the room magnifies my awareness of him—of the way he moves, each step silent and purposeful.

“You said you prefer privacy,” he says. “My mother’s house can be... stifling, even at the best of times. I thought you might work better with some space of your own.”

I place the scrolls carefully on the writing desk. “This is... a lot,” I admit, gesturing at the lavish bed and thick tapestries. “I’m not used to it.”

A faint shrug lifts his shoulders. “You’re not just a thrall, Valeria. We’ve established that. Think of this as a reflection of your new status.”

My heartbeat quickens. “New status?”

His gaze locks on mine, and something tense flickers in the air between us. “You’re my operative. That comes with certain privileges.”

I can’t help the wry scoff that escapes my lips. “Privileges, including the possibility that if I fail, you’ll toss me aside or feed on me?”

His expression doesn’t soften at the jab. “We both know the risks. But I’d prefer you succeed.”

There’s an undercurrent in his tone that sends a shiver along my spine. I sense that he’s not saying everything—there’s a swirl of intensity behind those obsidian eyes, as though something is at war beneath his cold facade. It stirs an unwanted pang of curiosity.

I lower my gaze to the intricate rug, trying to suppress my swirling thoughts. Romance is a luxury I can’t afford. This arrangement is about survival, about power. Let the dark elves coo over illusions of love; I’m not naive enough to believe Vaelorian is offering me anything like that.

Still, I can’t deny the slight flutter in my chest whenever I notice the subtle arch of his cheekbones, the whisper of his wings shifting, or the quiet lull of his voice.

He clears his throat. “I came to see how you’re settling. Helrath told me you managed to survive another round of drills without any broken bones.”

I huff. “He’s rough, but I’m learning quickly.”

“You’ll need every edge you can get. The dark elf courts are not kind to the unprepared.”

I nod, swallowing the anxiety that edges up my throat. “I know. I lived among them for years, remember?”

He steps closer, wings rustling. The proximity sets my nerves on high alert. I hold my ground, refusing to shrink back as he halts a mere arm’s length away. The tension is palpable, a crackle in the space between us.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he warns, voice low. “I’m giving you this suite so you have the tools you need—privacy, resources, better access to the library. But House Draeven remains lethal, no matter how many velvet curtains or plush rugs we hang.”

My mouth goes dry. “I appreciate the reminder.”

A faint smile tugs at his pale lips. “You wouldn’t have come this far if you needed coddling.”

For a fleeting moment, I swear there’s respect in his gaze—maybe even admiration. It sends a thrill through me that I quickly bury. Focus on survival.

He shifts to the side, glancing at the empty bookshelves. “I assumed you’d want space for more texts. Our library is extensive, and you’re free to request specific volumes. If you uncover any detail that can help you navigate dark elf society, seize it.”

I recall the swirl of conflicting feelings I had when I first stepped into the library.

It thrilled me in a way I didn’t expect, to see knowledge laid out so plainly.

If Vaelorian allows me to build my own reference collection here, I can study every nuance of the dark elves’ etiquette, their underhanded magic, their alliances. It might give me an edge.

“That would help,” I admit softly, letting my guard drop a fraction. “I’m no scholar, but the more I learn, the better prepared I’ll be.”

He dips his chin. “Exactly. Preparation is everything. Speaking of which...”

He reaches into a small pouch at his belt and withdraws a single key, wrought from dark metal with an ornate swirl at the handle. He holds it out. “Lock your door when you want. Even though you’re under my protection, I’d rather not risk any ambitious subordinate deciding to test you.”

The gift, if I can call it that—catches me by surprise. A private suite with a lock is a level of autonomy I never dreamed of as a slave. I extend my hand, and he places the key in my palm. For an instant, our fingers brush, sending an unexpected warmth through my veins.

I curl my fingers around the cool metal. “Thank you,” I say quietly.

He steps back, regaining the distance. “Just remember you’re not entirely safe, even behind that lock. If someone powerful enough wants in, no key will stop them.”

I let out a dry laugh. “Trust me, I know how unstoppable your kind can be.”

“ My kind, yes. But also the dark elves. Don’t forget, they have spells that can bypass locks. Your only true protection is cunning—both yours and mine.”