Page 13

I couldn’t stop staring at Montaurère.

Yesterday, when Jules had pointed out a sky-piercing mountain on the horizon, it had seemed impossibly distant. Weeks away, surely. But the road twisted through the cliffs and pine-thick slopes of a lower pass, and by this morning, that peak loomed far closer than it should have.

An hour ago, we had turned a bend in the road and nothing but a wide field separated us from the city.

I had spent most of that last hour with my jaw agape. Sprawling white villas clung to the mountainside, winding up from the base to the very tip. Ribbon-thin waterfalls spilled down the rock, catching the light like molten silver. In places too steep for natural paths, platform walkways stretched between buildings, delicate-looking but sturdy, linking the city like a web spun into stone. At the peak, a giant white castle with dozens of sharp, gold-tipped towers speared out from the earth.

How did a castle that massive even stay on a mountainside that steep? Any human-made structure would have crumbled long ago, sliding straight into the lake that glittered to my right.

Stars, a city of vampires had no right to be this breathtaking.

Or maybe it had every right. Montaurère was as dazzling as its immortal inhabitants.

I drank in every detail—the soaring spires, the intricate terraces, the bursts of color woven through the stone. Thousands of Azarasian flags snapped in the wind, their deep crimson and sapphire striking against white facades and patches of greenery. If each flag marked a home, then hundreds of thousands of vampires lived here. The last Corraidin census had counted only thirteen thousand humans within our entire boundary. I couldn’t even fathom a city this vast.

But even Montaurère’s splendor couldn’t distract from my racing pulse and damp palms. If Jules hadn’t refreshed my soothing runespell a few hours ago, I’d be doubled over from the sheer force of my anxiety. After the longest week of my life, we had finally arrived. What happened now? I knew little about what happened to the harvested beyond becoming blood thralls. Even less about Montaurère.

Karra hadn’t visited the Capital of Dawn in volume one of The Soulborne Queen , but she had mentioned its extensive underground network, deeper than even Tenebra de Mar, where Azaras had once held his court. Vampires liked to hollow into the earth just like their demon and hellbeast brethren. Light meant nothing to them when their senses were far superior to mortal creatures.

I swallowed hard. Is that where they would take us? How many humans had gone missing within those dark caves? How many screamed in terror and agony—or pleasure —right now, a vampire’s fangs buried in their throat?

“Are you well?”

Luc’s voice rumbled through his chest, faint vibrations at my back. His breath brushed the tip of my ear. The deep spice of him invaded my senses.

“I’m fine,” I said, managing to sound mostly normal.

I’d ridden with Luc during the last two days and switched to Jules’s hellsteed at night, the lords passing me between them as their magic switched at dusk and dawn. Thankfully so, because I didn’t think I could sleep in Luc’s arms. Not that he wasn’t as warm and solid as his soulbound, but Jules’s presence at my back was all easy joy and brightness.

On the surface, at least. I didn’t let myself think too hard about that.

With Luc, I couldn’t stop picturing him fucking.

I shuffled in the saddle, heat curling low in my stomach. Not painful, thankfully. Just… persistent. Vampires were gorgeous, sure, but I’d never been this constantly attracted in my life. Not even before my illness, when other girls my age had started sighing over romance and stealing kisses.

Luc inhaled sharply. His grip tightened on my hip, fingers pressing through my cloak. His arms and thighs flexed around me, solid, immovable. I swallowed. Every time his muscles shifted beneath his leathers, my mind dragged up the blood thrall’s expression. Bliss-shocked, broken apart. She had all but died from her orgasm. Would it feel that incredible if the Lord of Dusk thrust me down on his massive, pierced cock?

When . Not if.

Luc inhaled deeply, a slow, deep breath against the crown of my head. Was he… sniffing me? “It will take us much longer than a half-hour to reach Dawnspear if you don’t stop thinking about fucking me, little curiosity.”

“What?” I stiffened, back snapping straight. My voice came out embarrassingly high-pitched. “I wasn’t—that’s rather presumptuous of you.”

“Is it?”

I shivered as the words tickled the exposed skin of my neck. I couldn’t help it. Luc hummed, a smug, pleased noise. The kind that belonged alongside a smirk, the sharp curl of his mouth when he knew exactly what he was doing. Heat flared hotter in my core.

I drove my nails into my palms as we rode between two stone columns, each one etched with familiar runespells. Protect. Shield. Barrier . It was time for a subject change and there was one answer I still needed.

It would probably cool my rampant desire, too.

“You still haven’t told me what I volunteered for,” I said. “Every time I’ve asked, you evade the question.”

Luc considered me. “If I tell you, will you run screaming?”

“I’d have to get off this hellsteed first.”

Jules snorted, the sound carrying from where he rode ahead of us.

Though I knew the answer, I added, “Will I get very far?”

“Not very.”

“Then no, I won’t run,” I said. “There’s nothing I can say or do to stop this. Running isn’t going to help.”

“And knowing will?”

I wasn’t going to like his answer, was I? “I can’t see how it’d hurt.”

Silence fell between us. The road widened into an empty square, the stone beneath us paling to match the buildings of Montaurère that had begun dotting the landscape on either side. A gilded arch rose from the square’s center, grand and foreboding. As wide as two wagons, it framed a thin, black surface that was almost reflective, shifting like trapped smoke.

Luc finally spoke. “We don’t usually tell our volunteer until the ceremony.”

Ceremony? “Have any of them asked?”

“No.”

“They usually don’t speak at all.” Jules glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes flickering between me and his soulbound. “I’ve decided you must be insane.”

“I don’t disagree,” I muttered.

“I vote we tell her, Luc. What’s the worst that could happen?” His gaze dipped, deliberate, to the pulse at my throat. Hunger flickered behind his golden irises, bright and sharp. “If she manages to run, that just means we get to chase her.”

I repressed a shudder, but my heart stuttered. I hadn’t witnessed the Lord of Dawn feed from any of the thralls, though he had admitted to it before the attack. And after spending so much magic killing wraiths, he must have done so again. How often did a vampire need blood?

“You’re to be the next Mortal Bride.”

I tore my gaze from Jules. Mortal Bride . The words rang hollow, unfamiliar. I hadn’t come across the term before, but my skin tingled with unease. I inhaled slowly, intentionally. “And who exactly am I marrying?”

“It’s not a real marriage,” Luc said. “But the ceremony will bind you for life, so we stole the term.”

Bind me for life. My stomach twisted. “Bind me to whom ?”

The words came out sharper than I intended. Luc’s gaze settled heavily on the back of my head. A weighted silence stretched between us. I refused to hunch my shoulders. I would not cower.

“It’s not to a person,” Luc finally said, “so much as to a spell.”

“Let’s not lie to our volunteer, Lucey. It’s to a spell through a person.” Jules paused and cocked his head. “Two persons. People? You get what I mean.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

Jules chuckled. “I guess it doesn’t, no.”

I sighed. Why had I expected the lords to give me a straight answer now, when they’d danced around it for days? I’d find out soon enough.

Luc surprised me by continuing. “The collective magic of our impire powers the runespell that transfers Azarasian magic between soulbound. But since it’s a perpetual spell, it needs a constant supply of lifeforce. For lack of a better term, the runespell needs a sacrifice.”

Sacrifice.

Every part of me went stiff.

Fuck.

Maybe I wasn’t going to be anyone’s bride. I’d once read about an ancient human culture that married a virgin to a godstar before stabbing her through the heart. It seemed a brutal practice, but what were vampires if not brutal?

“Are you going to sacrifice me?” I somehow kept the words steady.

What would I do if he said yes? What could I do? My chances of escape had always been low. Now they were nonexistent.

When I’d chosen my fate years ago, I had hoped to survive the Azarasians. But if I was a sacrifice, was I truly any better off? Maybe I should’ve married Patriarch Meallán and let him fuck me through my body’s protests, clinging to the useless hope of meeting the birth quota.

“A single death wouldn’t provide anywhere near enough energy,” Luc said at last. “Even if you were overjoyed to offer us your life.”

That wasn’t a no. Shit. I had volunteered to be a sacrifice . I hadn’t lied when I told Luc I wouldn’t run, but stars, I wanted to. My heart had made no such promises, though. It thundered against my ribs, demanding I flee. “In what other way can you sacrifice someone?”

The lords exchanged a glance. Luc shifted his grip on his hellsteed’s reins, steady and deliberate, before raising his free hand. “May I have your wrist?”

I swallowed down my fear and slowly held up my wrist. Luc traced his thumb over my pulse. His touch was warm, steady, measured. I tried to breathe, tried to slow the frantic beat beneath his fingers.

“See the arch?” he murmured.

I forced a frown to my lips. Better that than parting them. “Am I not supposed to? It’s hard to miss.”

Now that we were closer, I noticed tiny runes carved into every inch of the black, wavering surface. The material must have been daemium, same as the lords’ weapons.

“Watch.” Luc’s thumb settled over my pulse. Pressed down, just slightly. “This will sting.”

Before I could ask, Luc’s thumbnail sharpened to a black point and sliced across my skin. A faint flash of pain struck as my flesh split with ease. I flinched as blood pooled at the small cut.

With a wave of his hand, Luc took control of my blood. The droplets rose, bubbling up like liquid pearls before merging into a swirling circle above our heads. I stared, transfixed. Would I ever stop marveling at this otherworldly power? I hoped not. My fate was grim, but if I held onto this wonder, maybe my soul would survive mostly intact.

Screams shattered the quiet.

I dropped my gaze. Jules had lifted his hands, and with them, blood burst from every Maboni. Tiny cuts at their arms, wrists, and hands seeped crimson. He didn’t take enough from any one human to harm them, but together, my blood and theirs wove into a rushing stream three bodies wide, pulsing like a living artery in the sky.

As Jules directed the crimson river toward the arch, Luc raised my still-bleeding wrist. Like he meant to press his lips to my skin. Heat flared deep inside me.

Jules growled, dark and possessive. It was a noise much more suited to the Lord of Dusk.

Luc halted mid-motion and slowly arched a brow.

“Her blood is mine first.”

My eyes widened. Wait, was that what the lords meant when they called me their prize? Had Jules won me first ? As my thoughts spun, a moment stretched between the vampires. Then, slowly, Luc relented with a nod of his head. He had lost, after all. But I didn’t think he’d yield to anyone but his soulbound.

Shadows coiled at his fingertips as he traced a pattern over my skin. Heal . The cut closed, not even a scar left behind.

Luc didn’t linger. With a firm but deliberate touch, he tilted my head back toward the arch. “Watch.”

Jules looped the floating river of blood around the arch’s gilded rim, then splattered it across the daemium surface like an artist staining canvas. The grooves of the runes drank it in, flooding red. Gate. Distance. Path. Arrival. Cross . The gate shuddered, its dark surface rippling like disturbed water. The runes pulsed, devouring the blood—until suddenly, shadows erupted outward, a shockwave of energy blasting the air.

The daemium faded… into a white stone wall, climbing with roses.

I blinked. That wasn’t what I expected. The wall didn’t align with the surface. It seemed farther away, like I glanced through a window. I tilted my head, catching the gleam of gilded towers rising above.

Just beneath Dawnspear, a splash of red.

A wall of roses.

“Is that…?”

“It is,” Jules said, grinning at the gateway. “Why climb a mountain when you can simply appear at the top?”

Oh. That was… amazing, actually. I hadn’t read about any runespell like that in any book. “Isn’t that a security risk? Invaders could breach the castle instantly.”

Jules’s smile fell. “You ruin all the fun, lovely.”

I flinched. Didn’t I always?

“No frowning,” Jules said, instantly perking back up.

Luc kicked his hellsteed forward, Jules falling in beside us. “Yes, theoretically, if someone cracked the security wards on the Imperium Square’s runegate, they could march an army on the castle.”

“I, for one, welcome the challenge,” Jules said. “Dawnspear’s walls could use new decorations.”

I frowned. Decorations? What?

The arch’s shadow swallowed me whole as we reached the runegate’s surface. I braced for impact, expecting… something. A lurch, a sensation of falling, a flash of magic piercing through me. Instead, warmth brushed my skin like a gentle caress.

And then we were through.

Sunlight flickered—gone in one second, tracing me from a different angle the next. The air felt no different. My ears didn’t pop.

But my eyes nearly did.

Vampires in flowing silks and glistening jewels drifted across the pristine stone square, moving with effortless grace around the other gilded runegate. Their hair cascaded freely down their backs, their skin bare beneath the delicate shimmer of fabric.

Thralls followed their masters in silence, collars of iron, silver, or gold gleaming at their throats. They wore simple black uniforms, the thin fabric clinging to their forms, leaving little to the imagination.

At the first sign of the lords’ hellsteeds, the crowd parted without hesitation, eyes lowered as they cleared a wide path.

Before us, Dawnspear loomed.

The castle was as wide as it was tall, a sheer wall of pale stone rising like a monument. I angled my head back, trying to take it all in. My neck ached from the effort. Sharp spires speared in the sky, circling a massive central keep, their gilded tips catching the late-afternoon sun. Hundreds of arched casement windows gleamed between carved turrets and intricate buttresses.

Beyond the keep, twisting vines of crimson roses climbed a formidable curtain wall. The wall projected outward at its corners into bastions before continuing in a straight line toward the gatehouse, where the main gate stood in solid gold, carved with the blazing image of a sun. The carving wasn’t just decorative. Its position matched the exact location of the real sun, marking the time with eerie precision.

Near the gate, a heavy golden chain dropped from the parapet, its weight pulling at something pale and veined with black.

I squinted.

My stomach dropped. “Are those shadow-streaked bones hanging from the walls?”

“They are,” Luc said.

So that was what Jules meant by decorations. “Why?”

“To send a message.”

Now that I had seen one skeleton, I saw another. And another. Rib cages, femurs, skills. Curled fingers frozen in their last moments. The vines had grown through them, twisting through hollow eye sockets, weaving around skeletal limbs like nature itself had claimed the bodies.

“That’s a lot of messages.”

Jules rode his hellsteed in a slow, lazy circle until we were face to face. His golden eyes gleamed, sharp as the spires above us. “It’s one message, just in twenty-two parts.”

The wonder I’d felt—Montaurère’s beauty, the magic, the sheer breathtaking scope of it—shriveled to nothing. Cold, hard reality slammed back into me.

I was a living sacrifice.

What had the lords said before they distracted me with magic?

“So I’m a blood sacrifice?”

“No. Well, yes?” Jules shrugged, waving a hand as if my impending fate was hardly worth the concern. “All thralls are technically a blood sacrifice.”

Luc was more direct. “It will be your life we sacrifice, but slowly, bit by bit every day. As you sleep and eat and laugh and come” —I stiffened, but Luc continued on as if the last item on his list were as ordinary as the first— “your lifeforce will replenish. You will become the covenant runespell’s home, an endless well of magic in its purest sense.”

“I see.” I kept my voice calm, even as my mind screamed on the inside. Run. The word slashed through my thoughts. But where? Through the city of vampires? Into the forest of hellbeasts and wraiths?

No.

Defiance was pointless. A waste of time. A waste of breath. I could scream, struggle, curse their names, but that wouldn’t change the fact that vampires were stronger. Faster. Deadlier. I’d read the history textbooks. I’d seen it myself. What could I possibly do against them?

Running wasn’t an option.

Fighting wasn’t an option.

But breathing? Staying whole? That was my choice.

I wasn’t going to die. Not today. But my life would never be mine again. woven into the heart of a runespell that empowered an impire of vampires.

Assuming my life was even enough.

The first wagon came through the runegate behind us. The lords kicked their hellsteeds back into motion, aiming for the castle’s gilded gate. I stared down at my hands, twisting them together. The lords knew something wasn’t right with me, but if I told them I was permanently broken, they might search for another volunteer. The illness of my body surely affected my lifeforce.

If I wasn’t strong enough to host their spell, I’d probably die. Was becoming an ordinary thrall the better fate? My shoulders tensed at the thought of the runespell carved into my neck, forcing compliance.

Fate had offered me an escape, but I couldn’t take it. I wasn’t even good enough to be a sacrifice .

A hysterical laugh crawled up my throat, but I smothered it. “I don’t know if I’m the best choice for that.”

“You’re currently the only choice.”

I shuddered at the sudden chill in Luc’s tone. “Surely you could find a human in the city to volunteer.”

Luc’s answer came without hesitation. “Anyone who’s ever worn a thrall runespell isn’t a willing volunteer, even if the runes are removed.”

“But a branded Maboni is?”

“The brand didn’t control you,” he said.

“It would’ve killed me if I left the island.”

“It would’ve, yes,” he agreed. “But that’s not the same as controlling you.”

The distinction didn’t make me feel any better. “I’m… not well. Sickly and weak. There are days where the pain and exhaustion confine me to my bed. If it’s a strong lifeforce you need, I’m not the candidate for your covenant.”

Luc was silent for a moment. “Your lifeforce is more than sufficient.”

I blinked. “What?”

“The strength of a body doesn’t always determine the strength of a lifeforce.” Luc’s voice was calm, matter-of-fact. “Perseverance and grit can fuel a person just as much as joy and pleasure.”

“Oh.” That didn’t settle my stomach. I didn’t think anything would. “So am I pretend-marrying the spell’s casters? Who—”

I froze in Luc’s arms.

The covenant runespell held the Impire together against the threat of the wraiths.

We stood before Dawnspear, home of the Court of Dawn.

The lords were powerful and respected, vampires who no doubt operated in the highest echelon of Azarasian society.

There were only two vampires they could possibly serve.

My breath caught. “Did your kings cast the covenant spell?”

Jules considered me. Something ancient and callous flicked behind his grin. A brief glimpse behind his jolly mask. “Yes.”

I wracked my brain for what little I knew about the Conqueror and the Butcher. Not much. They had ruled for four centuries. They were soulbound. The Azarasians stationed in Mabon always referred to them collectively as the Imperium or by their epithets. Never their names. Never their genders.

But anyone called the Conqueror and the Butcher by vampires were monsters I should fear.

My heart pounded, a hard, erratic rhythm. Fuck, this was really happening.

Luc exhaled, almost amused. “Your heart is beating so loud I can nearly feel it against my chest. You aren’t going to pass out, are you, Miss Halloran?”

My mouth dried. “No?”

“You don’t sound sure about that,” Jules said. “Is it really that terrifying to fake-marry two kings? You weren’t as scared of the hellserpent or wraiths, and they’d have ripped you to shreds.”

“And someone named the Butcher won’t?”

“Of course not.” Grinning, Jules pulled his curved lynx dagger from its sheath and flipped it easily in his hand. Daemium caught the light, gleaming darkly. “For humans, I much prefer a blade. It makes cleaner cuts.”

I stared.

Stared longer.

He wasn’t…?

He didn’t mean…?

“You what now?”

Luc chuckled low in my ear. “Ah, yes. We never properly introduced ourselves.”

“That was quite rude of us, wasn’t it?” Jules twirled his dagger, the tip pointing to himself. “Julian Roche, King of Dawn, pleasure to meet you.” The daemium tip swiveled toward Luc. “That brute breathing down your neck is Lucero Azaras, King of Dusk. You might know him better as the Conqueror, which makes me your friendly neighborhood Butcher.”