Page 16

I’ve touched each puzzle piece at least a dozen times, trying to make them fit where they don’t belong. The image is supposed to be a forest scene—trees and flowers and wildlife—but right now, it’s just fragments scattered across the table, much like my thoughts. Chaotic, broken, and senseless.

Aerix didn’t come to me last night.

The realization sits heavily in my chest, a cold weight that makes it hard to breathe. I’ve spent the entire night tossing in sheets that feel too empty, too cold without him beside me.

Now, I’m still in my nightclothes, hair half coming out of its braids, my face unwashed. What’s the point? If Aerix has decided I’m not worth his time anymore, then nothing matters. Not breakfast, not appearances, not even the hunger gnawing at my stomach .

I return to the puzzle, but no pieces fit.

So, I swipe my hand across the table, sending a bunch of them scattering to the ground.

I’m picking them up when a knock echoes through the room.

Three precise raps. Aerix’s knock.

I don’t move. I just stare at the door, bracing myself.

Will he be cold and cruel, ready to remind me what happens to humans who forget their place in the Night Court? Will his eyes be flat and empty again, his wings sharp with restrained anger?

The door swings open without waiting for my invitation.

Aerix steps into the room. He’s a vision in black, as always. His wings are folded behind him, sleek and lethal, his expression unreadable.

My heart stutters as I take him in, searching for any sign of the frost and fury from last night. But his face is calm, his midnight eyes clear and untroubled. As if our argument never happened.

And just like that, the pressure in my chest begins to ease.

“Are you coming to breakfast?” he asks casually, stepping into the room.

I blink, thrown completely off balance. “I—what?”

His lips curve into that familiar half-smile that always makes my pulse race.

“Breakfast,” he repeats, crossing the room toward me.

“The meal one consumes upon waking.” His fingers brush my cheek as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Unless you’d prefer to stay here playing with your puzzle?

” He glances pointedly at the floor, where the pieces are scattered about.

“Although, that looks like it’s going only slightly better than your harpsichord practices. ”

Before I can reply, he leans down and kisses me. Not gentle, not explanatory, but a storm reasserting its dominion. His magic swirls around us, cold air caressing my skin, and my body responds instinctively, leaning into him despite my confusion.

When he pulls away, I stare up at him, searching his face for any hint of the wounded man who left me last night.

“What’s going on, Aerix?” The words tumble out before I can stop them.

“Going on?” He raises an eyebrow, his head tilting in that predatory way of his that makes a thrill curl up my spine. “I came to ensure my consort will be joining me for breakfast.”

There’s that word again.

Consort.

The one that sparked everything last night.

“Last night, you—” I begin, but a warning tightens in his eyes, sharp beneath the surface.

A clear message: don’t push .

He turns away from me, moving toward the dresser where I keep my sketchbooks.

Then, from inside his jacket, he pulls out a folded piece of paper I recognize immediately—the drawing I made with my blood pen.

The one where I’d sketched myself riding beside him into court, each of us on our own jaguar.

“I took this while you were sleeping,” he says, unfolding it carefully. “You’ve been improving.”

The realization that he came into my room while I slept—that he went through my things—makes my breath catch, and I’m not sure if it’s in a good or a bad way.

“I’m going to have it framed in gold,” he continues, refolding the drawing with precision and sliding it back into his jacket. “A fitting display for such a powerful statement.”

“Why?” I ask, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

His wings shift—just slightly—but enough to betray the tension running beneath his smooth exterior.

“Because I always want us to see it,” he says. “To see what you want. What you’re ready for. What you’re becoming. Now, come to breakfast as you are. You don’t need to change. Not for her.”

Her.

Sophia.

Aerix’s breakfast .

“I haven’t even brushed my hair,” I point out, confusion mounting.

“Good.” Aerix’s hand skims down my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “I like you this way. Wild. Untamed. Unafraid.”

From the way he leans forward, his eyes burning into mine, I think he’s about to release all that wild, untamed energy out on me.

Instead, he gives me a single nod, turns, and leads the way through the connecting door into his quarters.

When I step inside, I find a girl stands silently by the window, her head bowed, her hands clasped in front of her. She’s older than me—maybe in her lower thirties—with copper-colored hair and skin so pale it’s almost translucent.

I don’t know who she is.

All I know is that she’s not Sophia.

“Aerix?” I whisper, my voice catching.

His gaze remains fixed on the girl. “Sophia has been reassigned.”

“Reassigned?” I repeat. “You mean?—”

“To the barns,” he confirms, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather. “Her disrespect toward you yesterday was unacceptable.”

Horror floods through me as I think of Sophia—sweet, welcoming Sophia—now condemned to the barns because she accused me of killing Henry .

Which, as Aerix and I are both aware, was an accurate accusation.

“But I forgave her,” I say, the words rushing out. “I told her it was fine.”

He turns to me then, one eyebrow raised. “Sophia was not your servant to discipline,” he says, his wings shifting slightly, the only sign of his irritation. “She questioned you. Accused you. In my court, that is treason.”

My throat tightens. “You didn’t even tell me?—“

“You might have tried to stop me if I did,” he cuts me off, his eyes begging me to understand. “If you had, I would have listened to you. I would have given in. You don’t see it, but you could unravel me with a word, Zoey. You have more power than you know.”

My heart pounds as I take in his admission. Because all this time, I thought I was the one at his mercy, when in reality...

“Are we okay?” he asks, the question so human, so ordinary, that it catches me off guard.

I study his face—the perfect angles, the midnight eyes that have haunted my dreams since that first night in the bunker. He’s the dark prince who sends people to the barns for disrespecting me, who drinks human blood without remorse, and who sees most of my kind as little more than cattle .

And yet here he is, waiting for my answer like it’s the only thing that matters in all the realms.

Calm settles in. Not quite peace, but just enough clarity to nod. To breathe. To say what he needs to hear.

“Yes,” I say finally. “We’re okay.”

His shoulders relax, although his wings remain tense against his back.

And then, he extends his hand to mine.

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the table where breakfast is laid out. It’s larger than usual—pancakes, waffles, eggs, and even the cookies I love so much. “Please.”

My stomach flips at the vulnerability in that one word.

Please.

So, I take his hand, letting him guide me to the chair across from his.

The unnamed woman remains standing by the window, perfectly still, like a statue or a piece of furniture.

Aerix sits with practiced grace, his wings adjusting to accommodate the chair’s back. He doesn’t release my hand, instead tightening his grip slightly, as if afraid I might withdraw.

“Come,” he commands, not looking at the woman, but clearly addressing her.

She approaches without hesitation, her steps silent against the stone floor. As she stops beside his chair, her eyes remain fixed on some distant point, her face expressionless.

Is she new? She has to be new. Royals don’t take hand-me-downs.

Without needing further instruction, the woman bends her neck to the side, exposing the pale column of her throat.

Aerix’s eyes lock on mine as he lowers his mouth to her neck, his fangs extending and puncturing the skin with zero hesitation, zero mercy.

There’s no care in the way he bites—no pretense of gentleness.

It’s completely opposite of the tenderness he uses when he feeds from me, or the distant respect he used to offer Sophia.

As he drinks, he doesn’t release my hand. If anything, his grip tightens. Hard. Fingers interlaced with mine like a vow he’s carving into my bones.

My breath catches, and he notices—of course he does. A flicker of pleasure passes through his eyes, so subtle I might have missed it if I wasn’t watching him the way he’s watching me.

When he eventually pulls away, his lips are red and perfect. He lingers for a moment, his mouth close to the woman’s throat, but his hand continues to grip mine like it’s the only thing tethering him to the room.

And maybe it is.

“Go,” he tells the woman, who bows slightly, then retreats from the room without a backward glance .

We sit in silence, and I wait for him to say something about what just happened. About Sophia, and about this new girl whose name I don’t even know.

Instead, he shifts gears.

“I have something for you.” He releases my hand and crosses the room to his wardrobe, pulling out a silk-covered box from inside—long and flat. “I want you to put it on.”

I look up at him, searching his face for some clue about what this means.

His expression gives nothing away. It’s only sharp lines and unreadable stillness.

“What is it?” I finally ask.

“Open it,” he says, coming over and holding the box out to me, the breakfast he’d had arranged for us apparently forgotten.

Just like Sophia was forgotten. Just like everything is, once he remembers I’m the only thing in the world that matters to him.

I lift the lid, and my breath catches. Because inside lies a gown unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The fabric is dark, and it’s shot through with hand-stitched streaks of red, the same hue as blood. Silvery gems glitter in swirling patterns across the bodice… or are they diamonds? I’m not sure.

It’s decadent. Violent. Beautiful. A warning dressed in silk .

It’s the kind of dress that belongs in a fairy tale. Not in the hands of a small-town girl from Presque Isle.

But Aerix doesn’t see me as that girl anymore. Maybe he never did.

Which is fine by me, since I don’t see her anymore, either.