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I’m vaguely aware of Sitri taking his seat beside me. When I glance up every eye in the room is centered on me, expecting, waiting for something. For what—I don’t know. My blood flashes cold.

It’s Morin’s voice that pierces the silence. “Syra, now permanently tied to line Cernnunos.” Her voice is void of emotion. From this distance her eyes appears as black as the void of the night sky. “The prince has offered you the heart of your enemy. It must be consumed. In doing so you bind him only to you. In doing so you take the blood of our Gods and accept the life we have offered you here. It would be a great offense to us if you are not successful.”

I recount her words but I can’t seem to discern their meaning. She can’t really expect me to--I look at Sitri, hoping to—surely he doesn’t expect me to, no, we agreed he would protect me . He’ll find a way out of this. But his head is bowed, and when I turn my head, his eyes shutter closed. Defeat .

I peer around the room. So many bodies. Dressed in their fineries, they look like regular people. But they’re not regular people. They’re witches. Bellies full and faces flushing with wine in their blood. They watch, they wait for the source of their entertainment. The guards must’ve drug the bleeding culprit away because he’s gone, no trail of blood left behind. My heart beats erratically. The dāemon begins thrashing.

Fight.

Flight.

Neither is an option.

I can’t. There’s no way. I shoot Sitri another pleading look. Help me. You said you would protect me, I think, trying to direct my thoughts into his mind just as his voice appeared in mine.

Pick it up.

“Can’t,” I choke out.

Pet, I’m going to help you but you have to do this. Pick it up.

I stare down at the chunk of gore. Ripped from the man’s chest just as he intended to plunge a dagger into mine.

I need you to trust me. Pick it up. His voice grows more demanding.

With trembling fingers, I reach down and take the bloody pulp. It's warm and slick against my palms and a shudder rocks me.

Good. Now take a bite.

A small choked sound slips out of me.

I’m going to help you, he repeats. You can do this.

I bring it toward my mouth, sucking in a panicked breath as I press it to my lips. The heart is tough and the first attempt does not prove successful. I bring it toward the side of my mouth to gnaw off the chewy sinew. Blood squirts against my lips as I clamp my teeth down and tear off a chunk. The tang of iron encases my tongue. I gag. The chunk of flesh disappears from my mouth and I freeze.

Pretend to chew, Sitri coaxes and I obey. I swallow some of the blood that’s leaked into my mouth with the action and gag again.

Good. Now, again.

Blood trickles down my wrists and then my arms as I squeeze the heart between my teeth and tear off a chunk. As soon as I close my lips around it, it vanishes again.

Chew . Even though I’m not actually ingesting it another gag works up my throat.

Don’t think about it, he says sternly . Just get it done.

There’s still so much more to go. A whimper spills out of me.

As soon as you’re done I’ll get us out of here, I swear.

I work a noisy swallow.

Don’t rush! This has to look natural. Swallow when I say.

I offer a slight jerk of my head in understanding. Carefully maneuvering the heart to one hand, I wipe at my chin. There’s so much blood now, dribbling down my mouth and hands I only succeed in smearing it further. Tears well in my eyes, a shudder wracking my chest.

Don’t cry, he says, voice a low snarl in my ear. Don’t give them the satisfaction.

My throat is so hard and tight even faking swallows causes me pain. It’s only a piece of meat, I lie to myself. The next time I swallow, Sitri misses a good portion of it, and I actually do ingest some of the heart, which sends me to gagging again.

The heart seems never-ending. I can no longer see the crowd watching my cruel torment. I disassociate, my soul lifts and I go someplace else as my body continues to gnaw off pieces of flesh and pretend to chew. The next bite I aim for is the large protruding capillary I’ve been avoiding. There’s no other choice. It becomes harder to hold as it decreases in size, slipping across my palms. I’m forced to dig my nails in, bathing myself further in the seeping blood.

My nerves ramp up as I near the end, hands practically vibrating as the heart is torn to a small shred, held in one bloody palm.

You’re doing so good, pet. You’re almost done.

A sound emits from my lips on those last few bites. Something between a crazed sound of glee and a choke. I press the last piece in with a flat palm and look down, shivering, waiting for Sitri to tell me when.

Swallow.

I obey. It’s done. Another wave of emotion wracks through my chest as I wrestle down the urge to cry.

Now stand.

I don’t think I even remember how. I stare at my blood-drenched, quivering hands held out in front of me, and the wrongness of it all wells, threatening to shatter me completely.

Stand , he demands again.

My knees wobble as I force myself up, but then his hand is there, holding me upright and pulling me to face him. The lights are too bright, and the scattered sounds of chairs scraping the floor, coughs, and the shuffling of bodies are somehow too loud. His hands are suddenly on my face, forcing me to look at him, his expression full of murderous concern.

I’m still fumbling in my shell shocked state. A part of me is surprised he would be so openly comforting for everyone to see. His hands are guiding me higher, tugging me to my tip toes as he hunches over me. Face moving steadily closer. I don’t understand, can’t make sense of it.

My lips part in a silent inhale as he presses his mouth over mine.

I hear my sharp intake of breath echoing all around the room. Gasps of shock and derision. I start to shift back. His grip tightens, forcing me to stay put. My bloody hands fall limp to his chest. He drinks me, coaxing my mouth to open. He swaths me in his warmth, and bathes himself in gore. Even the dāemon quiets with the shock of it. I can’t taste him, only the dark tang iron of blood. My body turns liquid, but he keeps me there firmly within his grasp.

He pulls back, mouth smudged in red and eyes blazing an icy wrath. But it’s not me he’s looking at.

I follow his gaze out to Morin’s equally penetrating stare and across the room to all the other faces twisted in disgust. Not because I had eaten a man’s heart.

Because Sitri had kissed me.

A nought.

Fiery shame envelops me, beating at me from the top of my scalp to the tips of my toes. I’m only vaguely aware of Sitri taking a bloody hand into his own and tugging me down the steps and across the room.

Down the endless halls, up the stairs, and we’re finally at the door of his chambers, and the panic I’ve been barely keeping at bay flares up in me, all-consuming. I choke on a sob, and he pushes me inside and steadies me against the wall. I swipe frantically at my face with another crazed sob. “Stop, pet. It’s gone,” he assures me.

And he’s right. There’s nothing. My hands come back clean as I continue vigorously wiping at my cheeks and mouth.

It's as if it had never happened at all. This should be a relief. It only further unravels the last of my clinging sanity.

“It’s okay. It’s over now.” His hand comes up to claim the wall behind me, the other reaching forward to cup my face and brush back tears like we’re familiar, like we’re in this together now we’re here in the privacy of his chambers.

Everything is too sharp, pulsing, dire, the dāemon crashing over me like a high tide. I don’t want him touching me. I don’t want him to feel it. I shove at his hands and move past him, ignoring the pained look on his face to flee to the bathroom. He clamps a hand around my shoulder.

“Wait, talk to me. I want to make sure you’re…okay.”

I’m not okay. “Now you want to talk?” His face crumples as he shakes his head. He opens his mouth to speak. “You,” I say, cutting him off, my chest heaving as I stare up into a face contorted into such genuine concern.

I have no idea which face is real . No idea which one is the mask and which one is the truth. The one he wears in here with me or the one out there that refuses to meet my eye but will kiss my bloody mouth to piss off a room full of people, to say fuck you to the one that stuck me with him in the first place. He’ll protect me...as long as it doesn’t put him in the line of fire. “You said you would protect me. N-nothing unsavory. I did as you--asked. ” My voice cracks.

His eyes fracture.

I wrench myself from his grip, tearing at my dress as I barricade myself in the bathroom. I let the bloodied and now magically clean dress fall to the floor, and I crumple, gagging and heaving every last drop of blood left in me. Violent heaves that leave me sweating and utterly spent. I twist the faucet, running the water as hot as it will go, scald my skin as if it will remove the horrors of the night with its heat, scrubbing until it’s red and aching, and I still don’t feel clean.

I thought I was coming to a place of monsters. Instead, they made a monster out of me.