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CHAPTER TWELVE

A rhythmic chopping rustled her awake, and she woke, reaching for a knife that wasn’t there.

It took her a few moments to recognize her surroundings.

Too many nights she’d fallen asleep under the wrong tree, and either had her food stolen by a hungry critter, or someone trying to take her coin purse.

But here, in this sunlight room, the only danger present were her own mistrusting thoughts.

The morning sun streamed through the window above the kitchen sink, casting golden beams that danced across the wooden floor.

Tavia blinked against the warm sunlight and stretched, realizing she had fallen asleep on the couch.

The cushion beneath her was still indented from where her head had rested, its fabric slightly scratchy against her skin.

Lucius stood in the kitchen, chopping some type of vegetable.

“Is my dove hungry for a little breakfast?” he asked, his voice smooth and velvety, carrying effortlessly over the gentle clatter of his work.

A sweet, earthy aroma of freshly baked bread mingled with the sharp scent of chopped herbs, filling the air with a comforting warmth.

She yawned and stretched again, the cozy blanket slipping from her shoulders as she folded it neatly. “Sorry, I must have fallen asleep while we were talking.”

“No worries. You’re not the first person to be bored by my art collection,” he teased, his tone light and playful.

He glanced over his shoulder, a flicker of amusement dancing in his emerald eyes.

“Tea?” he asked, the word carrying a warmth as inviting as the sunlit kitchen.

She nodded, stretching once more as she rose. Her stiff and slightly crinkled leathers from a night of wear felt constrictive, so she decided to change.

“I’ll be right back,” she said as Lucius set the kettle on the stove, the faint hiss of flame flaring to life beneath it.

Today, they would go over the plan.

Tomorrow was the masquerade.

The weight of the unknown hung heavy in her chest. She knew nothing about where they were going, who would be there, or how she was supposed to break into a vault. The faint tick of the clock on the wall seemed to echo her unease.

Why hadn’t he told her anything yet?

In the corner of the room, boxes were stacked haphazardly, one tied with a large black bow that seemed to whisper secrets she wasn’t yet allowed to know.

Unable to resist, she opened another box. Her fingers brushed against the soft fabric of a beautiful white dress. She pulled it out carefully. The material was light and smooth, with delicate ivy embroidery trailing along the sleeves and hem like creeping vines .

Beneath the gown were a petal pink set of silk undergarments and long white socks embroidered with the same delicate flowers.

How much had he spent on her?

Before she wanted to think of why, she took the expensive garments and began dressing.

The dress was tied at the back but slipped on easily. She let the cool, silken fabric cascade over her skin, shedding the weight of her stiff leathers.

Standing before the mirror, she twirled. The dress flared gently around her legs, catching the sunlight, and shimmering faintly. It fit her perfectly—of course it did. Lucius treated everything like an art form, including her.

When she returned to the kitchen, steeping tea greeted her, mingling with the warm aroma of butter melting over freshly sliced bread. She sat at the table, where Lucius had already placed a mug of tea and a plate with a thick slice of bread accompanied by cheese.

“Did you bake this?” she asked, inhaling the rich, yeasty aroma.

“Would you be surprised?” he replied with a faint smirk .

“Yes, actually.”

He settled into the chair across from her, his movements fluid and deliberate. She noticed he wasn’t eating.

“You don’t eat anything any more?” she asked, taking a bite of the bread. Its soft, warm texture melted against her tongue, the butter adding a decadent richness.

Lucius leaned back in his chair, his navy vest hugging his frame. The crisp white shirt beneath it complemented the dark navy outfit, and the emerald-green ring on his finger caught the sunlight, glowing faintly.

“Sadly, everything has lost its taste,” he said, his voice tinged with a quiet bitterness.

“What do you mean?” Tavia asked, savoring another bite.

“It tastes like ash,” he replied. The words hung in the air.

“How did it happen?” she asked, her voice softer now, curious if he’d reveal the truth.

“It’s not as exciting as some stories,” he said, his tone lightening. “In fact, it’s a bit embarrassing. ”

“Embarrassing? Were you in an improper situation?”

He chuckled a low sound that carried a hint of warmth. “Nothing like that. I was sick. Very sick. The dying kind of sick.”

Tavia cradled her mug, the warmth seeping into her palms as she listened, completely captivated.

“When you have the kind of coin I do, there are certain . . . luxuries. Instead of dying, you can turn.”

“Was it like seeing a medic?” she asked, trying to ease the tension with her tone.

“Something like that,” he replied, tapping his fingers on the table, the sound soft and steady.

“There was a doctor of sorts, someone who could turn people for the right price and keep them in a facility until they adjusted—until they learned to control the hunger. From the outside, it looked like a hospital or a temple, a place of healing.”

Wiley squeaked suddenly and scampered onto the table.

Lucius rose, his footsteps near silent against the wooden floor as he crossed to a cabinet. He retrieved a jar, twisted the lid, and poured out a small pile of walnuts. Wiley chirped with delight, hopping eagerly .

“So, I went in, stayed a few months, and here I am.”

“And your family?”

His expression darkened.

“My parents passed long ago. They were too old to have children when they had me. They waited as long as they could before moving on. No siblings, no one to disappoint with my life choices, if that’s what you’re asking.”

A shadow flickered across his features, and his gaze drifted to the scattered walnuts as if they conjured a memory.

Tavia reached out, her fingers brushing against his. “Tell me about them.”

He looked at her, a soft smile breaking through the sorrow.

“They were perfect,” he said. “My father was an artist—a painter. He taught me about expression, creativity, and life itself. I started collecting little things as a child—rocks, shells, flowers. He did well, and I was happy.”

She squeezed his hand, her thumb tracing a faint pattern over his skin, watching the swirl of emotions in his eyes .

“Lucius,” she asked hesitantly, “can vampyres procreate?”

He laughed, the sound breaking the heaviness in the air.

“Well,” he teased, “are we discussing the act or something more?”

“I know you can perform,” she said, her cheeks warming as she focused on the last bite of bread. “But could you mate with someone?”

He leaned closer, a playful smirk curving his lips. “Are you interested?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied quickly, pulling her hand back, suddenly feeling foolish for asking the question. “I’m not ready for children. I don’t even have a home.”

“Well, if it were possible, we’d have beautiful children,” he said, a teasing lilt in his voice.

She blushed, looking away.

“But sadly, I believe it’s impossible.”

“Can it be cured?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

Lucius shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it. There are no stories of cures. ”

“You’re different from a normal vampyre because of your elemental power,” she interrupted. “Vampyres can barely tolerate the sun, yet you wield the same heat.”

He flipped his hand over, summoning a small flame. The flickering light reflected in his eyes.

“What if the fire keeps you alive?” Tavia continued. “You’re warm when you should be cold. You can walk in the sun without burning.”

“If we sit here fantasizing all day, nothing will get done,” he said, his voice softening as he closed his fist, extinguishing the flame. “But know this, pretty dove—if I could make it go away, I would. There are so many things I miss.”

Their eyes met, and Tavia decided they both needed fresh air.

Wiping her mouth with a napkin, she stood. “I need to get outside of this house. How about you show me where we’re going tomorrow?”

Lucius nodded. “A tour of the city? Splendid.”

He moved gracefully past her to the front door.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what? ”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a real conversation.”

“Well, you were stuck in a coffin for decades,” she teased.

He laughed. “True. But anyone could have found me. I lucked out that it was you.”

As they stepped outside, the heaviness of the conversation dissipated in the warm afternoon breeze. Even though the winter months were approaching, the cloudless sky warmed the air around them.

Lucius looped his arm around hers and began walking until he snapped his fingers, hailing a passing carriage.

The driver stopped.

“Good morning,” Lucius said. “It’s my wife’s first time in the city, and we’d like to tour the Lord area.”

“Oh, plans for the Masquerade?” the driver asked, tipping his hat. “Sure. Hop on in.”

Lucius opened the door and held out his hand for Tavia, who took it and stepped into the carriage. She sat on the bench, and Lucius sat next to her. The space was tight, their legs resting against one another .

He relaxed back, and Tavia peeked out the window as the driver set off down the road. She had heard about the Golden City from her mother. Out of all the lands, the Golden City was the epitome of wealth and culture. It was the one place where the different races were somewhat aligned.

It also held the grand temple where the Scepter Knights—special warriors of light—lived and trained. The cascade of colors between the courts dazzled her. The vibrant red and orange roofs blended with the roads, and each court had its own unique theme.