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CHAPTER FOUR

S he couldn’t pretend to be his wife.

How could he even ask this of her?

They had only just met and fae and vampyres did not get married or procreate—she didn’t think a vampyre could!

“Now, hurry along and get dressed,” he said, seemingly unbothered by her distress. “I'm sure you're ravenous. I need to eat and get dressed myself. Return to the parlor when you're ready.”

With a flourish, Lucius closed the door, leaving Tavia completely and utterly confused.

Marriage? She hadn't signed up for this.

Tavia only wanted coin, not to pretend to be married. She had never even kissed anyone, for All Father’s sake.

Suddenly, she hated her parents for keeping her so isolated.

They had been kind people, always trying to give her the best, but it had also made her yearn for something different. Part of the reason she'd left and turned to thieving was because she wanted to change their future, to provide for them in a way they couldn’t.

Her mother had once explained the basics of how males and females created younglings, but Tavia had never experienced anything remotely close to intimacy.

She’d wanted to, of course—there had been moments—but fear had always held her back.

Trust was too costly, and she had too little to risk losing.

In the taverns, she had overheard enough stories to know men could beguile. She had often heard the muffled cries of women behind closed doors. Perhaps, one day, she had thought she might marry. But this? Pretending to be married to a vampyre?

This thieving life was supposed to be temporary—a means to an end, a way to free her parents from their struggles .

Tavia looked at the dress Lucius had given her, then walked over to the dresser. The bed was too covered in dust, so she cleaned off the dresser’s surface with her arm and laid the dress on it.

A floor-length mirror stood in the corner. She wiped away the grime with her cloak and tossed it onto the floor. Gazing at her reflection, she ran her fingers through her teal shoulder-length hair. It had been years since she'd worn a dress.

Her mother had sewn a few for her once—nothing fancy—but she used to run through the garden in them. Dirt and grass stains never seemed to bother her mother, who would simply smile and take the soiled dresses down to the stream to wash.

Slowly, Tavia began removing her weapons, placing them one by one on the dresser. Next came her boots, shirt, and pants until she stood in just her undergarments. She picked up the gown and admired it.

It was a full-length dress made of soft cotton, with long sleeves and a sweeping neckline laced in white. Tiny, embroidered flowers in a fuchsia thread adorned the fabric, blending seamlessly into the turquoise. The front of the dress featured a tie, allowing it to be tightened to fit her form .

Sliding into the gown, she slipped on the sleeves, then tightened the laces. Watching her waist cinch in the mirror, she smiled faintly.

The fabric brought out the teal undertones in her hair and made her eyes appear more green than blue.

She stepped into the closet, scanning the array of shoes. Among the selection, she found a pair of brown boots with delicate floral embroidery that complemented the dress. After finding socks, she laced up the boots and added a white fur shawl to her ensemble.

A sudden scratching at the door made her pause.

She froze, listening.

The scratching came again. Moving cautiously, she checked the light under the door but saw nothing. Tapping three times, she waited.

Four taps came in response.

Opening the door, she smiled as Wiley scampered in and leaped onto the dusty bed.

She pulled the shawl around her shoulders and looked at the squirrel. “Well, what do you think?”

Wiley chirped, tilting his head as if assessing her .

“I know,” she sighed. “I don’t know where I’m going to put my weapons.”

She couldn’t go downstairs unarmed. Running her hands over the dress, she was relieved to find pockets. While her crossbow was out of the question, she could at least carry a few throwing daggers and her golden lock pick. Grabbing two daggers from the dresser, she slid one into each pocket.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered. “What am I even doing?”

But what choice did she have?

It would take days to return to the village she’d left and even longer to find another target. Besides, she was starving.

“I’ll tell you what, Wiley,” she said, holding out her hand. The squirrel scampered up her arm and perched on her shoulder. “We’ll eat first, then figure out what to do next.”

As she approached the door, she paused, gripping the knob tightly. This was a vampyre she was dealing with—how could she trust him?

She’d have to be more careful than ever. This wasn’t just a partner in crime. This was a dangerous monster; if she faltered for even a moment, it could cost her life.

He couldn’t be serious—marriage?

Tavia descended the staircase, her steps slow and deliberate. Just before reaching the bottom, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. A chill ran through her—a sensation she associated with being watched.

She paused, turning to glance behind her, but the space was empty. Shadows clung to the corners of the dim stairwell.

Taking another cautious step, she searched the darkness.

“My, my, don’t you clean up nicely.”

Lucius’s voice drifted from somewhere unseen, smooth, and teasing.

She spun toward the sound, but the dim lighting made it hard to pinpoint his location. The faint creak of a door drew her attention, and she turned to see him stepping out of a side room.

He emerged into a single ray of sunlight spilling from the window above the entrance, and Tavia gripped the banister, stunned.

Lucius’s appearance was startlingly different .

Gone were the disheveled locks and dusty attire. He wore a head-to-toe black velvet ensemble, a ruffled white shirt showing beneath a gold-trimmed brocade vest. He had cut his hair; now, the long, wild strands curled neatly just above his pointed ears.

He no longer looked monstrous.

If anything, he looked handsome—so much so that it terrified her.

Lucius approached the base of the stairs, extending a hand toward her as though inviting her to join him.

Tavia descended the remaining steps, but she ignored his offered hand.

“You know,” he said, stepping into her path, “if we’re going to pretend to be husband and wife, flinching every time I’m near might make people question the validity of our marriage.”

He was standing too close now, his presence overwhelming.

“I don’t even know you,” Tavia replied, keeping her gaze fixed anywhere but his hypnotic green eyes.

Lucius smiled, a mischievous glint in his expression. “Well, I know one thing about you—you look darling in that dress. Now, come. ”

Before she could protest, he took her arm and pulled her into the parlor. His grip was firm, but his exuberant smile made him seem almost harmless.

He let go and crossed the room to a grand piano.

“I know what we need,” he said with a grin. “A little music to lighten the mood.”

Blowing dust from the keys, he ran his fingers across them to clear away the remnants before doing the same to the bench. Sitting down, he closed his eyes and rested his hands on the keys, a serene expression settling over his face.

Tavia watched, curiosity replacing her earlier irritation. Would he actually play? And if so, how well?

Without opening his eyes, Lucius began. His hands moved fluidly across the keys, and the melody that filled the room was unlike anything she had heard before.

Tavern pianists had played plenty of jaunty tunes, but this was different. The hauntingly sorrowful notes wove a deep, unspoken pain into the music.

Tavia leaned against the piano, watching Lucius’ expression shift—serenity giving way to sadness, joy, and back again. His face told a story of emotions she couldn’t begin to understand.

She wondered about his past. How had he ended up locked in a coffin? What had he lost, and what was he seeking now?

The melody stirred something deep within her, dragging long-buried memories to the surface. Thoughts of home and her parents crept into her mind.

It had been two winters since she’d last seen them.

During the first year, she’d sent letters, though she wasn’t sure if they had ever reached them.

Her parents rarely ventured into the village, and when they did, it was always her father, never her mother.

He claimed it was because his wind ability made travel easier, but Tavia had always suspected there was more to the story.

Lucius’s song brought back all those unanswered questions about her family and their decision to live in isolation, far from everyone else.

As the final notes faded, Lucius opened his eyes and smiled. His gaze found hers, seemingly misty, as though he too was lost in memories.

“You play beautifully,” Tavia said softly .

“Thank you,” he replied, his voice hoarse, as if dredging up the music had taken more from him than he cared to admit.

Her stomach grumbled loudly, shattering the moment.

Lucius chuckled and stood. “If you’re ready, I believe it’s time we find some breakfast.”

“How are we getting to town?” she asked.

He held up a small device. “The transporter. I think it has a few more charges left.”

Before activating it, he turned to her. “Now, we’ll need a story. In case anyone asks how we met.”

Tavia hesitated, her mind fumbling for ideas.

Lucius smirked, raising a finger as inspiration struck. “Ah! Let’s say we met at the temple. Yes, we’re devoutly religious, and it was love at first sight. Everyone loves a good love-at-first-sight story.”

He opened a portal in the parlor. “Come. I know exactly where we’re going to eat.”

Wiley chirped behind her, and Tavia glanced back.

“Stay here,” she said gently. “You’ll be safe. Check the kitchen—I’m sure there are some nuts in there. Those things never go bad.”

Lucius gave a playful bow.

“My lady,” he said, gesturing for her to step through the portal first.

Tavia emerged onto a cobblestone road in a quaint village bustling with shops and life. Lucius stepped through behind her and linked his arm around hers.

“Now,” he said, his voice warm and cheerful, “How about a nice, hot meal?”

The thought of food made her stomach growl again. Lucius laughed, patting her arm as they strolled toward the village square.

Tavia did not want to stroll anywhere. She lived in the shadows, weapons close to her skin. Now, she was out, a strange fae on her arm, and only two daggers by her side.

Her skin itched from the uncomfortableness of the situation, yet her hunger steered her forward.

Lucius, unbothered by being tethered to her, smiled at the villagers, nodding his head with a regality Tavia never could attain.

Would anyone notice him ?

Or had too much time passed that the world forgotten about Lucius?

A group of fae strolled by, walking in similar gentlemen's attire. Their gazes wandered to her, lingering too long until a low growl from her side sent them away.

When she turned to look at her fake husband, he simply smiled as though growling at leering males was completely normal—and maybe it was?

Regardless, Tavia was too hungry.

And if Tavia knew anything about herself, it was that she became reckless when she was hungry.

If pretending to be a wife would get her a hot meal, she would play the part as best as possible.

Lucius was a payday, nothing more.

No matter how devilishly handsome he appeared.

Yet, somehow, she had to keep reminding herself not to trust this vampyre.

While Tavia was hungry for food, Lucius only ate one thing.

And how long would it be until that thing . . . was her?