The moon had risen high above the towers of Irithiel, casting silver light like judgment through the carved lattice of the eastern wing, its glow diffused into shifting patterns upon the marble floor.
Velastra moved through the corridor without an escort. She didn't need one. The palace itself parted for her, like a beast wary of its mistress.
She did not knock when she entered his room, nor did she speak.
The fire in his chamber was dying, its embers still glowing. Cael lay half-upright, chains loose around his wrists, the bruises on his skin fading—but not forgotten.
He looked up when she entered.
Not with fear.
Not with surprise.
Just calm.
Like a man who had already drowned and now watched the tide return.
"You came," he said quietly.
She said nothing.
She crossed the room, slowly. Her eyes locked on his lips—the faint pink of healing skin where she had bitten him before. A thin scar had begun to form.
"Too clean," she said.
She sat on the edge of his bed, lifted his chin, and studied him.
Then—without a word—bit the exact same place.
Harder this time.
Blood welled instantly. He gasped, breath stolen, head jerking back—but her hand gripped his jaw tight, pulling him to her as she crushed her mouth to his.
She claimed his mouth like a vow spoken in blood, lips pressing hard enough to imprint the shape of her desire. Her tongue dragged across his split lip, blood smearing between them—salt and copper lacing their breaths. Her nails dug into his shoulder, demanding his presence, his surrender, staking a claim beneath his skin.
And he yielded, as he always did—endlessly, helplessly hers.
Velastra pushed him back gently on the bed, straddling him.
She leaned close to his ear.
"It seems like I am getting addicted to the taste of you," she whispered, lips tracing his, deliberate, claiming. "And…" Her fingers curled against his jaw, holding him in place, forcing him to meet her gaze. "I regret that I didn't own your mouth sooner." She paused, letting the words hang between them, rich with certainty, her breath searing against his skin. "Much earlier."
He moaned low, pain and pleasure caught in his throat.
She parted his robe with deliberate ease, the fabric yielding to her touch. Her tongue traced the fresh cut on his lip, savoring the iron-laced warmth before she kissed him again—slow this time, deep, claiming. Her fingers roamed his scars, mapping the stories carved into his skin, reading them like a forgotten scripture she alone could decipher
"You will not speak of this," she murmured into his mouth.
"I never do," he replied.
She stayed over him like a dark eclipse, unmoving for a long time, staring into eyes that still carried the same silent obedience—except now, she wanted him to disobey.
She leaned down again; her body draped over his like a velvet-draped blade. Her movement was slow, indulgent—a deliberate surrender to the moment, to him, stretching the anticipation until it trembled between them, tangible, inevitable.
Her lips brushed his ear, a burning warmth in her breath.
"You need to survive the Fire-Walk tomorrow," she said, voice low and sharp, "or I will not spare your mother."
He stiffened beneath her. She felt it— the twitch in his jaw, the subtle shift in breath.
"You know this woman's heart, don't you?" she continued, curling her fingers beneath his chin. "Dark. And full of love for blood."
A silence thick as oil passed between them.
Then Cael, hoarse and still bleeding from his lip, whispered.
"Why? You can just marry him; heaven will bless it."
Velastra smiled—just a ghost of one. Not kindness. Not cruelty.
Something between.
"Because," she murmured, eyes locking with his, "I don't think he bleeds as pretty." She paused. "And I only want you."
She stood then, deliberately letting her fingers trail off his chest as she stepped back into the shadows, she picked her clothes and covers her body. Her cloak hissing like silk across the stone. And her steps sounded farther.
Cael said nothing.
He didn't have to. His silence spoke like scripture.
Velastra stood by the door a moment longer, her hand resting on the handle. But she didn't leave.
Instead, she turned back to him.
There was something sharp in her gaze—something vulnerable trying desperately to wear the skin of dominance.
She approached him slowly again. Stopped at the foot of his bed.
Her breath was unsteady.
Without a word, she bit her own lower lip—hard enough to draw blood.
A single crimson line traced down her chin. Not theatrical. Not noble.
Just pain. Real and intimate.
She straddled him again, lowering herself until their faces met—but before she moved closer, she paused. Her gaze held his, searching, demanding. And then, something shifted—the raw determination settling into something deeper, something unspoken but absolute.
Her fingers curled against his jaw, firm, unyielding. "Come back to me alive," she commanded, her voice steady, leaving no room for refusal. No room for doubt.
And then, like a storm crashing into still water, she kissed him—fierce, consuming, sealing the command with something far stronger than words.
Deep. Unforgiving. Bleeding.
Her blood stained his lips, mingling with his. Her tongue moved with ruthless certainty, curling against his, owning him in a way that no chain ever had.
Her hands roamed—deliberate, confident, not searching for weakness but familiar territory. She memorized the rise of his ribs, the old whip scars across his stomach, the slope of his throat.
And then, without ceremony or command, she claimed him again.
There were no words.
Only skin.
Only heat.
Only the sound of breath and pain and something soft, buried deep, that neither of them dared name.
And when it was over, Velastra did not rise. She got no strength.
Her eyes closed, lost to the weight of exhaustion or something deeper. Unaware. Unknowing. But her hand remained—a quiet tether, resting lightly against his chest, just above his heart.
She didn't stir as it beat beneath her fingers, steady and unrelenting, like a drum against a cage, like something waiting to be freed.
Cael lay still in the dim firelight, blood on his mouth, thoughts burning like embers behind his eyes.