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Lady Drevain’s apartments overlooked the western cliffs.
Evening bled through the tall, stained-glass windows in ribbons of crimson and violet, painting the polished floors the color of old wounds. Unlike Lucan’s chambers, these rooms still clung desperately to elegance. Fresh flowers rested upon every table. Silk curtains stirred lazily in the breeze drifting through an open balcony door. The cloying scent of jasmine wafted through the air, erasing the lingering scent of blood Elarian expected to find. Except for the decanters of bloodwine strewn about the room, Elarian might have thought an aristocratic lady from a human court lived here.
“My sanctuary,” Drevain said with quiet pride.
Lucan inclined his head politely. “It is lovely indeed. Regretful I have not attended you before, Lady Drevain.”
Elarian thinly hid her smirk. She wondered how many people had died inside these walls—and how many of them had been ordered here by Lucan himself.
Servants appeared almost immediately, relieving Lady Drevain of her black mourning cloak while another hurried toward a crystal decanter already waiting beside the dining table. Lucan stopped them with a raised hand. They halted mid-step, eyes darting between their mistress and the Blooded Prince who commanded her.
“I fear my companion has grown rather protective of me since yesterday’s unpleasantness.” His tone carried easy amusement. “I would feel considerably more at ease if she served us herself.”
Lucan drew Elarian close, taking care not to disturb her left arm hiding the dagger.
Lady Drevain laughed softly.
“Perfectly understandable, my prince. We have all seen the way you keep her close.” She turned toward the gathered attendants. “Leave us.”
A flicker of hesitation crossed several faces.
“My lady—”
“I said leave. Kyare’s enemies are not mine.”
They obeyed at once. One by one, the servants clad in crimson and black disappeared through the carved doors until only three remained within the apartment.
Silence permeated the room. Lucan allowed the quiet to become its own weapon before moving again.
“Eliyn.”
She crossed the room without speaking. The crystal decanter felt cool beneath her fingers as she lifted it from the gilded tray. Deep crimson swirled inside like liquid garnets catching the last light of dusk. Three goblets waited beside it.
She filled Lucan’s goblet first, then Lady Drevain’s. Thick crimson swirled against crystal, catching the dying light until the sight made her heart stumble. Her own remained untouched.
“My dear.” Drevain smiled, settling gracefully into her chair as she took her goblet between long, lacquered, black nails. “You truly have trained her well, my prince. She moves as quietly as a shadow.”
Lucan accepted his goblet with effortless composure.
“She is a quick study.”
The words brushed across Elarian’s skin. She stood behind Lady Drevain as the countess lifted her glass.
“To absent friends and lovers,” she said wistfully. “May death finally hold them close.”
Lucan raised his own, gaze finding Elarian over the rim of his goblet.
“To those,” he murmured, “whose loyalty deserved better.”
Crystal chimed softly. Lady Drevain drank greedily, closing her eyes as she consumed her fill. Lucan merely watched, gaze trained on Elarian standing just behind Drevain.
Silence settled over the apartments. Even the fire seemed to draw lower within the grate, its crackling swallowed by the hush stretching between the three of them.
Elarian inhaled.
Jasmine, beeswax, and sweet bloodwine filled her lungs. Somewhere beyond the balcony, a night bird called once; then, even it fell silent.
The blade slid into her hand as naturally as breathing.
