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Aurelion looked directly at Elarian.
“Did you truly believe he could protect you?”
Elarian found herself studying Lucan instead of the terror before her. She saw the slight tremor in his hands. The way his shoulders had gone rigid, as though he was bracing for a blow that had not yet come. How he stood between her and Aurelion despite every instinct screaming at him to flee.
He was afraid.
Gods, he was absolutely terrified.
And still, he stood.
Something inside her chest twisted painfully as she finally understood why he asked her to run. Lucan had spent five centuries convincing the world he was a monster because monsters could not be hurt. Monsters did not lose people. Monsters did not love, did not beg, did not fear.
But Elarian had seen beneath that mask.
Long ago, before they had names like shivaem and plaything, she saw the frightened man who lurked in the shadows of the Evermist, hesitant to join another lonely soul in the world. Decade after decade, Lucan solidified himself as nothing but another soulless creature damned by the gods to be killed. Last night, she had seen the vampire who carried her bleeding body through his own palace as if the entire world could burn so long as she remained alive.
And now she saw the boy trapped beneath all of it.
The boy who had spent centuries kneeling before the very creature standing before them.
Aurelion’s gaze lingered on her.
“You are disappointed, are you not?”
Elarian’s fingers curled against her torn gown.
“You saw something in him.”
The Bloodlord smiled faintly; the sight set her skin crawling. Rage bubbled inside as he gazed at her like she was a foolish child in need of scolding. Lucan’s shadows surged as Aurelion stepped closer.
“Do not,” he growled.
Aurelion’s attention returned to his son.
“Ah.” A quiet satisfaction entered the Bloodlord’s voice. “There’s that defiance that has always been buried beneath your obedience.”
Lucan’s jaw tightened.
“I am not your weapon.”
“No?” Aurelion tilted his head, pale honey hair spilling over his shoulder. “Then what are you?”
Elarian watched Lucan’s expression fracture. She knew—painfully—the answer he had spent centuries refusing to say: A thing that should have died with the man he used to be.
But Elarian now understood him as something more than a wandering, soulless thing. She had seen him when no one else was watching. Heard when he whispered her name like a prayer in the stillness of night. Saw how he still deeply cared for those he held close, even as he claimed to need no one. She knew that when he thought he had destroyed the only good thing left in his existence, his first instinct was not anger.
It was grief.
Aurelion stepped closer.
“Five hundred years, Lucan.” A shadow lashed out and shattered the window behind them. “Five hundred years of pretending you are something greater than what I made you.”
The room closed around them. Elarian tried to move, but she didn’t know what to do except uselessly beat upon Aurelion’s chest. Her eyes flicked up to the balcony again, knowing that somewhere in the dark, her silver awaited. If only she could see it, then maybe she could retrieve it again. Long ago, she swore to bury it in Lucan Valmere’s heart.
But now that she found herself holding a part of it, she made another vow: kill the Bloodlord Aurelion and free Lucan from this waking nightmare.
Ahead of her, Aurelion walked closer. “You wear a crown because I allowed you to wear one.” Another shadow reached out, this time pressing in at the back of Lucan’s knees until he fell to the floor.
