I’m in a strange room. It’s warm and filled with light. Logs smolder in a hearth. There are big tables to one side, strewn with books and herbs and bottles of different colored powders and liquids.
I catch sight of various metal instruments, a mortar and pestle, and glass measuring jars.
And books.
Shelves upon shelves of books. Not arranged in an orderly manner like the ones in his office. This library consists of uneven stacks and rows; of loose papers and books everywhere, some lying open, some propped up half-read, some closed but bookmarked with various items; a piece of string, a feather, a scrap of cloth.
My fingers itch to go and tidy it all.
What is this place?
I remember sitting in his office on his comfortable leather sofa. I remember my eyes closing, his deceptively handsome face blurring in my vision as I succumbed to the spell of his overwhelming presence, despite all my better instincts.
My eyes go wide.
All of a sudden, I’m fully alert.
Because just before I passed out, the pieces came together in my head.
It’s him, isn’t it? It wasn’t just a dream…
I’m covered in a warm checkered blanket. I push it aside and rise to my feet, my heart thudding loudly in my ears.
My vision dims. I sway on my feet. My head feels light, as if my entire being is floating above the clouds.
I’m floating on a haze of aromatic smoke and warmth, and all of my worries—Aderick’s injury, my uncertain fate, father locked away—are submerged and distant.
“Easy, now.” A pair of big, steady hands drops onto my shoulders. “You don’t need to get up so quickly. There’s no urgency. You’re safe and taken care of. And I’m not going to do that to you again.”
His voice is unmistakable. A pleasant sensation frissons over my scalp, down my neck and across my shoulders. I close my eyes and sway gently on my feet, allowing myself to be anchored by his warm hands.
I can’t believe this.
“Sit down, Finley. Take your time.”
I blink. My heart is beating too fast. He’s right, though. I do need to sit down.
I shrug out of his grasp and move backwards, finding a spot at the very end of the couch, as far away from him as possible. I place my hand on the wooden armrest and take a moment to steady myself.
He takes several steps back and leans against the thick stone wall.
The myrnim scent… it’s coming from him.
It reminds me of growing up; of being a teenager, hanging around father’s soldiers and horses, fascinated by their training and their weapons and their easy camaraderie.
Where there’s fighting men, there’s myrnim.
Does he smoke it too?
The Crown Prince of Rahava?
It’s really him, isn’t it?
He gives me an appraising look, his expression unreadable.
The physician, Vinciel, stands against a desk with his arms folded, regarding the demon warily—the way a small, cautious predator might look at a much larger one.
The demon gives the physician a tiny nod, as if granting him permission to speak. Even when he’s like this—casually dressed and reserved in demeanor—he gives off an air of effortless authority.
“You’ve awakened, Finley.” Vinciel keeps his distance. On the table beside him is an empty glass of wine, tinted red with the remnants of his drink. “You’re probably wondering why you’re here in my chambers, of all places. Well, I don’t intend to keep you in the dark.” He shoots the demon a pointed look. “I’m sure you would have come to understand that he has some rather ah, unique needs.”
“I’ve realized that, but I don’t understand anything.”
“You’re anaemic. That’s why you fainted. It isn’t anything serious, but you’re going to have to take it easy over the next few weeks, and you’ll have to take the medication I prescribe. Starting with this.” A glass of wine appears in his hand.
“I’ve never heard of wine being used to treat anaemia. I don’t drink wine,” I say stiffly. “I’ve never understood the appeal.”
Vinciel manages to look aghast. “It’s medicinal wine.”
His insistence feels suspicious to me. Something’s off. And I can’t string a single coherent thought together while that man is staring at me like that.
As I perch on the sofa, feeling slightly dazed, my attention shifting from one strange man to the other, a sudden rush of anger hits me.
My brother is terribly injured.
My father is detained in the dungeons.
I almost died myself, under the claws of a lycan.
And the man I’m supposed to marry? Well, if my suspicions are correct and this pale stranger truly is the dreaded Archduke Corvan Duthriss, then it appears my husband-to-be is a monster, and he has an uncontrollable fetish for my blood.
I steel myself. “I’m not taking anything until I get an explanation.”
The physician looks askance at his master.
The demon makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Leave us, Vinciel.”
I’m almost hoping Vinciel will defy him; that he’ll put the wellbeing of his patient above his master’s whims, but Vinciel simply offers me a curt nod and departs, leaving the glass of wine on the table and disappearing through a side-door.
It closes behind him with a resounding thud.
Suddenly, we’re alone again.
He and I.
This man’s authority is absolute.
Even his learned physician doesn’t dare question his commands.
Why is my heart pounding like this? Why do I feel a thrill of excitement at the possibility that he might be the one?
“Finley.” The sound of his voice stirs a flutter inside my chest. “Let’s pick up where we left off.”
He doesn’t move from his spot against the wall. There’s a stillness about him that’s unnerving; he doesn’t shift and fidget like an ordinary human would.
I’m intimidated, but I can’t afford to show it. “You aren’t going to force me to drink that wine, are you?”
“I’m not going to force you to drink the wine,” he says calmly.
“Then might I ask that you at least introduce yourself? It’s hardly fair that you know my name when I’m completely ignorant as to yours.”
He stares at me for a moment, brows drawing together. I force myself to be still under his scrutiny, even though it feels like he’s sifting through my innermost thoughts.
If I’m right about his identity, then he’s probably used to people fawning over him and not questioning his orders.
The corner of his mouth quirks. “Finley, I’m Corvan. I apologize for not introducing myself earlier, but on both occasions, there were far more pressing matters to deal with.”
Corvan.
I stare at him, shaken to the very core. Hearing him say it aloud is another thing altogether.
It’s really him.
The very mention of this man’s name evokes fear and fascination throughout the empire, and he’s right here in front of me, crimson-eyed and dangerous, and the bastard drank from me, not once, but twice…
I take in his elegant features. The resemblance is certainly there. Once you’ve seen it, it’s impossible to unsee it. There’s no doubt he’s related to the man whose portrait hangs in every castle, shop, and institution in the empire.
But he isn’t a carbon copy of his father.