I stopped suddenly. I could also kill without too much reluctance. Hadn’t I proven that with Lord Mazeen? When Jericho and the others came after me, I’d been prepared to kill. My gaze dropped to my hands. They too, were covered in blood, and I couldn’t say it was just from self-defense and the necessity to survive. Lord Mazeen deserved the ending he got. The Ascended had taken the same perverse joy the Duke had when it came time for my lessons, but he hadn’t attacked me when I turned on him. He’d insulted Vikter within moments of my guard and friend taking his last breath, and I didn’t feel even a smidgen of guilt for how I handled it. Even if he hadn’t been a vampry, he was still a monster. Maybe that was why I wasn’t shocked by what Casteel had done in the hall.
And that quite possibly meant there was something wrong with me. Either way, it was what Kieran had said before he closed the door that made me angry.
That Casteel was the only person I never had to fear.
Kieran couldn’t be more wrong.
I looked to the bed then, and my stomach dipped as if I were standing on the edge of a Rise. I could almost see us, our limbs entwined, and our bodies joined. An aching pulse rolled through me as I touched the bite mark on my neck. I shivered, then searched for a hint of disgust or even fear. I found none.
He’d bitten me.
And his bite had hurt, but only at first, and only for a few seconds. Then, it had felt…it had felt like being drowned in liquid heat. I had never felt something so intense in my life—hadn’t even known something like that was possible. But it wasn’t the effects of the bite that had led to what we’d done in the woods while the snow fell around and upon us. Our bodies had come together because of my attraction to him. Because how I felt for him had been greater than the truth of what and who he was. That was what drove this need to understand how he’d gotten to this point in his life and why he was doing what he was now. It was what fueled this desire to forget everything except for the bliss I’d felt while I was in his arms—his lips against my skin, and the peace and companionship I experienced when we were simply speaking to one another.
But I wasn’t safe with him.
Even if Casteel never raised a hand to me, I couldn’t forget what he was. What he’d caused. Vikter’s death may not have come at the tip of Casteel’s sword, but it had been the jagged blades of the people who followed him. And what of Loren and Dafina, the Ladies in Wait who had died during the attack at the Rite? They had been excited to Ascend, but I doubted they had known the truth. They hadn’t deserved to die like they had, murdered by Descenters who most likely didn’t even know their names. Again, it hadn’t been by Casteel’s hand, but the act was carried out in his name. How could I ever forgive him for any of that?
And what kept hurting every time I thought about him was that he knew how badly I desired freedom. To have the ability to simply choose something—anything—for myself. Whether it be something as simple as walking where I wanted, unveiled, or speaking to whoever I wanted. To something as important as choosing who I shared my body with. He knew how much that meant to me, and he was trying to take it away. My heart twisted so painfully, it felt like someone had thrust a dagger deep into my chest.
What, if anything, could he feel for me?
My heart hurt deeply, as if I were grieving someone who had died. In a way, it was like that. I mourned the loss of Hawke, and it didn’t matter that he still lived and breathed. The Hawke I’d grown to trust, the man I’d shared my secrets with was gone. In his place was Prince Casteel Da’Neer, but I was still drawn to him. I still had that desire, need, and the…
That was why he was the most dangerous person in any kingdom. Because no part of me doubted that he planned to use me to free his brother, returning me to the same Ascended who had held him captive for five decades and who now held his sibling.
Pressure clamped down on my chest as I started pacing again, my thoughts shifting to Queen Ileana. My mother and the Queen had been close. So much so that when my mother chose my father over the Ascension, the Queen had allowed it. That was unheard of. Even rarer was how the Queen had cared for me after the Craven attack as if I were her own child. She had changed my bandages, sat with me when the nightmares of the attack came, and held me when all I wanted was to be hugged by my mother and father. She was the first to teach me not to be ashamed of the scars when others gasped and whispered behind their gloved hands. During those years, and before I was sent to Masadonia, she’d become more than a caregiver.