The night had long since surrendered to the fragile gray of early dawn, when shadows melted into pale, uncertain light. Though the horizon had just begun to blush faintly with the first hints of morning, Caralee sat upright in her bed, tangled in a silken sea of sheets that felt colder than usual against her bare skin.
Though she had been prepared for sleep, though her body was weak from the draining days of lessons and forced adaptation, no peace had come. Not truly. Not while she knew he was down there.
Donovan.
That terrible name, once whispered into her heart in sweeter days, now pressed itself into her mind like a hot brand. She had not spoken it aloud since the day she was taken—had not dared—but it lived in her every moment.
The fire in her hearth had long since reduced itself to a bed of faint, flickering embers. It offered no warmth, only shadows that seemed to lean closer as her thoughts darkened. The candle on the small writing desk had burned low as well, its wax pooled in a puddle, wick struggling to stay alive. She let it die.
Quietly, she slipped from beneath the covers. Her bare feet touched the cool stone floor, sending a shiver up her spine. She padded across the room to the wall where her robe hung. The heavy garment, pale silver silk lined with ivory fur, felt like armor as she pulled it around herself, tying it tight beneath her breasts. She paused by the door, pressing her hand to the wood, her breath catching.
What am I doing?
No—She knew exactly what she was doing. She had to see him. She had to look into his face, if only for a moment, if only to remind herself that he was real—that he still lived.
Her hand slid to the latch. Slowly, silently, she eased the door open just a sliver, leaning forward to press her ear to the gap. The corridor beyond was void of movement. No footsteps. No whisper of breath.
She slipped into the hall like a ghost.
Moving with careful precision, she kept to the cold edges of the stone walls, skimming her fingertips along the uneven surface as she went. Her senses strained in every direction—listening, feeling, searching for the brush of air displaced by passing guards. But the castle slept. Only the distant crackle of torches and the occasional groan of settling stone accompanied her.
And still, she pressed on.
It felt like walking into the mouth of a great beast, deeper and deeper into the belly of her confinement. She wound through the servant's passageways, past the chamber doors of tutors and attendants. Down, ever down, until the air grew thick with moisture and chilled to a damp, heavy stillness.
She paused at the final turn, where a faint orange glow bled around the corner—torchlight. She pressed her back to the wall, clutching the edge of her robe with white knuckles. She could hear them now—two guards shifting their weight, their armor creaking faintly as they murmured to one another in low, bored tones.
Her mind hammered wildly, drowning their words.
They'll stop me. They'll turn me away. They'll send me back like a disobedient child—
But something else stirred beneath the surface. A low, humming sensation in her blood, warm and steady like the pull of an unseen tide. It was the same strange instinct she had surrendered to when she first fed from Auralia—the same heat that had guided her hands and mouth without thought.
She let go.
Stepping into the light, she straightened her spine and walked toward them, not meekly, but with quiet, predatory purpose.
The men stiffened, their hands gripping the shafts of their pikes. She met their eyes—dark, unremarkable eyes—and willed them to part.
Move. Let me through. You will not stop me.
She didn't speak the words aloud, but she felt them vibrating through every fiber of her being, pressing outward like invisible hands.
And then— something happened.
Their shoulders slackened. Their eyes lost focus, glossing over into vacant hollows. Their breathing slowed, lips parting slightly as if they stood on the edge of sleep. They lowered their weapons in perfect, eerie unison and stepped aside without a word.
Caralee's breath hitched softly in her throat.
She hadn't spoken. She hadn't even raised a hand. And yet—they obeyed.
A tremor ran down her arms, gooseflesh rising along her skin. It terrified her—and yet she wanted more. The power had answered her.
Without giving herself time to think, she slipped past them into the dungeon.
It struck her like a physical blow—the smell of damp stone, rusted chains, and something far sweeter— him.
She knew that scent as surely as she knew the shape of her own hands. The salt of the sea, the warm musk of woodsmoke and leather—Donovan.
She broke into a run, ignoring the aching sting of the cold on her bare feet. She rounded the last corner, and there he was.
He sat on the floor, slumped against the iron bars. His head lolled forward in exhaustion, his dirty blonde hair matted, framing a face far paler than she remembered. Yet when she skidded to her knees before him, he stirred. Slowly, disbelievingly, he lifted his head. His eyes widened in shock, filling with something between relief and raw agony.
"Caralee—?" His voice cracked like something broken. He dragged himself upright on trembling limbs, gripping the bars with bloodless fingers. "Is it—? Is it really you?"
A sob tore itself from her throat. She pressed herself to the bars, her hands wrapping tightly around the iron. Tears stung her eyes as she reached through, cupping his cheek, tracing the familiar line of his jaw.
"I'm here," she whispered, though her voice was barely audible.
He collapsed against the bars, foreheads touching between the cold divide. His breath hitched, body shaking as though his legs could no longer hold him. "How— how did you find me? Did he— did he send you?" He swallowed hard. "I— I'm so sorry, I wasn't there to meet you. I tried—God, I tried. But they—" His words broke, a raw sound tearing from his chest. "I've been so afraid. I thought—" He choked on the words. "I thought I'd never see you again."
His mouth crushed against hers through the narrow gap, desperate, trembling, searing.
It took everything in her to pull away. She pressed her forehead to his, squeezing her eyes shut. "Donovan— we can't." Her voice cracked. "Not here. Not in this world."
He recoiled slightly, searching her face with stricken confusion. "What are you saying?"
"I don't have time to explain. Please—" Her fingers tightened on his. "You have to trust me. I'm going to get you out. But you have to wait. Just a little longer. Please, Donovan— wait for me."
His hand trembled in hers. "No. No, don't go. Don't—please, not again." His voice was hoarse, ragged with unshed tears. His throat bobbed. "Don't leave me here alone again—"
Caralee's heart shattered into a thousand pieces. A sob broke from her lips as she pressed a shaking kiss to his knuckles.
"I promise," she whispered fiercely, as though the word itself were a sacred vow sealed in blood.
He collapsed fully against the bars, tears sliding silently down his cheeks. But he nodded, clutching her fingers as though they were his last tether to hope.
It was killing her. Every step away from him felt like another blade sinking into her flesh. But she forced herself to stand. Forced herself to let go.
She turned, tears blurring her vision, and disappeared into the shadows once more—haunted, guilty, aching.
And behind her—
He waited.