Vasilios
I felt it the moment she opened the book.
Not as a whisper.
Not as a flicker.
But as a summoning.
My hands, resting on the arms of my chair, curled into fists before I even heard the echo. My teeth clenched. My vision darkened—not from anger, but from the surge of ancient magic that roared like blood down the corridors of the estate.
She had found Seductio Tenebris.
Not only that.
She had opened it.
And the House—our House—had responded like a lover aroused from centuries of sleep.
I rose, unthinking.
The wine goblet tipped from my desk and shattered at my feet. I didn't notice. My boots cracked through it as I crossed the room.
She wasn't ready.
Or maybe I wasn't.
The wards around the forbidden library were meant to be unbreachable.
Even those born to the flame had to be invited.
But Maryna hadn't waited for permission.
She had followed her blood.
And now it was awake.
As I descended the north stairwell, I could feel the building heat.
The flickering of every torch as it bowed in recognition of her passage.
The curling of the old runes along the wall, alive now, glowing faintly like veins under skin.
And beneath it all—
The ache.
Low.
Slow.
Building.
A pulse I hadn't felt in decades.
Not since Amarisa.
Not since she'd looked at me with eyes that burned and said, "You will be my ruin."
And she had been.
But Maryna—
Maryna was different.
She wasn't just prophecy.
She was choice.
Mine.
And if the Court realized what she was before I could bind her…
They would take her.
Or worse—destroy her.
I reached the bottom of the staircase.
Stopped.
Breathed.
The scent was unmistakable.
Roses and salt and heat.
Desire.
Her desire.
The book did that.
Not because it was enchanted.
But because it was true.
It told the body what it already knew, even if the mind refused to believe it.
I had felt the same thing when I first opened it.
But unlike her, I had years to prepare.
Maryna had hours.
Maybe minutes.
I stepped into the library and saw her.
She stood near the center table, the book open before her.
Her fingers trembled on the page.
Her cheeks were flushed.
Her lips parted—softly, just enough to show the breath caught behind her teeth.
She was glowing.
Not literally.
But in that way the marked sometimes did when prophecy settled on their shoulders like a crown of fire.
She didn't notice me at first.
She was still reading.
Still consuming the words like they were written in the heat of her blood.
And the more she read…
The more I realized—
She was claiming it.
She was claiming herself.
And I wasn't sure if that terrified me or turned me into something dangerous.
When I finally stepped forward, she startled.
Her body went rigid.
But she didn't move away.
She just looked at me.
Straight into me.
And I saw it in her eyes.
She knew.
Not everything.
But enough.
Enough to understand that this place wasn't just her prison.
It was her inheritance.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked.
Her voice was hoarse.
Her throat dry.
But the anger underneath it was clean.
Sharp.
"I was protecting you," I said.
It sounded like a lie even to me.
"No," she said. "You were keeping me in the dark so you could decide when I was useful."
Her hand slammed the book shut.
The sound echoed through the chamber like a bell.
"Am I useful now?" she asked.
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't know what to say.
She moved around the table, slow, steady.
Like she wasn't afraid anymore.
Like she'd finally realized she didn't have to be.
"You could've taken me that first night," she said. "At the ball. In the tower. In my room. So why haven't you?"
I swallowed hard.
Because the truth wasn't clean.
It was filthy with craving and fear.
"Because if I touch you before you choose me," I said, "you'll never be mine. Not really."
She stilled.
Her chest rose and fell once.
Twice.
Then she took another step forward.
Our bodies were a breath apart.
And when she spoke again, her voice was quieter.
But no less sharp.
"And what if I don't choose you?"
I didn't blink.
I couldn't.
"Then I'll burn," I said.
Simple.
True.
And I meant it.
Because the longer she stood in front of me, the more I realized—
I was already burning.
Her eyes dropped to my chest.
To the faint glow pulsing beneath the collar of my shirt.
A sigil.
Flared to life.
Not by my command.
But by hers.
She was awakening.
And I was already bound.
She reached up slowly.
Touched the spot above my heart.
Just two fingers.
Nothing more.
But my body shuddered.
Not in weakness.
In recognition.
Her breath hitched.
And for a single moment, our power balanced in the air between us like a blade on a fingertip.
One breath.
One move.
And everything would change.
But she didn't kiss me.
She didn't fall.
She stepped back.
And the moment broke.
"This book says I'll have to choose," she whispered.
"Yes."
"And if I choose wrong?"
"You won't," I said.
She nodded.
Once.
Then turned away.
But as she reached the staircase, she paused.
Didn't look back.
Just said:
"I dreamed of fire before I ever came here."
Then she left me in the dark—
With the book.
And the hunger I could no longer deny.