"A brave lie," Alistair said. He looked over her head at Kaelen, his grip on her chin tightening just enough to be a command, not a hurt. "The treaty is honored. She is under my protection now. Which means," he leaned closer to Elissa, his breath ghosting over her ear, "if anyone so much as looks at her with the disdain her father showed, I will pluck their eyes from their skulls. Do we understand each other?"
Kaelen's eyes glowed with orange fire. "If she cries even once, Alistair, I'm coming for her."
"She won't have time to cry," Pureblooded Vampire replied, his gaze returning to Elissa. There was a strange honesty in his eyes now—a piercing, terrifying focus. "She will be too busy learning what it means to be a Queen of Nocturnis."
He released her chin and stepped back, offering a hand clad in a black leather glove. "Come, Princess. The sun is setting, and the night belongs to us."
Elissa looked back at Kaelen and Lyra. Lyra was weeping silently, and Kaelen looked like he was vibrating with the urge to kill. She felt a wave of profound loneliness. She was leaving the only people who loved her to go with a man who looked at her like she was a rare, captured bird.
I am a sacrifice, she thought, placing her small hand in Alistair's large one. But why does his touch feel like the only thing keeping me from falling off this bridge?
As Alistair led her toward the shadows of the North, he didn't let go of her hand. In fact, he pulled her slightly closer to his side, his body a literal shield against the wind.
It was the first act of care she had ever received from a stranger. It was possessive, yes. It was arrogant. But as they crossed into the dark, Elissa realized with a start that for the first time in her life, she wasn't being ignored.
She had being seen. And that was the most terrifying thing of all.
The interior of the vampire carriage was draped in heavy, midnight-blue velvet that swallowed the meager light of the passing moon. Elissa sat stiffly, her hands folded in her lap, acutely aware of the man sitting inches away from her.
Alistair didn't move. He sat with a predatory stillness that made the air feel heavy. He wasn't looking at the passing forest; he was looking at her.
"You keep glancing at my eyes, Princess," he said, his voice a low, melodic vibration that seemed to crawl up her spine. "Does the sight of them disturb you? Most witches expect a monster with eyes the color of a fresh kill."
Elissa swallowed hard, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She forced herself to look at him, meeting that sapphire stare. Up close, his eyes weren't just blue; they were layered with depth, featuring rings of silver around the pupils that seemed to glow with an internal light.
"I... I always heard vampires had eyes of blood," she whispered, her voice trembling despite her attempt at courage. "Your eyes look like the sky just before a storm. They look... cold."
Alistair leaned in, his movement so fluid it was almost invisible. He invaded her personal space, his scent—that intoxicating mix of mountain air and ancient secrets—filling her lungs. He reached out, his gloved finger tracing the line of her jaw, forcing her to maintain eye contact.
"Red is the color of the ravenous. The young. Those who cannot control the beast within," he murmured, his gaze darkening with an intensity that made Elissa's breath hitch. "But the House of Nocturnis is different. My blood is the essence of the Void itself. It does not burn hot; it freezes. My eyes are blue because my power is absolute. I do not hunt for sport, Little Witch. I hunt because I am the apex."
Elissa's mind was a whirlwind of confusion. She had spent her life being told she was "lesser" because her magic didn't burn or scream. Yet here was the most powerful creature she had ever met, telling her that his power was found in the cold and the quiet.
"Is that why you wanted me?" she asked, her voice gaining a sudden, sharp edge of honesty. "Because I'm 'quiet' too? Because I'm a princess who can't even light a candle, and you want a trophy that won't fight back?"
Alistair's hand stilled. His eyes narrowed, the blue turning into a sharp, icy glint. For a moment, his elegant mask slipped, revealing a flash of genuine, ruthless possessiveness.
"Do not insult me by suggesting I want a trophy," he hissed, his face inches from hers. "And do not insult yourself by believing the lies your father fed you. I saw that spark on the bridge, Princess. It wasn't fire, and it wasn't wind. It was something... older. Something that called to the blood in my veins."
He tilted his head, his gaze dropping to her lips before snapping back to her eyes.
"You think you are weak because you cannot destroy like your siblings," he said, his voice dropping to a seductive, dangerous whisper. "But there is a difference between a candle and a star. Both give light, but only one is eternal. I suspect, Little Witch, that you are simply waiting for the right hand to strike the flint."
"And you think yours is that hand?" Elissa challenged, her heart racing not from fear, but from a strange, blossoming heat she couldn't explain.
"I know it is," Alistair replied. He didn't pull away. He stayed there, his presence overwhelming and heavy, claiming the very air she breathed. "You are mine now. By blood, by treaty, and by destiny. I will protect you from the Hollowed, and I will protect you from your own family's cruelty. But in return, you will be honest with me. Always."
He finally pulled back, the tension in the carriage snapping like a taut wire.
"We reach the Bastion by dawn," he said, returning to his cold, regal posture. "Sleep if you can. The King—my father—will want to see if you are worth the price we paid."
Elissa turned toward the window, her reflection staring back at her in the dark glass. She felt marked. She felt seen. And for the first time in her life, she felt the tiny, dormant spark inside her chest thrum with a rhythm that matched the heartbeat of the monster sitting beside her.
The ascent to the The Aethelgard Spire of Vesperia was not a journey; it was an intimidation. The carriage climbed a winding path carved directly into the ribs of the Midnight Mountains. On one side, a sheer drop into a valley of mist; on the other, walls of black volcanic glass that reflected the carriage's lanterns like the eyes of a thousand watching beasts.
Inside, the silence between Elissa and Alistair was thick, charged with the lingering heat of their previous exchange. Elissa kept her hands folded, her mind racing. He saw something in me, she thought, her pulse still erratic. A star, not a candle. Does he truly believe that, or is he just a master of words?