4. Nicholaus

The moment I leave the room, I feel the pull to her. Her defiance burns through the walls like heat, tugging at my attention even when I force myself to walk away. I shouldn’t care. Not like this. Not this much. But every step down the corridor feels wrong, like I’m moving further from something I should never turn my back on. She’ll try to escape again, of course, she will. She’s an elemental, and freedom lives in her blood, but she won’t make it far, not in her condition. Not with my guards outside the wing. A flicker of satisfaction twists through me. Let her try. She’ll learn. I reach the end of the hall and shove open the carved double doors to the council chamber. The scent of incense and old paper invades my senses. The room is dimly lit, its glow cast by blue witchlight hovering above the long, obsidian table. Six council members rise to their feet as I enter. The seventh, Lord Harrow, stays seated with his fingers steepled in front of him. He’s old enough to remember the years before the curse. Old enough to despise what this kingdom has become. He’s also the only one foolish enough to challenge me.

“Your Majesty,” he drawls. “We heard the commotion. A witch den destroyed? Hunters slain? A… creature recovered?”

Creature. He says it carefully, as if he hasn’t already heard the rumours rushing like wildfire through the guard towers.

I step toward him slowly. “Your concern is noted,” I say.

That earns a faint rustle of tension through the room.

“You brought something back with you,” Lady Riven says. She’s the youngest of the council, and too ambitious for her own good. “Is it dangerous?”

Every muscle in my body tightens. She’s not asking because she cares. She’s asking because if the answer is yes, she’ll suggest disposal.

“She's contained,” I say.

A lie. She’s not contained. Not even close.

Lord Harrow’s eyes narrow. “Contained? Meaning locked away? Where, exactly?”

I don’t answer.

Harrow leans back in his chair, tapping one skeletal finger against the table. “We’ve warned you many times, Nicholaus. Bringing unknown magic into the castle is reckless. Especially now, with our numbers dwindling.”

Numbers. They mean population. Birth rates. The decline that’s killing us. As if I don’t feel the weight of it every time I walk the halls and see the thinning bloodlines.

“The creature is under control,” I repeat.

“She?” Lady Riven pounces. “You said she earlier.”

A low growl rumbles in my chest before I can stop it. All seven council members stiffen. I didn’t realise I’d made the slip.

Harrow’s eyes gleam with interest. “A girl, then. Human?”

“No.”

“A witch?”

“No.”

“What is she?”

I stare him down until he looks away.

“She’s none of your concern.”

Harrow stands. “On the contrary, my King, anything brought into this castle is the council’s concern.”

I move before the others even register the shift. One blink, and I’m directly in front of him. Another blink, and my hand is around his throat. The council gasps, chairs scraping back, but none dare intervene. Harrow’s eyes bulge, his feet dangling inches above the floor as my grip tightens.

“You forget your place,” I say softly.

“N—Nicholaus—” he wheezes, “I only meant… we cannot… risk—”

“You have no say in what risks I take.”

“But she could be dangerous,” he croaks.

“She is,” I say. “And she stays.”

Harrow claws weakly at my wrist. “If she’s the Key, then the entire kingdom—”

“I know what she is.”

The room goes silent. The word hangs between us like thunder. Key. The prophecy’s answer. The curse-breaker. The one thing every vampire alive would kill or die to control.

Lady Riven whispers, “Then we must secure her immediately.”

My gaze snaps to her.

“Secure?” I repeat.

“Of course,” she says, recovering quickly. “If she is the Key, she must be bound, guarded and fully contained, before someone else tries to claim her.”

I slam Harrow onto the table. Papers scatter. Chairs topple. The witchlight sputters violently overhead.

He gasps, coughing, but I don’t look at him. My eyes stay locked on Riven.

“You will not touch her.”

Riven swallows but holds her ground. “Majesty, this is not just about you. This is about our people—”

“She is not to be touched,” I repeat, each word clipped.

Harrow struggles upright, rubbing his throat. “Nicholaus… think rationally. If she is the Key, we must use her.”

Use her.

Exactly what the witches did.

Exactly what every power-hungry fool in this room would do if I let them.

“She is not a tool,” I say.

“She is the only hope we have left!” Harrow snaps. Desperation cracks his voice. “Our species is dying! If this girl can end the curse, she must be controlled, contained and studied!”

A cold fury rips through me. “Say ‘contained’ one more time,” I whisper, “and I will decorate the courtyard with your entrails.”

The chamber falls silent. No one breathes. No one moves. They all finally understand that she is not theirs. She will never be theirs. She is under my protection and heaven help the fool who tries to challenge that.

I step back slowly, releasing Harrow just enough that he collapses into his chair. He wheezes, but I don’t care.

“I will handle her,” I say. “You will not interfere.”

“And if she escapes?” Riven dares.

“She won’t.”

“And if she does?”

My fangs extend.

“Then I will bring her back.”

“And if she doesn’t want to come back?”

I smile. A predator’s smile.

“She will.”

The council sits in rigid terror.

“Is that understood?” I ask.

They all nod, except Harrow. He meets my stare, something hateful simmering beneath the fear.

“This girl,” he rasps, “will be the end of you.”

“No,” I say, turning away. “She will be the end of all of you.”

I leave the chamber with my pulse pounding. As soon as the doors close behind me, I feel it again...The pull to her. She’s awake now, and angry, probably plotting something stupid. A faint tremor of heat leaks out from the east wing. My wing. She’s trying her magic again, of course she is. I quicken my pace.

She’ll hurt herself.

She’ll push too hard.

She’ll collapse.

She’s mine to break, a dark thought whispers, but no one else is allowed to touch her. When I reach the corridor, a guard bows nervously.

“Majesty—the girl—she, uh—she’s trying to melt the window.”

I breathe out a humourless laugh. Of course she is.

“Open the door,” I say.

The guard hesitates. “Majesty, she said she’d kill anyone who—”

“Open. The door.”

He scrambles to obey, and I step inside. Fire dances along the glass, and Echo stands barefoot on the stone, one hand pressed to the windowpane, magic flickering violently beneath her skin. She doesn’t turn when she hears me.

“You’re going to burn your arm off,” I say.

“Good,” she snaps.

I step forward, voice low, dangerous. “Echo.”

She flinches, and I smile, because she may hate me, she may defy me, she may fight me tooth and nail, but she will learn.