A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 57: The Cost of Divinity

Chapter 57: The Cost of Divinity

The silence in the room was thick, pressing against Anastasia's skin like a second layer. She sat stiffly on the edge of her bed, her fingers curled into the fabric of her robes, grounding herself in something tangible. Across from her, James sat with his elbows braced on his knees, eyes trained on her with an intensity that made it impossible to look anywhere else.

His presence still felt strange in her room, too solid, too real after everything that had happened tonight. The weight of the past few hours clung to her like smoke, like something that wouldn't wash off no matter how hard she tried. James hadn't pushed her immediately. He had let her sit in silence, let her gather herself, but now the patience was fading from his expression. He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face before leaning forward. Anastasia swallowed, her fingers tightening against the sheets. She kept her gaze fixed on the floor.

"Tom asked to meet with me," she said, her voice quieter than she intended. "To explain what happened in the Great Hall. That's all."

James was silent for a moment, but she could feel the way his body went rigid beside her, the way the air between them grew sharper.

"That's all," he repeated, but there was no question in his voice, only disbelief. His jaw clenched, the muscle feathering as he exhaled slowly, like he was forcing himself to stay calm.

"And the blood?"

James' eyes darkened, his expression hardening as he took it all in. He hadn't seen it fully in the tunnel, not in the dim passageways where shadows had hidden the worst of it. But now, there was no hiding, not in the warm candlelight of the room. The smudged stains on her neck. The dark streaks beneath her fingernails. The faint, dried remnants in her hair, barely noticeable but there.

Anastasia didn't move, didn't speak, but the weight of his gaze was suffocating. He exhaled through his nose, steady but sharp.

"Whose blood is it?"

She swallowed, her throat tightening. James leaned forward slightly, his elbows still on his knees, his hands clasped together like he was holding himself back.

"You went to him." His voice was steady, but there was something dangerous beneath it now. "And now you're covered in blood."

Anastasia finally lifted her gaze, her expression unreadable.

"I told you, it's not mine," she said.

James stared at her, waiting, expecting more. When she gave him nothing, he inhaled sharply and sat forward again, his hands bracing against the mattress beside him.

"And I told you," he said, voice shaking slightly, barely restrained. "I wouldn't judge you. I wouldn't blame you. But you have to tell me what he's doing to you—"

She flinched, just slightly. He caught it. His eyes softened for half a second before the tension returned.

"Did he hurt you?"

Anastasia shook her head immediately. "No."

James' fingers twitched where they rested against the bed, his knuckles white.

"Then whose blood is it?"

She exhaled, her breath unsteady.

"I can't tell you."

James' expression flickered, shifting between frustration and something almost like pleading.

"Ana—"

She stood abruptly, running a hand through her hair, turning away from him, unable to take the weight of his gaze any longer.

"You wouldn't understand," she muttered.