With heavy lids, Imani tried to wrench her eyes open despite the grainy texture. She tried to swallow, too, but her tongue felt stuck. She coughed instead, her lungs burning as she shot up from the bed she'd been placed on, trying to catch her breath.
Then, like a curtain being drawn, her vision started to come into focus. The ceiling above the bed looked sharper. The room stopped spinning.
Moving her head to the side, Kiran lay beside her, awake and watching. Everything inside Imani bloomed with heat when their eyes met. Exhaustion and concern etched Kiran's features, but his expression eased when she looked at him. Something else still played in his glassy eyes, though.
She didn't like it.
Half asleep and still dazed from the spell, she reached her hand up to his face. The man was a bastard, to be sure, but the blood of another elf was something she didn't want on her hands. At least not yet.
He heaved a sigh, dragging a hand over his thick, dark hair. "I thought you were dead,"
The low and almost melodic tone from Kiran's voice affected her even more this time, and she fought the urge to purr in response. A noise she'd never made in her life. Her overwrought body relaxed, feeling oddly at ease now.
"I thought I killed you, too," Imani whispered thickly.
Then, it hit her that the binding would prevent either of them from killing the other. Kiran might have gotten hurt, but the blow would never be deadly.
Kiran watched her closely, his hand absently rubbing against his chest. He must have also felt the same pressure there from the binding. Then his features morphed into a glare, and he shot her a flat look. "Sorry to disappoint."
With his flippant words, the absurdity of where she was hit her. In bed with Kiran? They were lying far too close together.
Her chest started heaving as her heart picked up, and she sat up.
Distance. She needed space from him. She threw her legs over the bed and found she was dressed in her nightgown again. A quick glance around told her they were not in Kiran's room—this was somewhere else entirely in the palace.
Her robe lay discarded on the floor. Snatching it up, she wrapped it tightly around her and headed to a narrow, tall window. Blinking and shaking her hands out a bit, she ripped open the drapes, taking a moment to compose herself.
Dark clouds moved quickly as a storm brewed overhead. It was still the middle of the night and she nearly shuddered in relief.
Pressing her fingers to her temples, Imani tried to remember how she got in this bed. Flashes of the magic they'd cast assaulted her. The bargain she'd made—with a blood-burning binding.
A warm hand gently curled around her neck, and she stiffened. Kiran ran his hands over her braid and face, his other hand running lightly up her arm like he had every right to touch her. Even the way he stood and the position of his body next to hers was unmistakable in its possession.
Confusion clouded her mind, and her emotions started building.
She needed to leave.
Without a word, she shrugged him off her and turned away. Slipping her wand from its pocket, she started casting her glamour. Nothing happened.
Her brow furrowed as she tried again. Nothing.
Panicking, she pulled her left sleeve up to examine her brands. She took in a sharp breath at what she found. A detailed meshwork of red lines was now burned into the skin on top of her hand. They crisscrossed over her scarred, previously unbranded hand and up her arm. It was massive.
Whipping back around, she found Kiran leaning against the wall with a ghost of a smile on his face—and something like masculine pride emanated from him. A corner of the same identical brand showed on his hand, the rest covered by his sleeve.
Imani just stared at him, unblinking, unmoving.
It was difficult to predict how and where a brand would show up, and unless the spells were permanent, they'd disappear once weakened, the caster died, or the terms were fulfilled.
Powerful bindings often manifested in apparent locations to identify a bound witch quickly and deter frivolous, unnecessary magic. But not even her binding brand with Tanyl, appearing on her stomach and lower back in a swirled design, was this blatant.
Once a person ran out of skin, though, it meant their bodies reached the limit of magic it would allow.
Almost no one ran out of space anymore, but she remembered Kiran's shirtless body was covered—he probably only had a few places any new bindings this large could appear.
A marking like this would need to be glamoured if she wanted to avoid questions, magic not all had the luxury of doing. She was lucky.
Her chest tightened as a wave of violent hate and anger at him crashed into her. "Kiran, where is my magic? Why can't I cast?"
She started marching over to him, intent on violence. But the binding's tightness in her stomach tugged on her, twisting more as she moved closer.
Right in front of him, she doubled over, cursing root bindings. It had gotten stronger while she'd slept.
Laughter echoed ominously in the room while she winced at the pain and hunger—that insatiable hunger. He kept laughing at her, and she covered her trembling lips with her hands, slamming her eyes shut, waiting for it to pass. She'd never felt a binding like this before, and a mess of emotions churned inside her—conflict, screaming with hate, rage, want, need.
God, she was starving.
She needed to feed to get some strength back.
A long, thick silence fell between them as she backed away, breathing hard. Then, finally, the pain lessened a bit.
"Tell me what you did to me," she demanded again through gritted teeth, rubbing her chest furiously. "Is this the bond between us or—"
"What are you fucking talking about? The binding where you're the servant of the opposing king or the one that doesn't exist?" He looked down his nose at her. Void of any spark or concern—only cold, sharp depravity played in his eyes now. It set her teeth on edge.
"I'm relieved to see you alive—it's more than I can say for others who've done blood burnings with me," he sighed. "And it would have been incredibly inconvenient to find a replacement."
Humiliation flooded through her, pinking her cheeks. It was all obvious now that she was one of the many people he had already controlled. How many times had he manipulated and trapped others in the same way?
Based on the brands he had, the number was too high for her to comprehend.
Replaying everything, she could see it now, all just games and lies, him moving her where he wanted, controlling her, making her weak—
A scream sat at the back of her throat, but she gave him a nasty smile instead. "You'll regret this someday," she said, barely loud enough to be heard. Her voice came out harsh and cold. Still, she wished it sounded colder.
"I highly doubt it," he chuckled. "I regret many things, but this will never be one."
"You made an enemy of me today. I will return the favor at some point," Imani shot back.
"Made an enemy?" He threw his head back and laughed.
Clenching her fists so they didn't shake, anger rooting her in place. All she could do was watch Kiran laugh.
"Fortunately for me, I have a lot of enemies," he said, finally managing to compose himself. "So, I couldn't give a fuck about one more."
She gave him the finger.
But he just grinned like a proud cat who caught the mouse. "You know, all I needed was someone desperate enough but also magically powerful to agree to that binding, right? I was lucky to find someone that no one would miss much if they died. When I return, I can't afford anyone to ask questions about my trip."
Being here for one more moment would surely kill her. Or Kiran. "I need to leave and meet Tanyl. Goodbye, Kiran," she replied curtly, barely throwing him a glance over her shoulder on her way out.
Moving with a speed she didn't think possible, his hand shot out, capturing her jaw.
"You're never feeding from him again. Never fucking him again. Am I clear, Imani?"
He applied pressure until her mouth opened, tipping it up, practically choking her.
She mirrored his glower while attempting to call her shadows forward. "I tire of your demands, your highness."
A menacing unkindness danced in his eyes as he studied her. It lasted so long and was filled with such dark emotion that Imani's knees trembled in response—and she lashed out.
But while purring slinked around her ears, it was quiet and subdued. Indeed, her magic was a barely lit ember burned inside her, a wisp of smoke as if someone had blown out the candle of her power. Even the whispers couldn't soothe the mounting panic. For one terrible moment, she wondered if he bound her magic again like Ara.
"I swear, if you've taken any of my magic, I will—"
"Calm down before you almost kill yourself again. I cast an echo shield, which might briefly dull some of it. Once you're rested, it'll be fine." He paused. "I think. I've never cast one before."
"You what? I never agreed to have you cast any more magic on me beyond the binding."
"Well, good thing I'm so generous; otherwise, you might be dead. You should be thanking me," Kiran drawled, rolling his eyes. "Until you want to call either forward, it keeps your feeding draw and any magic in your signature locked up, including those pesky shadows. So, you won't have to remove and recast your illusion each time—and unlike your illusion, no one can remove it. Except me."
"Your arrogance is astounding. You don't think there's a witch more powerful than you?" she snarled.
He chuckled. "It has nothing to do with how powerful I am. This spell is different. It reflects a person's own magic back to them. It doesn't matter how powerful they are. They won't sense anything besides themselves. At least until it weakens in a few months, at which point maybe I'll cast it again for you. Maybe I won't." He crossed his arms. "You're welcome, by the way, you ungrateful—"
Before he could finish, Imani pointed her wand at his chest. "Will you shut the fuck up," she snapped. Currents of power started vibrating under her skin. Her brands burned a little.
"Hmmm, I can feel my magic waking up," she murmured, baring her own minuscule fangs. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped, glaring at her wand when she pressed it harder into his flesh.
"I told you it would come back," he grumbled.
"Excellent. Now, get out of my way." She tilted her head to the side like he always did, her shadows gathering around her like a halo. "I hate repeating myself."
A sinister smirk spread across his face. "You're adorable when you're trying to be me."
The air grew thinner, and the light grew darker, and suddenly, the door opened. Master Heirwyn sailed inside, seemingly oblivious to their standoff, as she stood near the edge of the bed and fixed her gaze on Imani. "Let's go," she announced in that commanding tone.
Giving the prince a sideways glance, she watched his eyes draw a lazy trail down the length of the nymph's body. Flawlessly built, the witch had the perfect hourglass figure, and although she was obviously older, she'd aged beautifully. A conclusion that only made Imani hate the woman more.
"As fun as this has been, darling," Kiran said, turning to her, "You and I both have commitments we can't miss now."
"Move. I'm leaving—without you."
"My, this night continues to be quite humiliating for you." He stepped closer, threading his fingers through her hair, tilting her head back. "See, I correctly assumed you'd have difficulty accepting your position in our kingdom."
"And what position is that?" she asked through gritted teeth, trying to remove his hand.
His mouth brushed against hers even though she fought to turn her head away from his seductive lips. "An elf whore with a magical cunt—and I control it," he said simply. Kiran's mouth turned up into a cruel smile. "Did you really think any of us–me, Tanyl, my brother—actually harbor any feelings for you? Trust me when I say you're just a tempting honey pot that traps people—that's all."
Before she could respond, he grabbed her arm and pulled her out the door after the nymph.
Her magic burned wildly under her skin, and she felt angry from head to toe. But she couldn't hurt him. The binding prevented that entirely. It dawned on her that the binding likely saved his life earlier.
She hated it even more now that she knew the truth about him—the truth that people weren't exaggerating when they called him a bastard and a snake.
Kiran gave her a cruel, knowing grin as if her response was delightful.
"Where are we going?" She tried to tug her arm back, but he held her firm.
"Back to my rooms."
"Are you locking me up there like a prisoner or something?"
He laughed. "After I drop you off, I don't care what you do. You won't be my problem for at least a few hours—and thank the Gods for that."
His words unsettled her. "Whose problem will I be?"
"My brother had a condition before agreeing we let you pass the Assessments," he said, winking at her. "I'm sure you won't mind the terms. In fact, you should be thanking me. I didn't know how badly you'd need to feed at the time, but what a happy coincidence. "