Chapter 2

I hadn't even had the chance to recover from postpartum weakness when Lilith’s summons arrived.

Clan rules were absolute. The Eldest Princess commanded; the Second Princess obeyed.

Lilith’s room was suffocatingly warm, smelling of night-blooming roses and expensive incenseand the faint, sweet tang of stored human blood.

Lilith stood by the massive arched window, draped in a crimson silk gown that hugged her curves. In her arms, tightly swaddled, was Julian. My son.

She didn't even turn around.

"Kneel."

The command was soft, yet it carried the crushing weight of the Nocturne Clan's absolute hierarchy. As the nominal wife of the eldest brother and the holder of the Clan Blood Seal, she held dominion over all women in the household.

I lowered myself to the cold marble floor.

The Old Lady Vespera favored my Holy Blood. Lilith knew this.

She knew her position entirely dependent on the children she stole from me. That fear bred a vicious, daily need to remind me of my place.

Suddenly, Julian began to cry. A thin, reedy wail.

She rocked him, not with a mother's gentle rhythm, but with jerky, impatient shoves. The baby cried harder.

"Shut up," she hissed, she roughly pulled the heavy, gold-embroidered velvet blanket over his tiny face to muffle the noise, pressing her cold palm against it.

The baby’s cries instantly turned into muffled, frantic gasps.

My heart lurched into my throat. Instinct overrode survival. "Please, he can't breathe!" I blurted out, half-rising from my knees. "He's just a newborn, you're smothering him—"

"Insubordination."

Lilith turned slowly. "A lowly blood vessel dares to instruct the Eldest Princess on how to raise a pureblood Nocturne fledgling?"

She snapped her fingers. The side door opened.

Ali walked in.

My firstborn. Nine years old, dressed in a perfectly tailored miniature military uniform. He had Draven's midnight-black hair and my pale skin.

But his eyes—those eyes held nothing but pure, unfiltered disgust when he looked at me.

"Mother," Ali bowed respectfully to Lilith. Then, he sneered at me. "Is the blood slave acting up again?"

"She forgets her place, Ali," Lilith sighed.

"Teach her the rules. Show your new brother how a true Nocturne deals with defiant slave."

Ali unclipped a short, silver-threaded riding crop from his belt.

"Gladly."

I stared at my son. The boy I had carried for nine months, the boy I had nearly bled to death to bring into this world.

Crack.

The silver-laced leather bit through my thin dress, tearing into my shoulder. The holy blood in my veins sizzled violently upon contact with the silver, releasing a sweet, intoxicating aroma into the air. White-hot agony exploded across my back.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper, forcing myself to stay upright. I wouldn't scream. Not in front of her.

Crack.

"You fucking lowly blood slave!" Ali barked, his face twisted in predatory cruelty. "Keep your eyes on the floor!"

Crack.

The third strike brought me to the ground. My vision blurred, black spots dancing in the corners of my eyes.

Through the haze of pain, I saw the main doors open.

Draven stood there.

He wore his formal military greatcoat, the silver Nocturne bat crest gleaming on his collar. He saw Ali holding the bloody whip. He saw Lilith smirking. He saw me lying in a pool of my own Holy blood, trembling uncontrollably as the silver poison burned my veins.

I looked up at him. Please, my eyes begged. Stop him. He's our son.

Draven met my gaze. His jaw tightened, his crimson eyes flashing briefly. But his boots remained rooted to the floor. His hands stayed clasped behind his back.

He watched coldly. He didn't say a word. He didn't stop it. The darkness finally swallowed me whole.

I woke up to the sensation of ice-cold fire spreading across my back, fighting the burning silver residue.

I flinched, a ragged gasp tearing from my throat.

"Don't move."

The voice was low, rough, and dangerously close. I opened my eyes. I was lying on my stomach in Draven's private bedchamber.

He was sitting on the edge of the mattress.

His long, ice fingers were covered in a green salve, which he was gently—almost reverently—massaging into the open silver-whipped wounds on my back.

"You provoked her again," he commanded, though his voice lacked its usual bite. It sounded more like exhaustion. "Why can't you just keep your head down, Liora? You know the clan rules. Lilith has the authority of the Blood Seal."

I let out a dry, broken laugh. The sound startled him; his fingers paused on my spine.

"She covered his face with the blanket. He couldn't breathe," I whispered into the silk pillows. "I was just trying to protect him."

"Lilith is his mother. She wouldn't hurt him," Draven replied smoothly, uncapping a fresh bandage. "Tomorrow is Lilith's birth banquet. All the northern clan elders will be there. You will attend."

I froze. "I just gave birth. My back is laid open."

"You will attend," he repeated, his tone hardening. "You will serve the Blood Wine as the Second Princess, and you will publicly apologize to the Eldest Princess for your insubordination today."

I pushed myself up, ignoring the searing pain, and turned to look him dead in the eye.

"Why, Draven?" My voice trembled, no longer from pain, but from years of suffocating injustice. "Why do you always, instantly, unconditionally believe her? Why do you never, ever believe me?"

He leaned in, his face inches from mine, his voice dripping with venomous mockery, his breath freezing against my skin.

"Why would I ever believe a woman who drugged me?"

The words hit me like a physical blow.