Chapter 2

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

Clan rules were absolute. The High Lady commanded; the Second Consort obeyed.

The 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 flawless, immortal 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.

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

She knew her position was built on a foundation of sand, 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, instead of soothing him, 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, her crimson eyes flashing in the dim light. She had been waiting for this. "A lowly blood vessel dares to instruct the High Lady 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. The scent of absolute pureblood dominance rolled off him, freezing the air in the room.

He saw Ali holding the bloody whip. He saw Lilith smirking. He saw me lying in a pool of my own fresh 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 as his sharp fangs grazed his lower lip. 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-cold pureblood fingers were covered in a glowing, translucent 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, the Prince returning. "You will serve the Blood Wine as the Second Consort, and you will publicly apologize to the High Lady 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 a pureblood Prince?"

The words hit me like a physical blow.

The memories I had buried deep in my mind clawed their way to the surface.

Nine years ago. The grand engagement hall in the ancient castle. I was the naive, fallen human noble, eternally grateful to the Nocturne clan for taking me in. I was supposed to marry Elias, the sickly, comatose eldest brother, to use my Holy Blood to extend his immortal life.

Draven was supposed to marry Lilith.

But that night, Lilith handed me a goblet of crimson blood-wine laced with a rare succubus root. I drank it. The next morning, I woke up in Draven's bed, both of us unclothed, with the clan elders breaking down the door, shielded from the morning sunlight by heavy velvet drapes.

To save the clan's honor and pureblood lineage, the marriages were swapped. Lilith took the supreme title of High Lady, marrying the comatose brother, effectively seizing control of the inner court.

And I married Draven, branded as the scheming, desperate "other woman" who used drugs to climb into the future Prince's bed.

I stared at Draven's face. He still thinks I did it.

He ravaged my body, bound me with the suffocating Master-Servant Blood Pact, drained my Holy Blood to feed his power, and let Lilith steal my children. He justified it all with the belief that I was a calculating, vicious whore who ruined his true love's life.

He never believed it was an accident. He never suspected Lilith.

I looked at him, and for the first time in my life, I felt absolutely nothing.

"I understand, My Lord," I whispered, lowering my eyes, masking the deadness in my soul. "I will attend the banquet tomorrow. I will pour the Blood Wine. I will make it perfect."