I hadn't remembered running.
I knew only that I was in a vehicle now, leather cold against my back, the darkness pounding against the windows like something trying to get in.
Kaelen sat across from me. Silent. Blood-stained. Breathing.
That was more than I could say about my father.
I glared at him, chest heaving, gown soaking in blood that wasn't mine. My hands shook. My legs had collapsed somewhere between the ballroom and the front gates.
"Say something," I panted.
Kaelen didn't move.
"Say. Something."
His jaw ground, and finally, his eyes locked with mine. They were unreadable again—dark and bottomless and infuriating.
"I didn't make the hit," he said flatly.
"I don't care what you didn't do," I spat, voice shaking. "He's dead. And I married you on the day I witnessed his death."
"You think I staged this?"
"I think you're a Dravik. And that's cause enough."
His nostrils spread wide. "If it was me, Sereya, I wouldn't have missed my shot."
I flinched as if he'd struck me. "Is that supposed to be reassuring?"
No, he said. "It's intended to remind you that whoever killed your father didn't just want your father dead. They wanted you alive."
His words hurt like a slap.
Alive. As a witness? A pawn? A symbol?
I pinned a trembling hand to my chest, gasping for air past the pain that would not contract. "You think I'm concerned with your cold little theories? My father was murdered before my eyes. And all you have is strategy."
Kaelen leaned forward a little, his voice low and deadly. "What I have is the truth. And you're going to need it if you wish to live."
I glared at him, but the interior of me already started to crack.
I wasn't ready for this. For war. For suspicion. For whatever, this hell was becoming.
But I wasn't allowed to be weak anymore.
I wasn't someone's daughter anymore. I was a name. A target. A wife.
"I should hate you," I whispered.
Kaelen's eyes didn't waver. "Then do."
I walked away, swallowing the scream building in my throat.
The car careened around. I saw it then—the Valtore chapel up the road, old and protected and waiting to receive my father's body.
And my rage shattered into sorrow.
"Stop the car."
Kaelen didn't argue. He rapped on the window, and the driver stopped.
I climbed out barefoot, the gravel biting at my skin, but I didn't care.
I needed to breathe.
I had to stop pretending that I could.
Behind me, the door clicked again. Kaelen followed me.
Of course, he did.
Because now we were bound. Not just by name. Not just by blood.
By death.
"Why are you stalking me?"
"Because they'll kill you if you're alone."
"Why do you care?"
Kaelen was quiet.
I moved to turn to him. "You didn't care then. You didn't blink. You didn't even look at him."
"I looked," he said.
"Then why didn't you stand up?"
"There were four possible shooters. I was scouting them out. Scanning hands, exits, eyes."
"He was your father-in-law."
"He was a target."
I stared at him, appalled. "You're a monster."
"I'm alive."
"So that's the new norm, then?"
"You want me to cry for him?" Kaelen took a step closer to me. "Will that keep you up tonight?"
"No," I hurled at him. "Because nothing will."
Quiet.
The chapel door creaked in the wind. Frigid air swirled between us.
"You don't get it," I whispered.
"Make me."
I swallowed hard. "He was the only one left who remembered me before all this. Before treaties and bloodlines. Before me being something negotiated over negotiations."
"He made you strong," Kaelen said.
"He broke me," I said. "And you're finishing the job."
Kaelen looked at me then—looked. And I hated the flicker of something in his eyes. It wasn't pity. It wasn't guilt.
It was… recognition.
He'd lost something, too. I could feel it like smoke between us.
"I didn't want this either, Sereya."
"You had a choice."
"No. I had a duty."
"And I'm just collateral?"
"You're the last Valtore."
"And now I'm a Dravik."
"Not yet."
I blinked. "What?"
Kaelen's voice was gentle. Cautious. "A ceremony doesn't make you mine. Not really."
"Then what?"
He paused. Just long enough for me to feel it.
"Choice," he said. "Yours."
I shook my head, seething. "Don't play like this is freedom."
"I'm not. I'm being honest with you."
"And what's that supposed to be?"
"That this isn't over," Kaelen said. "Whoever killed your father… they're going to come for both of us next."
"I can take care of myself."
"You shouldn't have to."
That made me stop.
"I mean it," he said. "You shouldn't have to be by yourself."
"I've always been by myself."
Kaelen's jaw set. "Then let me fix that."
I glared at him, air trapped in a suspended breath.
Not because I believed him.
But because for the first time—I wanted to.
"Who do you think did it?" I asked.
Kaelen didn't answer right away. He just stood there, arms crossed, like he was keeping something behind his ribs.
"Well?" I demanded. "Your side? Mine? Someone new?"
"If it was mine," he said, "we wouldn't be having this conversation."
"Meaning?"
"You'd be dead too."
I glared at him. "Nice to know you think that's reassuring."
"Fact."
"So you think one of us did it?"
"I think your home had enemies you didn't anticipate."
"And yours doesn't?"
"Oh, we do. But not stupid enough to shoot at a wedding we arranged."
"Then who?"
Kaelen breathed. "Someone who craved anarchy. To destroy the truce before it began."
I paced back and forth. "Then they succeeded."
"Only if we let them."
I paced to a halt. "There is no we, Kaelen."
"There has to be now."
"No, there doesn't. I can take care of this."
"You can't take an ambush. You can't trust your guards. And now your father's men are in a scramble for position."
"Don't talk about them as if you know them."
"I don't have to know them. I know power vacuums. And yours just opened up wide."
He wasn't lying. That was the worst part.
"So what?" I said. "You keep me safe? See that I don't get myself killed? Then what?"
Kaelen looked at me—quiet, still.
"You live."
"That's not enough."
"It has to be," he said. "For now."
I brushed past him. Needed space. Air. Something.
He followed.
"Do you always do this?" I asked.
"What?"
"Shut everything down. Show no emotion. Act like you're a machine."
He blinked. "Do you want me to fall apart in front of you?"
"I want to know if you feel anything."
He said nothing.
I turned to face him again. "Because if you don't, then this—whatever you're trying to create between us—it's empty."
"I don't feel anything," he finally spoke up. "I just don't show it."
I glared at him more intensely now. No facade. Just bone and muscle and something coiled deep underneath.
"What did you lose, Kaelen?"
He did not blink. But something shifted.
"Too much," he replied.
We stood there.
Neither of us moved.
The chapel was colder than it should have been.
No guards. No Kaelen. No words. Just my dad on the ground under a white sheet, candles burning as if it was noticed by them that the silence felt so heavy.
I placed myself beside him, hands folded in my lap, wrists trembling.
"You made me do this," I whispered.
The silence did not change.
"You made me marry a man I don't trust. You made me smile while I bled inside. And now you're gone, and I'm still here."
I reached for the sheet—then stopped. I didn't want to see his face like this. I wanted to remember him angry. Arrogant. Alive.
"You said it was necessary," I continued. "That this was peace. That House Valtore would live. Did you know you'd die for it?"
The air didn't stir.
"I detest you for leaving me with nothing."
A soft click broke the silence.
I turned in a flash, prepared to strike—but froze.
A figure just beyond the chapel door. Mournful black clothes. Veil across her face. Gracious, composed.
Too immobile.
"Who are you?" I snarled, already reaching for the blade sewn into the side of my gown.
She lifted the veil.
"Vionne?"
My cousin's smile was soft. Held. "I came as soon as I heard."
She moved slowly, heels barely touching the marble.
"You didn't attend the wedding," I said.
"I wasn't invited."
"That's not true. You avoided the invitation."
Vionne shrugged. "And yet… here I am."
She stopped at the step of the altar, looking down at the sheet.
"He sent for me, you know. Before the wedding."
I blinked. "What?
"Your father," she said. "He called me. Personally. Told me something was coming. Told me he needed someone loyal around."
I gazed at her. "He didn't say that to me."
Vionne's gaze rose, slow and keen. "No. I don't think he did."
My gut knotted.
"He told me there were rumours. In the house. People he no longer trusted."
I rose. "Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because he trusted me. And because need friends now—if you wish to keep your name or your life."
She moved closer and whispered.
"Just remember, Sereya… not everyone who smiles upon you wants you alive."
She touched her hand to my shoulder once—brief as the breeze—and turned.
And she was gone.
And I was alone again.
Only now… I wasn't sure who to mourn for:
My father—
Or the truth he died with.