The Trial of Legitimacy.
The words settle into my bones like ice. I stand frozen among the assembled nobility, watching Lord Delacroix’s satisfied smile, hearing murmurs of approval rippling through the crowd.
Not surprise. Approval.
They knew. All of them.
My eyes find Silas—grave but unsurprised. Then Sebastian, silver eyes carefully blank, refusing to meet my gaze.
They both knew.
"The Trial will commence at dawn, three days hence," Delacroix announces. "Giving Lady Tessa time to... prepare herself."
The pause is deliberate. Mocking.
Three days. I have three days to prepare for a Trial I know nothing about.
And everyone knew except me.
I turn and walk toward the side exit, ignoring the whispers. Behind me, Silas calls my name, but I don't stop. Can't stop. If I face him right now, I'll say something I can't take back.
The corridors are mercifully empty. I find a small alcove and finally let myself breathe.
"Tessa."
Sebastian's voice behind me. Of course. He followed me.
I don't turn around. "Go away."
"We need to talk about—"
"About what?" I spin to face him, and the fury I've been holding back explodes. "About how you lied to me? About how everyone in that room knew this was coming except the one person who actually has to face it?"
His jaw tightens. "It wasn't my decision."
"But you knew." I move closer, hands clenched into fists. "You knew when you were pushing me so hard in training. You knew when someone tried to kill me this morning. You knew when I begged you to tell me what was happening, and you looked me in the eye and lied."
"I didn't lie—"
"Omission is lying!" My voice echoes off stone. "You stood there and fed me vague warnings about enemies and told me to trust you, all while knowing I was about to be challenged in front of everyone."
"It was Silas's order." His voice is carefully controlled, which only makes my anger burn hotter. "He didn't want you to know. He was afraid if you knew about the Challenge beforehand, it would psyche you out. Make you doubt yourself."
"So instead you let me walk into that throne room completely blind?" I laugh, sharp and bitter. "Let me stand there like an idiot while everyone watched to see how I'd react to the surprise? That's better?"
"He was trying to protect you—"
"By keeping me ignorant? By making sure I looked weak and unprepared in front of every noble house?" I'm in his space now, close enough to see the muscle ticking in his jaw. "You know what would have protected me? The truth. Time to prepare. Basic fucking respect."
"You're right."
The words stop me cold.
"What?"
"You're right." Sebastian's silver eyes finally meet mine, and there's something raw in them. "Silas made the call, and I followed orders like I always do. But you deserved to know. You deserved the truth, and we kept it from you because we thought we knew better. We were wrong."
I stare at him, thrown by the admission. Sebastian doesn't apologize. Sebastian doesn't admit fault. He follows orders and expects everyone else to fall in line.
"I'm sorry," he continues quietly. "I know that doesn't change anything. Doesn't make the situation better. But I'm sorry. You're right to be angry. You're right not to trust me."
Something in my chest cracks at those words. The fury is still there, burning hot and justified, but underneath it is something more complicated. Something that's been building for days of training together, of his hands correcting my form, of watching him watch me with an intensity that has nothing to do with duty.
"I hate being blindsided," I say, and my voice comes out rougher than intended. "My entire marriage to Soren was one blindside after another. Decisions made without me, plans I wasn't included in, being the last to know what was happening in my own life. I swore I'd never let that happen again."
"I know." His hand twitches like he wants to reach for me but stops himself. "I've watched you all that time, remember? I saw what they did to you. How they made you feel small and powerless and like your opinion didn't matter. I swore I'd never make you feel that way."
"And yet here we are."
"And yet here we are," he agrees. "I fucked up. I chose duty over what I knew was right. Over what you needed."
The honesty in his voice does something to me. Cracks through the anger and reaches the hurt underneath, the fear I've been trying to ignore since Lord Delacroix’s smug face announced my trial.
Three days. I have three days to prove I'm worthy, and I don't even know what the Trial entails.
"I don't know if I can do this," I whisper.
"You can."
"You don't know that. Nobody knows that. For all we know, I'll fail spectacularly and prove them all right—that I'm just some foundling with no power, no right to be here—"
"Stop." Sebastian does reach for me now, his hands gripping my shoulders. "Listen to me. You severed a blood bond in front of witnesses. You survived being thrown out at sunrise. You've trained harder in the past week than most vampires do in a year. You can do this."
"But what if—"
"No what ifs." His hands tighten. "You're Silas Nyx's daughter. You have his blood, his power, his strength. And more than that—you have something they don't expect. You've survived things they can't imagine. You've been underestimated your entire life, and you're still here. Still fighting."
The words hit something deep inside me. Something I've been too afraid to acknowledge.
I'm still here. Still fighting. Despite everything Soren and his family did, despite the Severance nearly killing me, despite being cast out to die—I'm still here.
And I'm done being afraid.
I don't think. Don't analyze. I just move.
My hands fist in Sebastian's shirt and I pull him down, pressing my lips to his.
He freezes for half a second—surprise, maybe, or shock—but then his hands slide from my shoulders to my back and he's kissing me back. Hard. Desperate. Like he's been holding himself back for years and finally broke.
It's not gentle. Not careful. It's fury and fear and frustration all tangled together, all the emotions I can't name pouring into this one moment. His mouth tastes like steel and something darker, and when his fingers thread through my hair, angling my head for better access, I make a sound I've never made before.
This is wrong. I know it's wrong. I'm angry at him, I don't trust him, and in three days I might be dead or disgraced or both.
But right now, with his hands on me and his mouth on mine and his heart pounding against my palm, I don't care.