[Tessa's POV]
The arrow punches through Soren's shoulder with a wet, terrible sound.
He's on top of me. His weight. His breath hot against my ear. Then warmth spreading across my chest. Not my blood. His.
"Soren—"
The silver-tipped arrow protrudes from his back. Right where my heart would have been.
Chaos erupts. Guards shouting. Footsteps thundering. But I can't hear any of it past the blood spreading across his shirt, past his face going white, past his eyes struggling to focus on mine.
"Stay with me." My hands press against his shoulder. Slick. Red. "Look at me."
"Tessa." Barely a whisper. Blood at the corner of his mouth. "I'm sorry—"
"Save your strength."
But he's slipping. His eyes unfocused, pupils blown wide. His hand finds mine—weak, trembling.
"Stay awake." I squeeze his fingers. "Soren, please—"
His eyes drift closed.
"No." I shake him. Harder. "Open your eyes. Open your eyes."
Nothing.
His head lolls. Blood trailing from his mouth. Chest rising and falling in shallow, irregular breaths.
Gone. Unconscious. Slipping away while I hold him and can't do anything to stop it.
Terror turns to fury. Cold. Sharp. Deliberate.
Find them.
Power erupts. Not wild this time. Directed. Every scrap of magic I have pours into one devastating command.
Find the one who did this.
The magic tears outward. Searching. Hunting. Pulling at every consciousness it touches—guards, servants, nobles. Dismissing them. Reaching further for the mind that feels wrong. Guilty. Afraid.
There.
East tower. The assassin hiding. His terror as my magic wraps around him like a fist. He tries to run.
Nowhere to go.
The ground cracks. The fountain explodes. Plants wither as I channel everything into this single purpose. Not just rage. Justice. Not just emotion. Execution.
I feel his heart. Feel my power squeeze.
Feel it stop.
Then nothing. Empty. Hollow. My hands still pressed against Soren's wound.
"My lady!" A guard. Breathless. "East tower—someone's dead—we don't know—"
"Tessa." Sebastian's voice. His hands on my shoulders. "The healers need to reach him."
I can't move.
"You need to let go."
I let go.
My hands fall away, and immediately there are people—healers in white, moving with efficient precision. They lift Soren onto a stretcher, their faces grim, their movements quick. One of them checks his pulse, exchanges a look with her companion that makes my stomach drop.
"Move." Sebastian's command cuts through my paralysis. His hand on my elbow, pulling me to my feet. "You're coming with me."
I let him guide me. Through the garden, across the courtyard, down corridors that blur together. My legs move automatically, disconnected from my brain. All I can see is Soren's face going pale. All I can feel is his blood drying on my hands.
I killed someone.
The thought surfaces dimly, distantly. Should I feel something about that? Guilt? Horror?
I feel nothing. Just empty.
We reach the infirmary. The healers have Soren on a table, working with swift, practiced movements. Cutting away his shirt, examining the wound, calling out instructions in voices too clinical for how much blood there is. So much blood.
I stand in the doorway, frozen. Unable to enter. Unable to leave.
"Tessa." Sebastian positions himself beside me, not touching but present. "The arrow missed his heart. That's good. The poison is contained. That's also good."
I nod. Or I think I nod. The words don't really register.
"Lady Tessa." One of the healers—an older vampire with kind eyes—approaches. "He's stable. The wound is serious, but he'll survive. We need to keep him sedated while we work to remove the poison, but—" She glances at my blood-stained hands. "He's going to be alright."
He's going to be alright.
Something in my chest cracks. Not relief. Not yet. Just a loosening of the vice grip around my lungs that's been making it impossible to breathe.
"Tessa." Silas's voice. He's here now too, though I didn't hear him arrive. "Come. Sit."
He guides me to a chair near the window, away from where the healers work. I sink into it, and my legs are shaking. When did they start shaking?
"You found the assassin," Silas says quietly. It's not a question.
"Yes."
"Sebastian confirmed. He's dead." A pause. "Killed by a surge of magic. Your magic."
I should feel something about that. Should react. But there's nothing. Just emptiness where emotions should be.
"The body bears markings of House Corvus," Silas continues, speaking in that calm, measured tone he uses when delivering difficult information. "One of Lord Marcus's retainers. The same house that challenged you during the Trial."
I stare at the healers working on Soren. Watch them clean the wound, apply salves, wrap white bandages around his shoulder. Watch his chest rise and fall with steady, living breaths.
"This changes everything," Silas says. "They tried to kill you before you could be coronated. Before you have the full legal protection of House Nyx's authority." His hand covers mine—the one not covered in blood. "We need to move the coronation forward. We have mere days."
"Days." The word comes out flat. Hollow.
"I know it's fast. I know you're not ready. But if we wait—if we give them another chance—" He doesn't finish. Doesn't need to.
Next time, Soren might not be there to take the arrow.
Next time, the arrow finds its mark.
"Okay," I hear myself say. "Days it is then."
"The council will convene at sunset. We'll handle the formal proceedings quickly—no extended ceremony, no political theater. Just the essential oaths and transfers of power." Silas's voice is steady, grounding. "Once you're crowned, you're untouchable. Anyone who moves against you moves against House Nyx directly. It becomes an act of war."
I nod again. The words make sense in a distant, academic way. In less than a week I become heir. In less than a week—I'm protected. In less than a week everything changes.
But right now, all I can see is Soren's blood on my hands.
"My lord." One of the healers approaches. "He's stabilized. The poison has been neutralized, and the wound is healing. He should wake in a few hours."
"Can she—" Silas starts.
"No." The healer's voice is gentle but firm. "He needs rest. No visitors until he wakes naturally." Her eyes find mine. "I promise, he'll be fine. The arrow missed everything vital. He was lucky."
Lucky.
He took an arrow meant for me, and they're calling him lucky.
"Come." Silas helps me to my feet. "You need to clean up. Rest. We need to—"
"Prepare," I finish numbly. "I know."
Sebastian materializes at my other side, silent support. Together, they guide me out of the infirmary, down more corridors, toward chambers I barely recognize as mine.
"I killed him," I say suddenly. The words feel strange in my mouth. Foreign. "The assassin. I felt it. Felt my power stop his heart."
"Yes," Silas confirms. No judgment in his voice. No horror. Just acceptance. "You protected yourself. That's what power is for."
"It felt..." I search for the word. "Easy."
Too easy. Frighteningly easy.
"That's the Nyx bloodline," Silas says quietly. "We're not just powerful, Tessa. We're dangerous. The sooner you accept that, the better."
Dangerous.
I look down at my hands—still stained with Soren's blood, still tingling with the phantom sensation of crushing a stranger's heart with nothing but will and fury.
In a week I become heir.
But tonight, I learned what I'm truly capable of.
And I'm not sure if that terrifies me or if I'm just too empty to care anymore.