The dream felt too real.
Eleanor floated down the aisle, her gown whispering against the marble floor, pure and white, flowing like mist. A veil covered her face, but she knew—she felt—the weight of a thousand eyes on her.
At the end of the aisle stood her groom.
Tall. Still. Waiting.
But faceless.
A cold dread spread through her veins. Who was he? Why couldn’t she see him? Why did the sight of him, featureless and imposing, make her feel like she was walking toward something far worse than marriage?
No. Not just something worse.
A cage.
Her breath caught, and panic surged through her chest as the faceless groom reached out for her.
She wrenched herself awake.
Darkness. Silence. The faint scent of old parchment and something metallic in the air.
She sat up too fast, her vision spinning.
Her last memory rushed back—Lucien’s bite, Dorian’s interruption, the brothers arguing, her own defiance before everything had gone black. She must have passed out.
And now… she was alone.
For how long?
Her fingers went to her neck. The wound was healed, but she could still feel the ghost of Lucien’s fangs, the cruel press of his lips.
Her stomach turned.
A silver tray sat on the bedside table. Food. Warm, untouched.
Eleanor hesitated. Could she trust it? But her hunger gnawed at her ribs, and she had little choice. She downed the meal quickly, trying not to imagine it laced with something sinister.
As she pushed away the empty plate, her gaze drifted toward the heavy, gothic door.
She could leave.
She should leave.
But where would she go?
Her father had sold her. No home, no allies, no escape. The Valerian brothers owned her now.
The thought sent a shiver down her spine.
Still, staying still wasn’t an option. She had to move, had to understand where she was, what this place truly was.
She slipped out of the room, her bare feet whispering against the cold floor.
The mansion was suffocating in its grandeur, like something carved from an ancient, forgotten civilization. Towering stone columns. Endless hallways lit with flickering candelabras. Heavy curtains that blocked out any glimpse of the outside world.
A prison disguised as a palace.
She was turning a corner when she heard it.
A voice.
Low. Unhurried. "You shouldn’t wander."
Eleanor jerked forward in fright, her pulse spiking.
Silas.
He stood a few feet away, watching her with an expression that was unreadable, his silver eyes softer than his brothers’ but no less piercing.
She swallowed. "I—I was just—"
"Looking for a way out?" he finished smoothly.
Her breath hitched.
He tilted his head, studying her reaction. "You won’t find one."
She clenched her fists. "I wasn’t trying to escape."
Silas hummed, unconvinced. "If you say so."
A heavy silence stretched between them.
Then he asked, "Are you feeling better?"
The question caught her off guard. It almost sounded… genuine. She hesitated before nodding.
His gaze flickered down, noting the way she was trembling. "Relax. I won’t bite you."
She let out a short, bitter laugh. "Yet."
His lips twitched. "Yet."
Her shoulders remained stiff, her mind screaming not to trust him. But Silas seemed… different. Unlike Lucien, who exuded cruel dominance. Unlike Dorian, who concealed his thoughts behind cold intellect. Unlike Cassius, who toyed with her just for the thrill.
Silas watched. Observed. And for some reason, he was the one who made her the most uneasy.
"What do you want?" she asked warily.
"Nothing," he replied. "But you should know your role here."
Eleanor tensed.
"You’re expected to be available when needed," Silas continued. "Resist too much, and you’ll find yourself in someone’s black book. You don’t want that."
She let out a slow breath. "So I’m supposed to be your obedient little blood bag?"
Silas arched a brow. "Would you rather be something else?"
Her jaw clenched. "I’d rather be free."
He studied her for a long moment.
Then, unexpectedly, he said, "I understand."
She blinked. "You understand?"
Silas didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned against the cold stone wall, his gaze flickering toward the shadows. "No one wants to be owned, Eleanor."
Something about the way he said it made her chest tighten.
"Then why are you all so eager to take me?" she asked, unable to stop the bitterness in her voice.
This time, he met her eyes directly. "Because your blood is rare."
Her breath caught.
She had suspected there was something unusual about her, but no one had explained why. Not really.
"Rare?" she echoed.
Silas nodded. "Unlike any human’s."
"Why?"
He hesitated. Then, he stepped closer, just enough that she could feel the chill radiating off him.
She thought he was going to tell her why but he suddenly shut his mouth. A shiver ran down her spine.
Silas held her gaze for a beat longer. Then he stepped past her.
Eleanor turned sharply. "Wait—when can I leave?"
He stopped mid-step. And turned back to face her squarely. For the first time, his silver eyes darkened, turning cold. And then, without another word, he disappeared into the shadows.
Eleanor’s stomach twisted. The walls of Noctis Manor suddenly felt smaller.
She wasn’t just trapped.
She was caged.