The private feast felt wrong before it even began.
Ariaxa sensed it the moment she stepped into Kaedan’s smaller throne hall — the way lanterns burned lower than usual, the way the nobles whispered more boldly, the way the emptiness at Kaedan’s right side felt like a gaping wound.
Seren’s absence had unbalanced the room.
The harem women sensed it too. They sat farther from Ariaxa tonight, darting occasional looks at her as if she had started a fire they might be blamed for. Riven stood in the shadows behind Kaedan, but even he seemed tenser than usual, arms crossed, gaze cutting across the hall like a blade.
Mirel slipped to Ariaxa’s side long enough to adjust the collar chain around her neck and murmur, “Keep your head down tonight.”
Ariaxa frowned. “Why?”
“Because,” Mirel whispered, glancing toward the nobles, “Seren’s role is now vacant. And the nobles… think you should fill it.”
Ariaxa’s breath stuttered. “What role?”
Mirel swallowed. “The one Kaedan always denied them access to. The one Seren guarded jealously. There will be requests tonight — for use. For touch. For offerings.” Her voice softened, almost apologetic. “If he doesn’t intervene… they might think he’s inviting it.”
Ariaxa looked toward Kaedan.
He sat at the head of the long obsidian table, lounging in his throne-like seat. Shoulders relaxed. Fingers loosely wrapped around a goblet. Eyes cast half-lidded toward the far wall.
Distant.
Detached.
Completely unreadable.
Mirel backed away quickly, taking her place among the servers before anyone noticed she had spoken.
A bell chimed — the signal for the feast to begin — and nobles entered in rich silks and jeweled collars. Their laughter was too loud. Their steps were too eager.
Seren’s absence made them bold.
A boldness aimed directly at Ariaxa.
She stared at the floor, refusing to let herself be drawn into their interest. But she could feel their gazes: sliding over her shoulders, her throat, the curve of her hip where the thin silk of Kaedan’s chosen garment left her exposed.
Calvaris was the first to speak her name.
“Well,” he drawled, “the Emperor’s new acquisition seems to stand very well in the light.”
A ripple of laughter.
Nyssa lifted her wine. “Better than Seren, I’d say. The little Solen looks far more… pliable.”
“More nervous, too,” someone added. “That’s always more fun.”
Ariaxa’s heart pounded.
Kaedan said nothing.
He didn’t even look at her.
He’s letting them talk, she realized with a sickening drop in her stomach.
He’s letting them imagine.
Queen Rhaelle arrived last.
She always made an entrance — veils of silver draped over her curves, eyes lined in black, mouth painted dark as arterial blood. She paused in the doorway, surveying the table with an indulgent smile.
Then she saw Ariaxa.
And her smile sharpened into something predatory.
“Has everyone been introduced to our newest little sun-pet?” Rhaelle asked, gliding toward Kaedan’s side of the table.
Ariaxa felt her blood run cold.
Rhaelle placed a hand on Kaedan’s shoulder as she passed him — an intimate touch, familiar, claiming — then drifted toward where Ariaxa stood.
“Your Majesty,” Ariaxa said, bowing her head.
“Oh no,” Rhaelle crooned. “Don’t hide.”
A delicate finger lifted Ariaxa’s chin. The touch was barely there, but it felt like a strike.
“Let me look at you properly.”
Ariaxa forced herself not to jerk away.
Rhaelle’s eyes roamed her face, then lower — far lower — with shameless, assessing hunger.
“Such soft trembling,” she murmured. “Seren never trembled. She clawed and bit. But you…” Rhaelle’s lips parted. “You look like you might break if someone breathed too hard on your neck.”
The nobles laughed.
Kaedan lifted his goblet but still said nothing.
Rhaelle’s fingers trailed down Ariaxa’s arm — a slow, serpentine stroke that made Ariaxa’s knees weaken. She closed her eyes, trying not to shake.
“I could teach you, little Solen,” Rhaelle whispered near her ear. “Teach you pleasure. Teach you how to kneel and moan and obey.”
Ariaxa’s breath hitched.
Rhaelle smiled, sensing it. “Oh, you’d learn so beautifully. Better than Seren ever did.”
“Queen Rhaelle,” Ariaxa managed, voice thin. “Please—”
“Please?” Rhaelle echoed, delighted. “You beg already. Delicious.”
She traced a fingertip toward Ariaxa’s collar, brushing the edge. “No wonder Kaedan keeps you so close. He has such good taste.”
The nobles toasted at that — lifting their goblets, murmuring darkly:
“To new favorites.”
“To new entertainment.”
“To using what the Emperor refuses.”
Ariaxa’s stomach twisted.
Kaedan lifted his goblet too — eyes fixed on her now, unreadable, calculating.
He was watching.
Not stopping.
He’s testing me, Ariaxa realized with a cold shock.
He wants to see what I do under pressure.
Or worse —
he wanted to see what Rhaelle would do.
Rhaelle’s finger slid onward, brushing the inside of Ariaxa’s wrist. “Such a sweet pulse. I could spend hours listening to it.”
Ariaxa flinched again.
“Don’t pull away,” Rhaelle murmured. “It’s rude.”
Ariaxa whispered, “Please don’t touch me.”
Rhaelle’s smile widened. “Why not? The Emperor isn’t objecting.”
Rhaelle turned her head slightly.
“Are you, Kaedan?” she asked sweetly.
The room held its breath.
Kaedan leaned back in his chair, sipped his wine, and answered:
“Continue.”
Ariaxa’s heart stopped.
Rhaelle purred in satisfaction. “With pleasure.”
Her hand slid up Ariaxa’s neck — slow, possessive — then gripped her chin with cool, elegant fingers, tilting her face upward.
“Look at me,” Rhaelle whispered.
Ariaxa did.
Fear and fury tangled inside her, choking her breath. She wanted to run. She wanted to scream. She wanted Kaedan to do something — anything.
But Kaedan only watched.
His eyes unreadable.
His expression carved from obsidian.
Rhaelle’s thumb brushed Ariaxa’s lip.
“Such pretty shaking,” she murmured. “You’ll make him jealous.”
Ariaxa tried to turn her head, tried to escape her grip—
Rhaelle tightened her hold. “Ah-ah. Don’t—”
A thunderous crack shattered the moment.
SLAM.
Kaedan’s goblet hit the table so hard wine exploded over the polished surface and splattered across the floor.
The entire hall froze.
Rhaelle’s hand halted on Ariaxa’s chin.
Ariaxa’s breath trembled.
Kaedan rose slowly from his seat.
His gaze was black fire.
His voice poured into the silence like molten metal:
“Touch her again,” he said softly, “and I will take your fingers.”
The hall went deathly still.
Rhaelle’s smile vanished.
Ariaxa’s knees nearly buckled.
And Kaedan — cold, furious, territorial — stared at the queen like a predator deciding whether to devour her next.