Chapter 2

Silence was the first sound Isaac recognized.

Not the usual silence of Myrravahn's long nights, when torches crackled through the halls and the wind whispered against fluttering curtains. No. This silence was heavy—like the surface of a lake moments before a storm broke. Dense. Suffocating. Pregnant with something yet to be revealed.

Isaac stood at the edge of the throne room like an unwelcome guest. The imperial crest loomed above everyone present, bearing down with the same weight of expectation that pressed against his shoulders. His brother, Ryan, stood farther ahead, spine straight as if sheer posture could bring order to the moment’s chaos.

But it was the name he heard that made Isaac’s brows lift slightly.

Vanessa.

Not Ana.

His head tilted ever so slightly. The name dragged through his mind like an old memory being unearthed—etched in stone, buried beneath layers of dust and time. Vanessa Agrece. The sister who wasn’t the bride. The quiet shadow of the family. The one he had seen—years ago—across the ballroom at her coming-of-age celebration. The one whose soft smile had never quite left him in peace.

He swallowed hard. The memory returned with almost cruel clarity.

Vanessa, curled up near the piano, laughing softly at something no one else seemed to notice. Her eyes meeting his by accident. Or maybe... not quite by accident.

It lasted only a second.

But it had been enough for his blood—still warm, still alive before his true nature had awakened—to react to something he hadn't understood then. Now, years later, he understood perfectly. And that made the sight before him all the more absurd. All the more jarring.

She was kneeling.

Not Ana.

Vanessa.

And he knew—by the way she lowered her gaze, by the subtle tremble of her jaw as she fought to hold herself together—that she wasn’t there by choice. Vanessa wasn’t ambitious. She wasn’t vain. She wasn’t one of those court ladies who threw themselves into the arms of nobility for the sake of power. She was there as a sacrifice.

And that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

Ryan didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care.

Isaac watched his brother through narrowed eyes, blood churning beneath his skin. Ryan looked... satisfied. Bowed before the throne, whispering with the Emperor as if nothing had changed. As if Ana and Vanessa were pieces of the same gameboard. Interchangeable. Replaceable.

A strange heat began to rise in Isaac’s chest, settling deep in his gut like smoldering coals.

What are you going to do with her, Ryan?

The question echoed inside him but found no voice.

He couldn’t speak. Not yet.

The order had already been given.

Vanessa would be the bride.

And something about that felt terribly wrong.

⋯ ❈♛❈ ⋯

Night had fallen over the castle like a leaden shroud. Heavy. Dense. Too quiet.

Isaac remained by the window in his chambers, watching shadows slip over the rooftops of the towers. The pale reflection of the moon bathed the stone in a sharp blue hue, and the cold he felt came not from the air—but from inside him.

He couldn’t stop seeing Vanessa’s face—tense but resolute—as she knelt before the throne. The image burned in his mind, branded there like iron.

She didn’t look at me.

The thought hurt.

But why would she? He was just the younger brother of her betrothed.

“You don’t look too pleased with the arrangement.”

Ryan’s voice broke the silence like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath. He entered Isaac’s room without knocking, as he always had since they were children.

Isaac turned slowly, the window’s shadows slicing across half his face. Ryan stood with a relaxed posture, but his eyes—his eyes were sharp. Almost irritated.

“You didn’t look pleased either,” Isaac replied, dryly. “Or am I mistaken?”

Ryan stared at him for a moment, then offered a crooked, ironic smile.

“I just found it… amusing. First they offer us a porcelain doll, all charm and smiles, and now, a statue of iron.” He scoffed. “What do you think went through the eldest daughter’s head?”

Isaac clenched his jaw. He didn’t reply. Saying Vanessa’s name felt too sacred. Too dangerous.

“Or do you know what went through her head?” Ryan went on, his tone scraping against Isaac’s patience. “After all… you and Ana were always so close, weren’t you? And you and Vanessa…”

He laughed—hollow.

“Well, you two barely speak. Almost like...”

He didn’t finish.

But Isaac understood.

Almost like you wanted it to be her.

The accusation hung in the air, unsaid but unmistakable.

Isaac stepped forward, jaw tight.

“I don’t control her choices,” he said quietly, but with steel in his tone. “And you should spend less time worrying about who was given to you... and more on why.”

Ryan laughed again, louder this time, but with bitterness in his voice.

“You’ve been spending too much time with old Matthis. Must be those cursed blades you two train with. Just be careful, little brother—wouldn’t want you ending up as broken as him.”

And then he was gone, leaving behind a silence thick enough to choke.

Isaac stood still, fists clenched. Chest heaving with something more than anger. Something he didn’t name. Something... that pulsed.

He lay on the bed, but his body wouldn’t rest. His eyes stared at the ceiling, unblinking. Every time he blinked, he saw Vanessa’s face again. Her serious eyes. The way she said “Take me” with the courage of a martyr and the resignation of someone who had already stopped dreaming.

She didn’t run.

She surrendered.

And it haunted him.

Time passed slowly. Insomnia scratched at the edges of his mind. But there was something else... a strange heat creeping through his veins. A discomfort beneath his skin, as if something inside him was stirring. His heart pounded too loudly. His ears picked up sounds he’d never noticed before—the faintest footsteps in the corridor, the beating of a raven’s wings outside, the soft chime of chains in the higher towers.

And... something more.

Her scent.

How? She was dozens of corridors away. And yet, he could smell her.

He raised a hand to his face, fingers trembling. His breathing was erratic. His throat... dry. Burning. A strange and ancient hunger coiled inside him. Not desire. Not quite.

It was thirst.

Thirst for what?

He didn’t know.

But he feared the answer.

He rose from bed, unable to remain caged in that room. Dressed quickly, threw his cloak over his shoulders, and walked out with no destination. The castle corridors were quiet. Guards greeted him with respectful nods, but didn’t dare approach. Something in Isaac’s eyes told them—not tonight.

He ended up in the garden.

The night was cold. The leaves whispered with the wind, and the scent of damp earth filled the air. He walked to the marble fountain at the garden’s center, sat on its edge, and buried his face in his hands.

For a moment, he felt like he was sinking inside himself.

Something’s wrong with me.

It wasn’t just desire. It was something darker. Heavier. More dangerous.

He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breath. But the more he inhaled, the more he sensed her scent—her blood.

Warm. Sweet. Alive.

“Stop this…” he whispered, pressing his fists to his eyes.

But it was useless.

Images formed in his mind—too vivid, too real. His fingers tangled in her curls. His lips brushing her neck. The metallic taste on his tongue.

No.

He rose abruptly, breath ragged, as if he’d just run leagues. He was sweating. His body alert. His eyes wide and starving.

“This isn’t me,” he said to the dark.

But a voice buried deep in his soul whispered back: