A week passed.
A week in which the Crimson Court breathed around me like a great beast, restless and watchful, while I was left alone in its ribcage. Not once did Castiel return to my chambers.
The bed remained untouched by him, its silks cold, its canopy whispering each night as though it expected a weight that never came. At first, I had lain awake waiting for him, pulse thrumming, every creak of the palace a herald of his arrival. By the third night, I understood that waiting was its own kind of punishment.
It left me wondering not when he would come, but why he hadn't. The whispers of the servants slithered beneath my door like smoke.
"She is unwanted already."
"Perhaps the king grows tired of mortal playthings."
"No, he named her queen. He must have reason."
"Reason? She's a lamb in a wolf's den."
Their voices cut more deeply than they realised. Each morning I woke to the same silence, the same cold hearth, the same absence where a husband—king or not—should have been. Each night I lay in the same crimson-draped bed, staring at shadows that seemed to move when I blinked.
I began to feel as though I were haunting the palace, not living within it.
On the seventh day, Varus appeared.
The door opened without warning, and the King's Hand stood framed in the doorway, his face carved of patience and iron. Behind him, two vampire guards waited, pale as statues, their fangs just visible when the light struck them.
"You have not left your chambers," Varus observed.
I lowered the quill in my hand. The parchment before me bore only half-written words, loops of silver ink that ended mid-thought. None of my letters to my mother had been sent. Perhaps they never would be.
"And if I had?" I asked.
"Then the Court would already be deciding how best to bury you," he replied evenly. "As it is, they content themselves with whispers."
I rose, smoothing the dark skirts Mara had chosen for me from the chest at the foot of the bed. Black damask with silver-threaded vines. Too fine for me. Too heavy.
"Am I not queen, as your king named me?" I asked. "Does that not buy me a measure of safety?"
Varus's expression did not change. "Titles do not feed hunger, Lady Temperance. The Court respects only strength."
"Then why keep me alive?"
The question slipped out sharper than I intended, and for the first time, Varus hesitated. His gaze flicked to the mark at my throat where the covenant seal still faintly shimmered when the light shifted.
"That," he said at last, "is between you and His Majesty."
And then, with a small bow, he gestured toward the corridor.
"The king holds Court today. You will attend."
The walk to the throne hall felt longer than it had on the night of our binding. Then, I had been led as sacrifice, bound in silk and silence. Now, I walked alone, my steps echoing against black stone polished to a mirror sheen.
Vampires moved through the halls like rivers of shadow. Their eyes lingered on me, some with hunger, some with pity, some with amusement. Their garments whispered as they passed—crimson, black, and midnight blue—silks embroidered with silver moons and thorned roses. Jewels winked at throats bared not for beauty, but for temptation.
No one bowed. A few smiled, lips parting just enough to flash the white edge of fangs.
The throne hall awaited, vast and echoing. The air was cooler here, filled with the scent of iron and candle smoke. Balconies overflowed with courtiers, their pale faces turned toward the dais. Conversations hushed as I entered, whispers rising in their place.
"The mortal bride…"
"She looks smaller than I thought."
"Alive still. Curious."
At the centre of it all sat Castiel.
The throne seemed an extension of him—dark, severe, crowned with silver veins like frozen lightning. He wore no crown, but he needed none. His coat was unbuttoned at the collar, his posture deceptively relaxed, one arm resting against the carved armrest. Yet the entire hall bent toward him, pulled by the gravity of his presence.
He did not rise when I approached. He did not even glance at me until I stood at the base of the dais. And then his gaze found mine, steady and unreadable, and I was pinned as surely as if chains bound me there.
"You are late," he said.
"I was not summoned until now," I replied, my chin lifting.
Murmurs rippled across the balconies. Castiel's mouth curved, faint and dangerous. "Every hour in this court is mine, Temperance. If you would survive, learn to treat it so."
I clenched my fists in my skirts. "Survive. Is that what you brought me here for? Not to rule beside you, not to share this throne, but simply to… survive?"
Another ripple from the balconies, sharper this time, tasting of scandal. Castiel rose at last, and though he moved slowly, the hall shifted with him, every eye tightening as though the entire court held its breath. He descended the steps of the dais until he stood a breath from me. I felt the faintest stir of cold air as he leaned down, his voice pitched for me alone.
"I did not bring you here to die," he murmured. "Do not mistake that for mercy."
My heart lurched, but I held his gaze, refusing to step back.
"Then why?" I demanded. "Why keep me breathing when you could end this charade with a single word?"
Something flickered in his expression, something sharp, almost amused, almost… curious.
"Because," he said softly, "there is more use in a flame than in its ashes."
He turned from me then, ascending the dais once more, his coat whispering behind him. His voice rang out, low and commanding, filling every corner of the hall.
"The Crimson Court stands. Let the petitions begin."
What followed was a parade of mortals and vampires alike, brought before the throne with grievances, offerings, and demands. A mortal merchant begged forgiveness for underpaying his levy. Castiel's judgment was swift: three days chained at the gates, serving blood tithe to passing courtiers.
A vampire lord accused his neighbour of stealing cattle. Castiel's eyes gleamed, and he declared both guilty, stripping their estates for the crown. No hesitation. No mercy.
I stood silent at the base of the dais, each verdict sinking like stones in a river. His court watched him with awe and fear, their hunger barely leashed. Once, a vampire woman in scarlet silk caught my eye. She smiled, baring teeth tipped with silver. Her whisper carried far too easily.
"She will not last the season."
By the time the last petition was dismissed, my head throbbed. Castiel remained standing, his gaze sweeping the hall, then landing on me once more.
"Go," he said, his voice a command sharp enough to cut.
I bowed stiffly, the gesture costing me more than it should, and turned away.
Back in my chambers, the fire burned low. I pressed my palms against the cold balcony rail, staring at the river coiling silver through the night. I did not know my place here. Consort. Queen. Prey. Flame. Perhaps all of them. Perhaps none.
And Castiel, my husband and my captor had left me with only questions, withholding even the cruelty I expected. Why had he kept me alive? Why had he named me queen? The night stretched long, the silence of the palace pressing against my ears.
And though he had not entered my chambers in a week, though I told myself I no longer expected him, I still felt it. A shift in the air. As though somewhere in the dark halls beyond my door, the vampire king had paused, listening. Waiting.