The penthouse suite was less a room and more a miniature kingdom. The elevator doors opened directly into a sprawling living area with ceilings so high they felt like a distant sky. One entire wall was the same floor-to-ceiling glass as the lobby, offering a god's-eye view of Cinderfall City. The furniture was modern and minimalist—low-slung couches in pale grey, chrome-and-glass tables, all of it designed to avoid obstructing the breathtaking, intimidating vista. It was beautiful, sterile, and as welcoming as a mausoleum.
Rhyian gestured toward an archway.
"That wing has two bedrooms and a bathroom. They are yours. I will have food and clothing sent up. Anything you require, you need only ask the suite's integrated system."
My gaze swept the room, noting the lack of visible handles on the doors and the seamless, solid walls.
"And the exit?" I asked, my voice flat.
"There is only one," he said, nodding back toward the elevator we had just left. "And it will not open without my authorization."
He had brought me to the most beautiful, luxurious prison imaginable. My gilded cage. Serafina's words echoed in my mind, and I hated that she was right.
Rowan, still groggy, stirred in my arms. He blinked, taking in the vast room and the city lights spread out below us like a fallen constellation.
"Whoa," he breathed, his earlier fear momentarily eclipsed by wonder. "Mom, look! We're in the sky!"
Rhyian's severe expression softened almost imperceptibly as he looked at his son.
"You are at the top of the world, Rowan," he said, his voice a low rumble. "This is your home now."
"It's not our home," I snapped, setting Rowan down but keeping a firm grip on his hand. "This is a temporary arrangement."
Rhyian ignored me, his attention fixed on our son.
"Are you hungry?" he asked him directly.
Rowan looked up at me, his silver eyes seeking permission. My first instinct was to say no, to refuse everything this man offered. But Rowan hadn't eaten, and he was a growing boy who had just survived a terrifying ordeal. My pride was not more important than his well-being. I gave a tight, reluctant nod.
"Yes," Rowan said quietly.
"Excellent," Rhyian said, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his face. He turned to the empty air. "A meal for the boy. Warm milk, grilled cheese, and apple slices."
A soft, female voice, smooth as silk, emanated from the walls themselves.
"Of course, Sovereign. It will be delivered momentarily."
Rowan's jaw dropped.
"The walls can talk!"
"The building listens," Rhyian corrected gently. He then looked at me, his gaze turning serious. "The Ash-Scythe Coven, the faction that sent the first wave of attackers, is a splinter group of radicals. They believe that the old bloodlines, like my own, have grown weak and stagnant. They hunt for unique supernatural offspring, believing they can distill their power."
"They want to use him like a resource," I whispered, the words sickening. My grip on Rowan's hand tightened.
"They want to consume him," Rhyian stated, his voice turning hard as diamond. "He is, to their knowledge, the only living dhampir of a Sovereign's lineage. To them, he is the ultimate prize. That is why you are here. That is why you will stay here."
As if on cue, a discreet panel in the wall slid open, and a tray emerged silently, bearing exactly the food Rhyian had ordered, steam rising from the milk. The efficiency was as impressive as it was terrifying.
I led Rowan to a small table, my mind reeling. A coven of vampire cultists hunting my son. A talking building. And a centuries-old monster playing the part of a concerned father. It was too much. I felt like I was losing my grip on reality.
As Rowan ate, hungrily and happily, Rhyian watched from a distance, leaning against the massive window, a dark silhouette against the glittering city. He was giving me space, but his presence filled the room, a constant, humming pressure.
When Rowan finished, his eyelids were drooping. The adrenaline of the night had finally worn off, leaving only exhaustion. I picked him up, his small body already half-limp with sleep.
"I'm putting him to bed," I said to Rhyian, my voice clipped.
I carried Rowan into the wing Rhyian had indicated. It was just as luxurious and impersonal as the main room. I chose the smaller of the two bedrooms, which was thankfully free of any windows. It felt safer, more like a den. The bed was enormous, covered in a duvet so soft it felt like a cloud. I tucked Rowan in, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
"Is the big man our friend, Mom?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
"I don't know, baby," I whispered truthfully. "I don't know what he is."
I watched him until his breathing evened out into the deep, steady rhythm of sleep. Only then did I allow the full weight of the night to crash down on me. I leaned against the doorframe, my legs trembling, my body aching with bruises both old and new.
When I walked back into the main living area, Rhyian hadn't moved. He was still staring out at the city, his hands clasped behind his back.
"He's asleep," I said, my voice hollow.
"Good," Rhyian replied without turning. "Now we can talk."
"There's nothing to talk about," I said, wrapping my arms around myself. "You've made your position clear. I'm your prisoner."
"You are my guest," he corrected, finally turning to face me. The intensity in his silver eyes was startling. "And you are the mother of my heir. You are the most important person in this tower, Carys. And the most protected."
I let out a harsh, bitter laugh.
"Protected? Or possessed? You called me your 'property' in front of your ghoul."
His face tightened. A flicker of genuine regret, the first I'd seen, crossed his features.
"It was a poor choice of words. I was... angry. I saw him threatening you, and I spoke rashly."
"No, you spoke honestly," I countered, taking a step toward him, fueled by a sudden surge of righteous fury. "That's all I've ever been to you, isn't it? A possession. The 'human pet,' as your red-headed bitch so eloquently put it. You enjoyed me, you broke me when I became inconvenient, and now that you need something from me, you've decided to claim me again."
"That is not true," he said, his voice a low growl. He took a step toward me, closing the distance between us. We were only a few feet apart now.
"Isn't it?" I challenged, my heart hammering. "You told me to get rid of him, Rhyian. You offered me money. Like I was a problem to be solved. Do you have any idea what that did to me?"
"I know exactly what it did," he said, his voice raw. "I have imagined it every single day for seven years." He took another step. He was so close now I could feel the cold radiating from his body. "And you have no idea why I did it."
"Oh, I think I do. I was a dalliance. A distraction. And a baby was a complication you, the great and powerful Sovereign, couldn't afford."
"You're wrong," he whispered, his silver eyes boring into mine, filled with a terrible, ancient pain. "I did it to save your life."
I stared at him, my fury faltering in the face of his sudden, raw sincerity.
"What are you talking about?"
He reached out, his hand hovering just inches from my face.
"There was a prophecy, Carys. A curse on my bloodline. It foretold that the mortal vessel bearing my heir would be shattered by the child's power. That your heart would fail the moment you gave birth. I didn't send you away because I didn't want you. I sent you away because I couldn't bear to watch you die."