An hour later, Vera felt like she had been flayed alive.
They had scrubbed her skin until it was pink and raw. They had washed her copper hair three times with oils that smelled of lavender and crushed pearls. They had cleaned under her fingernails, exfoliated her calluses, and waxed parts of her body she didn't know needed waxing.
Throughout the entire process, not a single maid spoke to her. They treated her like a doll—an object to be polished before being placed on a shelf.
Now, Vera stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror, staring at a stranger.
The girl in the reflection had the same riotous copper curls and piercing green eyes, but everything else was different. The black tunic and leather breeches were gone. In their place, she wore a dress of shimmering ice-blue silk that left her shoulders bare.
The fabric was so light it felt like water against her skin. It clung to her curves in a way that made her feel naked. But the most striking thing was the mark.
With the neckline of the dress plunging low, the silver birthmark on her left collarbone was fully visible. It was shaped like a fractured snowflake, pale and jagged. Now that she was clean, it seemed to catch the light, pulsating with a faint, rhythmic glow.
"It is beautiful," a soft voice whispered.
Vera jumped, spinning around.
One of the maids—a young girl, no older than fifteen—was holding a silver hairbrush. She had spoken by accident, her eyes wide with fear as she realized her mistake.
"I... I apologize, My Lady," the girl stammered, dropping into a curtsey. "Please do not punish me."
Vera relaxed her shoulders. "I'm not going to punish you. I'm not a 'Lady'. I'm just..." She paused. What was she? "I'm Vera."
The maid looked up tentatively. "You are the one who cooled the Fire," she whispered, her eyes filled with awe. "The servants are whispering. They say you are a spirit sent by the Moon Goddess."
Vera snorted. "I'm a thief who swallowed a magic rock when she was hungry. Don't believe the myths."
She walked over to the window, looking out at the Imperial Capital. From this height, the city looked like a toy set. The slums where she lived were just a smudge of gray smoke in the distance.
"What is your name?" Vera asked the maid.
"Nia, My Lady."
"Nia," Vera said, turning back to her. "Tell me about the Emperor. Not the rumors. What is he really like when he's awake?"
Nia flinched. She looked at the door to make sure no guards were listening.
"He... he was not always the Tyrant," Nia whispered hurriedly. "Years ago, before the curse, they called him the 'Golden Prince'. He was just. He was kind. But the Eternal Ember... it burns the soul. Pain changes a man, My Lady. Constant, never-ending pain makes monsters of us all."
Vera touched the cool glass of the window. She knew about pain. She knew about the cold ache in her own bones that never went away.
"He is not kind anymore," Nia added, her voice trembling. "He is efficient. He is brilliant. But he has no mercy. If you displease him..."
The door handle rattled.
Nia immediately shut her mouth, stepping back into line with the other silent maids.
The door opened, but it wasn't Damon. It was a steward carrying a tray of food. But behind him, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The air grew heavier.
It was evening.
The sun had set while Vera was being scrubbed and polished. And with the darkness, the master of the house was returning.
The servants froze, then dropped to their knees in unison, their foreheads touching the carpet. Even the steward lowered the tray and bowed.
Vera remained standing. She refused to bow to the man who threatened to chain her.
Emperor Kassian walked in.
He looked different from the way he had in the morning. He was dressed in a black military uniform with silver embroidery, a sharp contrast to his platinum hair. He looked rested. His movements were fluid and predatory, bursting with an energy that felt dangerous.
He wasn't the exhausted, delirious man clinging to her. He was the Emperor who had ruled an empire while running on zero sleep. Now that he had slept, he looked unstoppable.
His ice-blue eyes scanned the room, dismissing the servants as if they were furniture. His gaze landed on Vera.
He stopped.
His eyes swept over her, from the copper curls cascading down her bare shoulders to the shimmering blue silk that hugged her waist, and finally to the silver mark on her collarbone.
A slow, dark appreciation filled his gaze. It made Vera feel like she was the ruby chalice she had tried to steal—something precious, expensive, and owned.
"Leave us," Kassian commanded. His voice was calm, but it carried absolute authority.
The servants scrambled out of the room like rats fleeing a sinking ship. The heavy doors clicked shut, leaving Vera alone with the wolf.
Kassian walked toward her. He didn't rush. He moved with the confidence of a man who owned the very air she was breathing.
"Blue suits you," he said, stopping just inches away from her. "It matches the ice in your veins."
Vera crossed her arms, trying to create a barrier. "I prefer black. It hides blood better."
Kassian chuckled—a low, rich sound that vibrated in his chest. "There will be no blood tonight, Vera. Unless you try to stab me again."
He reached out, his fingers brushing against her bare shoulder. Vera shivered, but not from fear. The contact was electric. His skin was warm, a stark contrast to her unnatural cold.
"You are cold," Kassian murmured, his eyes half-closing as if her temperature was a drug. "Deliciously cold."
"And you are invading my personal space again," Vera said, taking a step back.
Kassian stepped forward, closing the gap. "There is no personal space between the cure and the disease."
He walked past her, heading toward the massive table where a feast had been laid out. "Sit. Eat. You are too thin. If you pass out from hunger in my bed, it will be inconvenient."
Vera glared at his back. "I'm not hungry."
"Sit," Kassian ordered. He didn't raise his voice, but the command slammed into Vera like a physical weight.
She gritted her teeth and sat at the opposite end of the table.
Kassian poured himself a goblet of wine. He took a long sip, watching her over the rim of the glass. His eyes were clear, sharp, and terrifyingly intelligent.
"Damon tells me you have a brother," Kassian said conversationally, as if discussing the weather. "Milo. Age eight. A pickpocket in training."
Vera's hand froze halfway to a bread roll. "Leave him out of this."
"I cannot," Kassian said, setting the goblet down. "He is the reason you are sitting in that chair and not running for the window. He is the chain that binds you to me."
He leaned forward, his expression turning serious.
"I have a proposition for you, Vera."
"I thought I was a prisoner," Vera said. "Prisoners don't get propositions."
"You are a resource," Kassian corrected. "But resources can be wasted, or they can be cultivated."
"The Curse of the Eternal Ember is growing stronger," Kassian said, his voice dropping lower. "Yesterday was the peak. The fever broke because of you. But do not mistake 'sanity' for 'peace'."
He tapped his finger on the polished wood of the table.
"For fifteen years, since I was a boy, I have lived in a furnace. Every hour of every day, my blood boils. I can ignore it, I can rule through it, but the pain never stops. Until last night."
He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear.
"The Red Hunger won't return for another month. But do you think I can wait that long? I have finally tasted silence, Vera. I will not go back to the screaming noise of the fire, not even for a single hour."
Vera didn't flinch. She leaned back against the chair, crossing her legs with a relaxed grace that belied the tension in the room. Her green eyes sharpened, dissecting him not with fear, but with the calculating gaze of a merchant inspecting damaged goods.
"You wrap your chains in very pretty words, Majesty," she said, her voice smooth and dangerously low. She didn't snap; she observed him with a cold, dry amusement. "But let us not pretend. I am not a consultant. I am a sedative. A necessary dose to keep the monster from tearing his own castle apart."
She tilted her head, a faint, mocking smile playing on her lips. "I am just a mechanism to you. A way to regulate the temperature."
"No," Kassian said softly. "A sedative is disposable. You... are vital."
He stood up and walked around the table until he was standing behind her chair. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. The heat radiating from him was pleasant, wrapped in the clean, sharp scent of crisp bergamot and expensive soap, with a lingering undercurrent of woodsmoke.
"You are the only person in this world who can touch me without burning," he whispered. "Do you know what that means?"
Vera shivered, her grip on the fork tightening. "What?"
"It means," Kassian said, his hand sliding down her bare arm to rest on her cold hand, "that you are the only one I don't have to kill."
He pulled her chair back, forcing her to stand and face him.
"You want safety for your brother? You shall have it. You want gold? You will drown in it. You want freedom?"
He shook his head slowly, his blue eyes locking onto hers with a possessive intensity that stole the breath from her lungs.
"That is the one thing I cannot give you. Because the moment I let you go, the fire consumes me. And I am not ready to die."
He reached out and traced the silver snowflake on her collarbone with his thumb.
"Tonight, we sleep," Kassian declared. "But tomorrow, the court will want to know who the woman in the Emperor's bed is. And you will play your part."
"And what part is that?" Vera whispered, her voice barely audible.
Kassian smirked, a dangerous, arrogant tilt of his lips.
"My chosen sin."