Liora's POV
I wake up choking.
Blood fills my mouth, hot and copper-tasting. I roll over, coughing violently, and more blood spatters across the white sheets. So much blood. More than yesterday. More than ever.
My chest burns like fire. My heart stutters, skipping beats, racing too fast then too slow. The blood sickness is getting worse.
I press my hand over my mouth, trying to muffle the sounds. The coughing won't stop. Each spasm sends pain shooting through my ribs. Blood seeps between my fingers, staining my skin.
This is bad. This is really bad.
When the coughing finally subsides, I collapse back against the pillows, gasping. My hand is covered in blood. The sheets are ruined. And I can taste death in the back of my throat.
Two weeks, Papa said. Maybe less.
It's been one day, and I feel like I'm dying right now.
Sunlight streams through the window. Actual sunlight. For the first time since I arrived, the eternal twilight has lifted slightly. It's morning in the castle, though the light is pale and weak.
I need to clean up. Hide the evidence. If anyone sees how sick I really am, they'll know I'm not going to last thirty nights. They'll know I'm already dying.
I try to sit up, but my body won't cooperate. Everything hurts. Moving takes too much effort.
A knock sounds at the door.
My heart jumps. "Who is it?"
"Elena. The castle healer. May I come in?"
I don't know any Elena. But I'm coughing blood and can barely move, so I don't have much choice.
"Yes."
The lock clicks, and the door opens. A woman enters carrying a leather bag and clean linens. She's mortal—I can tell by the warmth of her skin, the steady rhythm of her breathing. Middle-aged, with kind eyes and gray streaking her brown hair.
She takes one look at me and closes the door quickly.
"How long have you been coughing blood?" Her voice is calm, professional. Like this isn't the first time she's seen someone dying.
"Since last night. It's worse this morning."
Elena sets down her bag and moves to the bed. "I heard we had a new sacrifice. Cassiel mentioned you might need medical attention after what happened with Lady Morgana." Her eyes scan the bloody sheets, my stained hands, my pale face. "But this isn't from her attack, is it?"
I shake my head weakly. "Blood sickness. I've had it for six months."
Elena's face goes very still. "How advanced?"
"My father said I had two weeks left. Maybe less." Tears burn my eyes. "I thought I could make it to the thirtieth night. But I'm getting worse so fast."
"Let me examine you." Elena's hands are gentle as she checks my pulse, my breathing, my temperature. Her face grows more troubled with each test. "Days," she says quietly. "You have days left, not weeks. The stress of being here is accelerating the progression."
The words hit like a physical blow. Days. Not even enough time to figure out what's happening with Theron. Not enough time to understand why I care so much about a vampire who's supposed to kill me.
"Please don't tell anyone," I beg. "If they know I'm dying this fast, they'll—"
"Your secret is safe with me." Elena meets my eyes, and I see understanding there. "I know what it's like to be a sacrifice in this castle. I was one, twenty years ago."
My breath catches. "But you're still alive."
"Because I was pregnant when I arrived. The curse won't accept a woman carrying a child. Prince Theron let me stay as staff rather than send me back to face village shame." She begins cleaning the blood from my hands with practiced efficiency. "So I've seen many sacrifices come and go. You're different from the others."
"How?"
"You're not afraid of him. And he's not indifferent to you." Elena's expression turns serious. "That's dangerous, Liora. Very dangerous."
"Why?"
She's quiet for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "Because someone in this castle wants you dead before the thirtieth night. They're scared of what you represent."
Cold dread pools in my stomach. "What do I represent?"
"Hope." Elena pulls out medicine bottles from her bag. "Change. The end of the prince's suffering. Some people prefer things to stay cursed. The current situation gives them power, control. If things change, they lose that."
"You're talking about Morgana."
"Partly. But there are others. The council. The old vampires who believe tradition should be maintained at any cost." She mixes medicine into a cup of water. "Drink this. It won't cure you, but it will slow the progression. Buy you a few more days."
I drink obediently. The medicine tastes bitter, burning my throat. But within seconds, the pain in my chest eases slightly. My breathing comes easier.
"Better?" Elena asks.
I nod. "Why are you helping me?"
"Because I'm tired of watching innocent women die in this castle." Her voice is fierce. "I've cleaned blood from these sheets two hundred ninety-nine times. I've prepared bodies for burial. I've listened to Prince Theron destroy his chambers in grief after each killing. It has to stop."
"But the curse—"
"The curse only has power because everyone believes it's unbreakable." Elena packs her supplies. "Maybe you're the one who can break it. Or maybe you'll die like all the others. Either way, I'm going to help you live as long as possible."
She moves toward the door, then pauses. "One more thing. Those messages carved into the walls? The scratching you heard last night?"
My skin prickles. "What about them?"
"They're not ghosts. They're memories. This castle absorbs the pain of everyone who dies here. It plays the memories back sometimes, especially to new sacrifices. Trying to warn them. Or break them. I'm not sure which."
"That's terrifying."
"Yes. But it's also proof that Prince Theron remembers every single woman. Their pain is carved into the very stones of this place." Elena's eyes soften. "He's not the monster everyone thinks. He's a prisoner, just like you. The difference is his prison has lasted three hundred years."
She leaves, locking the door behind her.
I sit in the blood-stained bed, Elena's words echoing in my mind. Days left. Someone wants me dead. The castle remembers everything. Theron is suffering as much as his victims.
And I'm supposed to just stay in this room like a good sacrifice, waiting for death?
No.
Absolutely not.
I've spent my whole life being good. Being careful. Following rules. And what did it get me? Dying at twenty-four with nothing to show for it except a father's broken heart and a bucket list I never completed.
If I only have days left, I'm not spending them locked in this room.
I'm going to break every single one of Theron's rules.
I'm going to wander the castle, talk to vampires, ask questions, explore secrets. I'm going to make him look at me, talk to me, acknowledge that I exist as more than just food.
And maybe, just maybe, I'll figure out what everyone is so scared of. What I represent that's worth killing me early to prevent.
Hope. Change. The end of suffering.
If I'm going to die anyway, I might as well die trying to break the curse that's destroying everyone in this castle.
Starting now.
I wash the blood from my hands and change into a clean dress from the wardrobe. My legs shake, but Elena's medicine has given me enough strength to move. I can do this.
I walk to the door and try the handle.
Locked.
Of course it's locked.
But the window isn't.
I cross to the large window overlooking the blood-red cliffs. It's high up, but there's a narrow ledge running along the castle wall. And a few feet away, another window sits open.
This is insane. I can barely walk without getting dizzy. Climbing along a ledge three stories up is suicide.
But I'm dying anyway.
What's the worst that could happen?
I climb onto the windowsill, my heart pounding. The drop below makes my stomach lurch. One wrong move and I'll fall to my death on the rocks.
But the other window is so close. Just a few feet.
I take a deep breath and step onto the ledge.
The stone is cold beneath my bare feet. Wind whips my hair. I press my back against the wall, inching sideways. Don't look down. Don't think about falling.
Almost there.
Almost—
My foot slips.
I scream, grabbing for anything. My fingers catch the edge of the next window, but my body is falling, swinging out over empty air.
I'm going to die. Right now. Before Theron even gets his chance to kill me.
Then a hand shoots out the window and catches my wrist.
A cold, impossibly strong hand.
I look up into silver eyes blazing with fury.
Theron hauls me through the window with one arm, pulling me into what appears to be his private study. He slams me against the wall, his body caging mine, his face inches away.
"What," he snarls, "do you think you're doing?"
My heart pounds so hard I can barely breathe. "Breaking your rules."
"You almost died."
"I'm dying anyway. Might as well make it interesting."
His eyes flash with something between rage and terror. "This is my study. My private chambers. No one is allowed here. Especially not sacrifices."
"Then you should lock your windows."
We stare at each other, both breathing hard. His hands are on either side of my head, trapping me. His body is pressed against mine, cold and powerful.
"You're insane," he whispers.
"Probably." I meet his burning gaze. "But I'm also bored. And I have days left to live. So either kill me now, or get used to me breaking your rules."
His jaw clenches. "Days?"
Oh no. I shouldn't have said that.
"The blood sickness is progressing faster," I admit. "I might not make it to the thirtieth night."
Something breaks in his expression. Anguish so raw it makes my chest ache.
"Then what are you doing risking your life climbing walls?" His voice is rough. "If you're going to die, at least die safely in your room."
"I don't want to die safely." I reach up and touch his face before I can stop myself. "I want to die having lived."
He flinches at my touch but doesn't pull away. "You're going to be the death of me."
"Good. Then we'll die together."
His eyes search mine, and I see the war raging behind them. The desire. The terror. The guilt.
Then his gaze drops to my lips.
And everything changes.