Liora's POV – Day 7
I'm not supposed to be in the west wing.
But here I am anyway, my fingers trailing along the cold stone walls as I wander through hallways Theron specifically forbade me to enter. My heart pounds with a mix of fear and exhilaration.
It's been six days since I arrived at Nightshade Castle. Six days of being locked in my chambers at night, six days of Theron's rules pressing down on me like chains.
I'm done following rules.
The west wing is darker than the rest of the castle, lit only by scattered blue torches. Dust covers the floors like no one's walked here in years. The air smells old and sad, like forgotten things left to rot.
I shouldn't be here. But I can't stop exploring.
Over the past week, I've broken every single rule Theron gave me. Stay in the east wing? I've wandered the entire castle. Don't talk to other vampires? I've made friends with half the staff. Don't explore?
I've explored everything.
And Theron hasn't said a word about it.
Oh, he knows. I see him watching from windows and doorways, his silver eyes tracking my movements. But he never approaches. Never speaks to me. At the dinners I'm required to attend, he sits at the far end of the table, as far from me as possible, and ignores me completely.
The tension between us grows heavier every day.
It's like he's testing me. Or testing himself. I can't figure out which.
"Liora?"
I spin around. Cassiel stands in the hallway behind me, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation.
"You're supposed to be in your chambers," he says, but there's no real anger in his voice.
"I got lost." It's the excuse I've used all week. It stopped being believable on day two.
"Of course you did." Cassiel moves closer, keeping his voice low. "You know the prince sees everything you do, right? This castle has eyes everywhere."
"Then why hasn't he stopped me?"
"That's what worries me." Cassiel glances around like Theron might appear from the shadows. "He's been different since you arrived. Distracted. Angry. He destroyed half his study yesterday for no reason."
Something warm blooms in my chest. "Because of me?"
"Don't sound so pleased. An angry prince is a dangerous prince." But Cassiel smiles slightly. "Though I have to admit, you're handling this better than any sacrifice I've seen."
Over the past week, Cassiel has become my friend. My only real friend in this nightmare castle. He tells me stories about vampire history, warns me about dangerous nobles to avoid, and somehow always appears when I'm about to do something particularly stupid.
Like now.
"What are you doing in the west wing?" he asks.
"Exploring. What's down here that's so forbidden?"
Cassiel's expression darkens. "Memories. Pain. Things the prince doesn't want disturbed." He takes my arm gently. "Come on. Let me take you back before—"
"Before what?" I pull free. "Before Theron finally acknowledges I exist? He's been avoiding me for six days, Cassiel. Six days of watching me from afar but never speaking. Never even coming close."
"He's protecting you."
"From what?"
"From himself." Cassiel's voice is soft. "Every time he looks at you, he fights the urge to either kill you or—" He stops himself.
"Or what?"
"Nothing. Just come back to the east wing. Please."
But I'm already walking deeper into the west wing. My legs ache with each step, my chest tight from the blood sickness. Elena, the castle healer, has been helping me manage the symptoms. She gives me medicine that helps with the coughing, herbs that slow the progression slightly.
But we both know I'm getting worse.
Two weeks, Papa said. I've used up six days. That leaves eight days at most.
Will I even make it to the thirtieth night?
"Liora, wait." Cassiel catches up to me. "You can't be back here. This wing is—"
He stops mid-sentence, staring at something ahead.
A door.
It's different from the others. Older. The wood is carved with symbols that make my eyes hurt to look at directly. And it's slightly open, like someone forgot to close it completely.
Golden light spills through the crack.
"What's in there?" I whisper.
"Something you don't want to see." Cassiel moves between me and the door. "Let's go. Now."
But curiosity burns through me. I've spent six days exploring this castle, learning its secrets. And this door feels important. Like it's been waiting for me.
I slip past Cassiel and push the door open wider.
The room beyond takes my breath away.
It's enormous, with walls stretching up into shadow. But it's not the size that stops me cold.
It's the paintings.
Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. They cover every wall from floor to ceiling, packed so tightly they touch each other. And every single one shows the same thing.
A woman's face.
Young. Beautiful. Terrified.
Dead.
"Oh god," I breathe.
These are them. All of them. Every single sacrifice Theron has killed in three hundred years.
Two hundred ninety-nine faces staring at me with empty eyes.
I step into the gallery, my legs shaking. Each painting has a small plaque beneath it with a name and date.
Sarah Miller. 1756.
Emma Clarke. 1823.
Rebecca Johnson. 1891.
The names blur together. So many names. So many lives cut short.
"This is his gallery," Cassiel says quietly behind me. "His penance. He paints every sacrifice himself after he kills them. Refuses to let anyone else do it. Says they deserve to be remembered."
My throat tightens. "He painted all of these?"
"Every single one. He spends hours here, staring at them. Remembering." Cassiel's voice is heavy. "Most vampires forget the humans they kill. It's survival. But the prince can't forget. The curse won't let him."
I walk slowly along the gallery, studying each face. Some look peaceful, like they accepted their fate. Others look terrified. A few look angry.
The most recent painting is dated just one year ago. The girl looks no older than eighteen.
Number two hundred ninety-nine.
"Where's number three hundred going to go?" I whisper.
Cassiel doesn't answer.
I reach the end of the gallery and find empty space on the wall. Just enough room for one more painting.
My painting.
Cold settles into my bones. In less than thirty days, my face will hang here. My name on a plaque. Another dead girl in Theron's collection of guilt.
"We should go," Cassiel urges. "If the prince finds you here—"
"Too late."
The voice comes from the shadows. Deep. Familiar. Filled with pain.
Theron steps into the golden light.
But he's not alone.
A woman is with him. She's mortal, maybe forty, with kind eyes and graying hair. She carries a healer's bag and looks at me with sympathy that makes me want to cry.
"Elena?" I recognize the castle healer who's been helping me.
"Hello, Liora." Her voice is gentle. "I was just discussing your treatment with the prince."
My gaze snaps to Theron. His silver eyes are locked on me with an intensity that steals my breath. He looks different than the cold, distant prince from the throne room. His hair is loose around his shoulders. His expression is raw, unguarded.
And he's furious.
"You're not supposed to be here," he says quietly.
"I know."
"I gave you rules."
"I broke all of them."
We stare at each other across the gallery of dead women. The tension is suffocating.
Elena clears her throat. "Perhaps I should leave you two to talk."
"Stay," Theron commands, his eyes never leaving mine. "She needs to hear this."
"Hear what?" My voice comes out smaller than I want.
Elena's expression turns sad. "Your blood sickness is progressing faster than expected. The stress of being here is accelerating it. You have days left, Liora. Maybe a week at most."
The words hit like a physical blow.
Days. Not weeks.
"How long have you known?" I ask Theron.
"Since the moment you walked into my throne room." His jaw clenches. "I can smell death on you. I always could."
"Then why keep me here? Why not just kill me now and end it?"
"Because the curse requires thirty nights." His voice is rough. "But at this rate, you'll die from the sickness before I get the chance to kill you. And if you die naturally—"
"The curse won't be satisfied," Elena finishes softly. "It will spread through the kingdom, turning all vampires into blood beasts. Everyone will die."
My legs give out. I stumble backward, catching myself on the wall. My hand lands on one of the paintings. The girl stares at me with dead eyes.
"So what are you saying?" My voice shakes. "That I need to stay alive for three more weeks just so you can kill me?"
"Yes." Theron's word is brutal.
"That's why I'm here," Elena adds. "To keep you alive. No matter what it takes."
The room spins. This is insane. I'm dying, but I can't be allowed to die naturally because it will doom everyone.
I have to survive just long enough to be murdered.
"This is your penance," I say, looking at Theron. "This gallery. You paint them because you can't forget."
"No." His voice breaks slightly. "I paint them because they deserve to be remembered. Because someone should know they existed. That they mattered."
"Do I matter?"
The question hangs in the air.
Theron takes a step toward me, then stops himself. His hands clench into fists at his sides. "You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't see this."
"Why not? I'm going to be here soon anyway." I gesture at the empty space on the wall. "That's for me, isn't it?"
"Liora—"
"What color will you paint my dress? What expression will you give my face? Will I look peaceful or terrified?"
"Stop." His voice is raw.
"Will you remember me? Or will I just be another face on your wall of guilt?"
"I said stop!" Theron moves so fast I don't see him coming. Suddenly he's right in front of me, his hands gripping my shoulders. "You think I want this? You think I want to add you to this collection?"
"Then don't," I whisper.
"I don't have a choice."
"Everyone has a choice."
"Not me." His silver eyes are blazing with pain. "Not for three hundred years."
We're so close I can feel the cold radiating off his skin. See the torment in his face. He's barely holding on, barely staying in control.
"Theron," Elena says carefully. "Maybe we should—"
A sound cuts her off.
Footsteps. Multiple sets. Coming fast.
Cassiel's hand flies to his sword. "Someone's coming."
The gallery doors burst open.
And Morgana stands there, flanked by three ancient vampires I don't recognize. Her black eyes are gleaming with triumph.
"Well, well," she purrs. "The prince, alone with his sacrifice. In the forbidden gallery. How very inappropriate."
Theron releases me immediately, stepping back. "What do you want, Morgana?"
"I want you to follow the rules you set." Her smile is all teeth. "You said she stays in the east wing. You said she doesn't wander. You said she doesn't speak to other vampires." She gestures at me with mock sadness. "Yet here she is, breaking every rule. With no consequences."
"That's not your concern."
"Oh, but it is." One of the ancient vampires steps forward. He's tall, with white hair and eyes like black ice. "I am Councilor Varn Bloodmere, head of the vampire council. And Lady Morgana is correct. You've been letting this sacrifice break sacred tradition."
My stomach drops. This is bad. Very bad.
"The sacrifice must be kept isolated," Varn continues. "She must be treated as what she is—a meal. Nothing more. Yet you allow her to wander freely, befriend staff, and now we find her in your personal gallery." His eyes narrow. "Some might think you're growing attached, my prince."
"I'm not attached," Theron snarls.
"Then prove it." Morgana's voice is silk. "Punish her for breaking your rules. Unless you care too much to discipline your own property?"
Theron's jaw clenches so hard I hear his teeth grind.
This is a trap. Morgana orchestrated this whole thing.
If Theron punishes me, I could die before the thirtieth night and doom the kingdom. But if he doesn't, the council will question his authority. His control. They might even suspect he's trying to break the curse.
"Well?" Varn asks. "What will you do, my prince?"
Theron looks at me. Really looks at me. And in his silver eyes, I see absolute agony.
Then his expression goes cold.
"Take her to the dungeons," he says.
My blood turns to ice. "What?"
"Lock her in the lowest cell. No light. No comfort. Let her remember what happens when she disobeys me."
"My prince—" Cassiel starts.
"That's an order." Theron's voice is deadly. "And if anyone tries to help her, they'll join her."
Guards move toward me. I back away, my heart hammering.
"Theron, please—"
But he's already turning away, his shoulders rigid.
The guards grab my arms.
And the last thing I see before they drag me from the gallery is Morgana's triumphant smile.
And Theron's back, as he walks away without looking at me once.