A spark ignited deep in Aisling's gut, hot and sharp. Illuminating? She met Vaelora's gaze, her own eyes flashing emerald fire. "Illuminating indeed," Aisling returned, her voice low but clear, carrying just enough in the sudden, hushed quiet around them. "It takes a certain kind of 'illumination' to mistake a temporary hold for an eternal claim, doesn't it? Or perhaps you just need the lights turned on, darling. Some of us prefer to choose who we belong to."
A collective gasp rippled through the nearest vampires. Illyra's jaw dropped. Even Malric looked momentarily taken aback, his practiced charm faltering. Kylian watched Aisling, a flicker of raw approval in his blue eyes, gone almost before she saw it, replaced by that familiar, infuriating wryness.
Before Vaelora could lash out, her sea-glass eyes narrowing into slits of pure fury, Cedric glided forward. He moved with the silent grace of a shadow. "Lady Vaelora," he said, his voice a perfect blend of respect and subtle command, "the refreshments table seems to be missing your preferred vintage. Allow me to escort you. I recall a most exquisite bloodwine from the eastern vineyards that might prove… diverting."
He offered his arm. His dark eyes held a silent, firm warning that Aisling couldn't quite read, but Vaelora understood. Her carefully crafted facade cracked for a fraction of a second before she reluctantly took his arm. "As you wish, Cedric," she purred, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. But her gaze lingered on Kylian, a promise of future trouble hanging in the air, before Cedric smoothly steered her away. Good riddance.
Kylian turned back to Aisling, his lips twitching upwards. "A commendable performance, witchling," he said, his voice low and appreciative. "Though perhaps a touch overly… dramatic." He held out a hand to her, that rogue's grin back on his face. "Now that the opening act is complete, would you care for a dance? The music is finally worth listening to."
Aisling stared at his outstretched hand. A dance? With him? She scoffed, pulling her own hand back as if his touch might burn her. Exhaustion, heavy and cold, washed over her. "A dance?" she repeated, her voice sharp. "I think I've endured quite enough of your captivating company for one evening, thank you. My capacity for… interaction is rather more limited than yours, it seems."
His grin didn't falter. He simply tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Oh, come now. Don't be a spoilsport. I did just dispatch Vaelora for you. The least you could do is humor your newly acquired fiancée."
A fresh wave of anger boiled within Aisling. For me? He actually thought... She leaned closer, her voice a low, fierce growl meant only for him. "Let me make this perfectly clear, Baron. I do not care, not one shred, about your women. Past, present, or future. I don't like you. I will never like you. And if you honestly thought parading Vaelora in front of me would somehow spark jealousy, then you are not just delusional, you are utterly, profoundly stupid."
Kylian's eyes gleamed, a complex mix of emotions Aisling couldn't decipher settling on his face. "So noted," he said, his tone light, almost dismissive, but with an undeniable edge of something dangerous hidden beneath. "Then there's truly no issue. Since you've so clearly stated you're indifferent to my associations, I shall continue as I please. After all, a man has certain… ongoing arrangements. And responsibilities."
"Good!" Aisling snapped, her blood hot in her veins. "Go crawl back to your 'ongoing arrangements'! I will perform my duties here. I will act the part of the dutiful daughter-in-law to this… dysfunctional circus you call family. But do not, for a single second, mistake that for the duties of a wife. Ever." With that, she turned on her heel, the heavy scarlet dress swirling around her like a challenge, and strode away, melting into the crowd until she spotted Zharayah leaning against a pillar, looking utterly, magnificently bored.
"I need a drink," Aisling announced, stopping beside Zharayah. "A strong one. Preferably something that makes me forget the last hour happened."
Zharayah, her golden-amber eyes watching Kylian's retreating back, let out a low chuckle. "And you're not even married yet, little witchblood," she murmured, handing Aisling a goblet from a passing tray. "He's already driving you to the brink, isn't he?"
Aisling took a large, desperate gulp. The liquid was rich, dark, and tasted vaguely metallic, yet strangely sweet. It burned pleasantly down her throat. "You have no idea," she muttered.
"It's the Hawkrige way," Zharayah said, a weary, knowing look in her wolf eyes. Her gaze drifted across the hall, landing on Valaric, who was currently bent over a woman in shimmering green silk, laughing with effortless charm. "They break you piece by piece, just by existing."
Aisling scoffed, taking another long swallow. "He won't break me." She followed Zharayah's gaze to Valaric, noticing the way Zharayah's eyes lingered on him. There was a deep, aching sadness there, carefully hidden beneath her fierce exterior. He, meanwhile, seemed completely unaware, lost in his flirtation. "What's... your story?" Aisling asked, the drink already starting to loosen her tongue. "With Valaric, I mean."
Zharayah's smile was brittle, sharp with old pain. "Oh, we have a perfectly… necessary arrangement." She shrugged, a deliberate carelessness in her posture that fooled no one, least of all Aisling. "We have our daughters. They are our bond. It's more than many couples have, isn't it?" Her words were meant to dismiss, but the raw pain beneath was a heavy weight in the air. Just enough for Aisling to suspect that her own forced marriage might not be unique in this terrible family.
Aisling didn't know exactly when the drink hit her, but the warmth spread, a roaring fire behind her eyes, chasing away the cold dread.
"Oh, gods," Zharayah suddenly mumbled, her eyes widening slightly. "I forgot to tell you. That's bloodwine. Strongest vintage. Brewed for… well, for them. Not us."
Aisling felt it then. Her head spun. The grand hall tilted like a ship in a storm. She giggled, the sound light and shaky. "Bloodwine? What... what is bloodwine?" She tried to stand straight, to look like the defiant woman she was, but her knees felt like jelly. "It tastes... fuzzy."
Zharayah's arm wrapped around her, strong and steady, subtly holding her up. "Aisling, can you… can you stay upright?" she whispered, a low curse escaping her lips. "Damn it, Valaric, you utter fool! Kylian is going to kill me!"
"Stay upright?" Aisling slurred, trying to focus on Zharayah's face, which seemed to have two of everything. "I'm a tree! A very… very wobbly tree! In a ridiculous dress! And a… a very, very annoying fiancé!"
"Right. This is a problem." Zharayah cursed again, then subtly guided Aisling away from the eyes of the crowd, towards a less busy corridor. "We need to get you somewhere private. Now." She opened a side door, leading them into a luxurious, thankfully empty, washroom.
The moment they were inside, Aisling slumped against the cool marble wall, giggling uncontrollably. "He's so… so irritating!" she declared, her voice a drunken, indignant wail. "Made me! Made me sign it! Because of Liam! My poor brother! He was going to… going to die! And I don't want to be married! I hate him! Kylian! I hate him so, so much!" Her words slurred, but the raw, burning emotion was clear.
Zharayah froze, her golden eyes wide with something like shock, then slow, simmering fury. Her jaw tightened. "He forced you to accept the wedding?" she breathed, the question a dangerous whisper.
"Yeah!" Aisling hiccupped, waving a wobbly hand. "Used Liam! As… as leverage! Like he was nothing! So cruel! And now I'm stuck! Stuck with Mr. Charming Monster! Who thinks I'll fall at his feet! Well, I bit him! Right on the lips! And I'll do it again!" She laughed, a wet, shaky sound.
Zharayah's eyes narrowed, a fierce light blazing in their depths. She didn't hesitate. Aisling watched, unsteady on her feet, as Zharayah stormed out of the washroom, her gaze sweeping the hall until she found him. Valaric. Still charming some vapid noblewoman, laughing his elegant, empty laugh. Zharayah's temper, usually a controlled fire, exploded. She marched straight to him, grabbed the front of his expensive silk shirt, and dragged him away from the stunned woman.
"What in the seven hells, Zharayah?!" Valaric hissed, stumbling, his mercury-silver eyes flashing with cold fury. "Are you mad?! What is the meaning of this disgusting display?"
Zharayah didn't even slow down. "Shut up!" she snarled, pulling him ruthlessly towards the washroom door. Aisling scrambled back inside, pressing herself against the marble wall, trying to look as if she'd never left, giggling softly. "You want to know the meaning? It's in here! You let your brother destroy a girl's life!"
She shoved him into the washroom. Aisling swayed, focusing on them. "What is this?" Valaric demanded, looking from Aisling's drunken state to Zharayah, a look of distaste on his face. "And why is she reeking of bloodwine? I don't know anything about Kylian's pathetic dealings, Zharayah. You know I don't concern myself with his messes."
"Oh, you don't concern yourself?" Zharayah said, her voice dripping with venom as she pointed a trembling finger at Aisling. "Then maybe you should start! Listen to what your brother, the magnificent Kylian, has done!"
Aisling, still in her haze, pointed a wobbly finger at Valaric. "He said… sign it or your brother dies!" she mumbled. "Mean man! I want my freedom! Don't want a husband! But Liam… Liam needed to live!"
Valaric stared at Aisling, a flicker of something sharp and assessing in his eyes. No surprise there. "He made an offer she couldn't refuse," he corrected coolly, turning his gaze back to Zharayah. "Her brother's life for her hand. A difficult choice, perhaps, but a choice nonetheless." His voice was calm, infuriatingly reasonable. "He merely presented the terms. It's the way deals are struck."
"Deals?!" Zharayah exploded, taking a step closer to him, her voice low and dangerous. "Is that what you call it?! Holding a man's life hostage to force his sister into marriage? Is that the kind of 'deal' you find acceptable, Valaric?! Is that what you think is right?"
Valaric's face hardened. "It's the way things are done in our world," he said, his voice losing its calm edge, becoming colder. "Sacrifices are made for survival. You, of all people, should understand that." His mercury eyes bored into her, full of a deep-seated bitterness that mirrored her own hidden pain. "You made your own 'deal,' didn't you? Trading my freedom for security, for a name, for daughters you could use to chain me."
Smack! Zharayah's open palm struck his cheek with savage force. A loud crack echoed in the small room. Valaric stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock and cold rage.
"Don't you dare!" Zharayah hissed, her voice trembling with fury and pain. "Don't you dare twist this back onto me! Don't you compare my desperation, my need to protect what little I had, to his cruelty! This isn't about us, Valaric! This is about what he did to her!"
"Isn't it?" Valaric retorted, his voice dangerously quiet, filled with simmering hate. "Everything with you is about us, Zharayah. About how you trapped me. How you stole my life. And now you want to rage at me because Kylian did what any Hawkrige would do? What I would have done, had the circumstances required it?"
"You wouldn't," Zharayah whispered, her voice breaking, her hidden love for him warring with her rage. "You wouldn't have been so cruel!"
"Don't pretend you know me," Valaric scoffed, his gaze colder than ice. "You chained the wild wolf, Zharayah. You didn't tame him. And now you're seeing the nature of the pack you forced me into. Kylian is just a reflection of what we are." He gestured towards Aisling, who was still murmuring drunkenly. "This is the price of mixing with our kind. She made her choice."
Zharayah stared at him, her face a mask of pain and fury. Her own history with him, the resentment, the hidden longing, twisted inside her. This was another betrayal. "Get out," she said, her voice low and shaking.
Valaric raised an eyebrow, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "And go where? Back to charming the guests?"
"Go find Kylian," Zharayah snarled, her golden eyes blazing with a dangerous light. "Right now. Bring him here. And if you aren't back in five minutes with him, Valaric… you won't like what I do next."