He's a lean man, mid-forties, with the kind of face that's learned to smile while delivering death sentences. Sharp features. Cold eyes. The look of someone who's risen through ranks by knowing exactly which rules to enforce and which to ignore.
"Lord Vorak." He inclines his head. Not quite a bow. Just enough deference to be technically respectful. "Asset inspection. Proof of compliance with the Compact of Blood."
The wordassetscrapes against something raw in my chest.
I force my voice to stay level. "This is unnecessary. I've complied with the terms."
"The Crown requires assurance." He produces a sealed document from his coat, wax seal gleaming red in the morning light. "Thirty days temporary custody, then she returns to royal detention pending final placement. The terms are explicit."
My vision narrows.
Returns to royal detention.
The curse stirs, a familiar beast rattling chains I've spent years forging. Heat crawls up my forearms where the runes lie dormant—not glowing yet, butwarming. Warning.
"You will not touch her." The words come out low. Dangerous. Not quite a growl but close enough that the Inquisitor's guards shift their weight.
His smile widens. "I don't need to touch her, my lord. I simply need toverifyher presence and condition. Standard protocol for all... leased assets."
Leased.
Like she's a piece of equipment. A weapon. Property to be cataloged and returned.
The curse surges, and I taste copper. My jaw aches from clenching. The runes on my arms begin to glow—faint, but there. Red creeping toward the surface.
"She isn't yours to verify," I hear myself say.
"Actually—" The Inquisitor unfolds the document with theatrical precision. "—according to Article Twelve, Subsection Four of the Compact, the Crown retains primary ownership of all blood-marked individuals during temporary custody periods. You haveuseof her. Not ownership."
He's baiting me.
He knows exactly what he's doing, standing there with his smug bureaucrat's smile, using words likeuseandownershipwhile talking about a woman who saved a man's life yesterday. Awoman who touched my arm and somehow pulled me back from the edge when I was about to lose myself completely.
A woman who ismine.
The thought slams through me with such force that the runes flare bright red.
Garrett steps forward. "My lord—"
"Everyone inside." My voice doesn't sound like mine. Sounds like gravel. Like smoke. "Now."
My men hesitate. They know what that voice means.
"Now," I repeat, and this time it's definitely a growl.
They retreat, though Garrett lingers in the doorway, one hand still on his sword.
The Inquisitor watches this with obvious amusement. "Losing control already, Lord Vorak? The girl's been here what—two days? And you're already—"
"Choose your next words carefully." I take a step forward, and three things happen simultaneously:
The Inquisitor's guards draw steel.
The runes on my arms blaze like brands.
And somewhere behind me, inside the fortress, I hear a door open.
Footsteps. Light. Quick.
