Under normal circumstances, I would already be mobilizing defenses. Calling in favors, repositioning forces, preparing for siege warfare. The strategy is obvious, the tactics well-established.
But these are not normal circumstances.
The frenzy has shifted my priorities completely. The thought of spending weeks in military planning, of focusing my attention on anything other than the woman upstairs, feels physically impossible.
“What forces do we have immediately available?” I ask. I know the answer. Wish I didn’t.
Scratch gives the full body shudder that seems to serve as a shrug. “The border guards number eighty-seven, spread across three watch posts. Twenty-five more in the castle.”
“And our enemies?”
“Lord Vasek commands approximately two hundred. Lords Elovat and Mordak together could field perhaps three hundred more. Lord Jesseth maintains a standing force of one hundred fifty.”
Six hundred and fifty against my hundred-odd defenders. The outcome is predetermined if they ally against me.
“Forty-nine years, seventy-one days, and twenty-two hours until my service ends,” Scratch mutters. “Perhaps this is an opportune time to discuss succession plans.”
I ignore the comment. My attention has already moved beyond conventional solutions.
“Send word to Lord Jesseth,” I say. “Arrange a meeting. Tomorrow evening, at the Bone Orchard. Send a guide to meet his party at the border and lead them to the rendezvous.”
“Master?” Scratch's eyes widen in surprise. “The Orchard is... exposed. No defensive positions. If he chooses to attack…” His legs click. “Unless you are setting a trap?—”
“It is not a trap.” I stand, decision crystallizing with sudden clarity. “It is a demonstration.”
The plan forms as I speak, each piece falling into place. Jesseth fancies himself my friend, but friendship among Vethani lords is a calculated thing. He will come to assess my strength personally before committing to either side of this conflict.
He will also come to see what has changed in me. What new element has entered the equation.
And I will show him.
I climb the stairs to the woman’s wing, each step bringing her scent stronger. By the time I reach her door, my hands are shaking with need.
I find her sitting by the window, looking out at the three moons. She has changed from the gray auction dress into something softer—dark fabric that clings to her small frame. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders.
She turns when I enter, and the hunger in her dark eyes mirrors my own.
“I was wondering when you'd come back,” she says.
“Were you?”
“I can feel you thinking about me. About what we did.” She stands, moving closer. “It's like an itch I can't scratch.”
The distance between us disappears. I reach for her, and she comes willingly, pressing against my chest. Her warmth seeps through my clothes, her scent filling my lungs.
“I need...” I start, then stop. The words feel inadequate.
“I know what you need.” She tilts her head back, exposing the pale column of her throat. “Take it.”
My teeth extend fully. The hunger roars through me, demanding immediate satisfaction. But I force myself to pause, to savor the anticipation building between us.
“Tomorrow night, we will have an audience,” I say, my voice rough with need.
“An audience?”
“Another lord. He comes to assess my strength, to decide whether to stand with me or against me.”
Understanding dawns in her eyes. “And you want him to see what I am. What we are together.”
