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I laugh. I can’t help it. Because I’m overwhelmed by the moment, and because I cannot believe the absurdity of Galvin’s claim. His face falls slightly at my reaction, but he doesn’t waver.

“Vesper,” Galvin says as he steps toward me, backing me into the edge of the bed. My knees hit the mattress. Do not fall, I urge myself. The last thing this situation needs is either of us on a bed. He holds my chin gently in his hand, and the way he’s looking at me . . . I’ve never had anyone look at me like that before. Desperate. Vulnerable. Longing like I am the breath in his lungs, the blood in his veins. “You know. Don’t hide from it.”

I want to put space between us. I can’t breathe with him this close, with the scent of him surrounding me, promising things I’ve never had the ability to admit I wanted.

“Surely you know there are arcane magics, things hidden or lost, understood by the few and great.”

I snort. “And you’re one of the great?”

He doesn’t verbally spar with me the way Lonan does. He just tilts his head and looks at me earnestly. “Vesper—”

“I am not your bloodmate,” I say more firmly.

He blinks slowly at me, keeps his gaze tracked on my face, the way a predator watches its prey. A moment hangs between us, and then he asks, his voice taking on a new, sharper tone, “Do you know what I am?”

Some banal instinct warns me to say nothing. Gooseflesh rises on my arms.

“You’ve seen that I am not entirely normal. You’ve seen what I can do, fractions of my abilities.”

I grip the handle of my scythe.

Galvin tilts his head downward. “You saw me kill that girl. You saw what I did in the hall.”

All those bodies, some of them only half dead. Renee.

“You’ve heard the rumors. You’ve heard of the spread of something that makes even Gossemort quake in its boots. Finally, a force to rival the Darkness of Imaelhain. I am that force, Vesper. The Dark fights the Dark.”

“You came here to rid Gossemort of the Dark. That seems a little hypocritical.” I want to keep him talking. I try not to let my eyes dart toward the door, but I’m taking inventory of my options—ways to fight, ways to run.

“I am the crown prince. One day I’ll be king, and then finally, after all these years, the war with Imaelhain will be over.” He runs his fingers along my cheek, gently tucks stray hair behind my ear. “I am one of the undying. When everyone you know now is deep in the ground, decayed to nothing but bones and dust, I will look just as I do now. And I will wear the crown. And you, darling, you will stand beside me. My eternal bride.”

As he speaks, the whites of his eyes turn milky and creep over his irises. “There is a crude lay word for what we are. Perhaps you’ve heard of it—siphon.”

This is the sickness Nurse Verne raved about. He said there were rumors of it creeping toward Gossemort. He had no idea it was at our doorstep.

“Only a siphon has a bloodmate. I thought it would take me centuries to find mine. But hardly a fortnight since I made the change, and I’ve found you. Our souls are bound together, destined for one another. Our love was written in the stars. You feel it, don’t you?”

I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“You changed yourself into a . . . a siphon. To keep your throne? To stay in power for centuries?”

“And to finally win this war against Imaelhain. Aren’t you tired? We all are—of the death, of the loss. Your own father died in war, didn’t he? Think—we can prevent that. You and I. Imaelhain wouldn’t dare stand against us.”

His expression is so earnest—deep blue passion and unfettered love. Love.

The fact remains—no matter what he might think, no matter how he has justified this deed, I am heartless.

“Gossemort is my home,” I whisper, my grip on my scythe so strong that my arm shakes. “It is the last sanctuary of the Light.”

“Then tell me, how did the likes of Lonan infiltrate its oh-so-pure walls. Vesper, you cannot trust him.”

He knows what Lonan is—that he is a traitor. But so am I.

I pen my cursed poetry for Gault. I let my verses slice my skin open, and I bleed because I want to protect the kingdom my father died for. What would Galvin do to me if he found out? If he saw the scars that litter my skin? Bloodmate or not, would my blood soak the floors along with my classmates’? He didn’t even know them. But he’s acted as judge and executioner.

“You said I would stand by you,” I say. “I’m not a siphon. I’m not immortal.”

His lips curl. And the sight of it turns my bones to ice. “Aren’t you?”