Page 21 of Blood and Thorns

The gift, if I can call it that—catches me by surprise. A private suite with a lock is a level of autonomy I never dreamed of as a slave. I extend my hand, and he places the key in my palm. For an instant, our fingers brush, sending an unexpected warmth through my veins.

I curl my fingers around the cool metal. “Thank you,” I say quietly.

He steps back, regaining the distance. “Just remember you’re not entirely safe, even behind that lock. If someone powerful enough wants in, no key will stop them.”

I let out a dry laugh. “Trust me, I know how unstoppable your kind can be.”

“Mykind, yes. But also the dark elves. Don’t forget, they have spells that can bypass locks. Your only true protection is cunning—both yours and mine.”

I nod, resisting the urge to ask if his cunning extends to more than just political aims. Does he have personal reasons for building this secret infiltration network? Does he thirst for the dark elves’ downfall, or is it all a stepping stone toward greater Vrakken power?

Instead of prying, I gesture at the new surroundings. “I appreciate the upgrade, truly. But why now? Why move me a second time?”

His gaze flickers. “Because your success with Sarith proved you’re more capable than I initially thought. You deserve an environment that fosters that capability.”

He’s praising me, in his own abrupt way.I swallow the instinctual disbelief. Could a Vrakken actually offer compliments, or is this just part of his manipulation?

I sense my moment of hesitation, and it doesn’t escape him. He exhales in that nearly silent way of his, then crosses to the window, pushing aside the sheer curtain. Sunlight glances off his pale skin, highlighting the inky sheen of his hair.

“I’m not kind,” he says, almost as if reading my mind. “I’m practical. Keeping you in cramped quarters, under constant guard, would only hamper the espionage skills I want from you.”

I grip the key tightly, reminding myself that no matter how civil he appears, I’m dealing with a vampire-like predator who has centuries of cunning behind him.

“That’s all right,” I manage, letting my voice stay neutral. “I prefer practical over fake courtesies.”

His wings shift, a faint rustle that resonates in the quiet chamber. “Good. Then we’re in agreement.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The tension thickens, laced with unspoken questions. My mind drifts to the times I’ve caught him watching me during training or library sessions—always calculating, always on guard. Yet behind that meticulous scrutiny, I sometimes sense a flicker of something else—something that sets my pulse racing, even if I can’t name it.

He glances back from the window, eyes skimming over me. I brace myself for a dismissive remark or a cutting observation, but instead, he simply says, “You should rest. Tomorrow,Helrath intends to escalate your combat sessions, and I want you prepared for a more advanced infiltration exercise soon.”

I suck in a breath. “More infiltration? You’re already sending me back into the dark elf circles?”

He lifts one brow. “Soon. Not this week, but you’ll need to be ready. We can’t afford a half-trained operative stumbling into the lion’s den. So rest, study, and improve.”

A swirl of anxiety and excitement ripples through me. My chance to prove I’m not just a pawn. But also a terrifying leap into the heart of the place I once feared more than anything.

He heads for the door, pausing briefly at the threshold. “Lock it after I leave, if you wish,” he adds in a quieter tone, almost as if it’s a test. “Nobody enters these chambers without my explicit permission. And if they do, you have the right to defend yourself.”

“Even if it’s another Vrakken?”

A shadow passes over his face. “Especially then. This is your space now—guard it. If you truly want to become more than a victim, you’ll fight for what’s yours.”

His words stir a fierce sense of resolve in my chest.Fight for what’s mine.A concept I barely dared to consider when I was a slave in the courts.

I clear my throat. “Understood.”

He meets my eyes one last time, and something flickers there—an unspoken challenge, maybe. Then he’s gone, the heavy door thudding shut behind him. I listen for the echo of his footsteps fading down the hallway.

Once I’m certain I’m alone, I turn the key in the lock. The quiet click resonates like a symbol of this new life I’ve stumbled into—one with dangerous promises, lethal secrets, and an unlikely alliance with a Vrakken prince who oscillates between icy detachment and subtle respect.

I spend a short while exploring every nook of my new chambers, from the hidden storage compartments built into the bedframe to the carved cupboards that hold extra blankets. The washroom’s marble tub is bigger than anything I’ve seen, equipped with a discreet spigot that likely taps into some underground spring.

The opulence makes me uneasy. I’ve lived too long in fear, and wealth this extravagant carries the stench of blood somewhere in its history—whether Vrakken or dark elf, I can’t say. But the water in the tub is warm when I test it, and I can’t deny the temptation.

I strip off my sweaty training clothes and slip into the bath. The water envelops me in soothing heat, washing away the grime clinging to my limbs. Leaning back, I close my eyes, letting tension unravel from my shoulders. It’s the first time I’ve truly relaxed since I was brought to House Draeven.

My mind drifts to Vaelorian’s quiet intensity. I recall the way his eyes gleam with a depth I can’t read—like there’s an entire ocean behind those black irises. A part of me hates how intrigued I am. He’s a Vrakken, a being that drinks blood to survive, one who wields enough power to crush me without a second thought.

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