Page 132 of Veinblood
“The Authority's greatest weakness: it cannot imagine its own ending.”
Reflections on Captivity — Sacha Torran's Journals
“I never said that,”I breathe against his lips, the shadow still moving inside me with slow, deep strokes that make my legs shake.
His smile turns wicked. “Are you sure?”
The music continues around us, other couples dancing and completely unaware of what is happening beneath my gown. Each step sends fire spiraling through me as the shadow shifts and pulses, matching the rhythm of our movements. My grip on his shoulders tightens as I fight to keep my composure.
“Everyone can see us,” I whisper.
“All they can see is their High Prince dancing with his consort. There’s nothing scandalous about that.” His voice carries that low, husky tone that makes heat pool in my stomach. “Unless you make it obvious.”
I straighten my spine, determined not to give him thesatisfaction of watching me lose control in public. The shadow curls inside me, finding spots that steal my breath, and I bite down on my lip to trap the sound building in my throat.
“Are you enjoying this?” He guides me through a turn that makes the shadow stroke deeper.
“I hate you.”
He laughs softly. “Liar.” His free hand traces patterns on my lower back, shadows following his touch. “Your body tells the truth.”
The song feels endless. He guides me around the dance floor while the shadow continues its torment, building pressure that threatens to shatter my control. By the time the music ends, I’m trembling with the effort of staying upright. He spins me in one last turn, then takes my hand to lead me to the side. The shadow withdraws with agonizing slowness, leaving me aching and frustrated.
Before I can say anything to him, Mira appears at my elbow with two glasses. She hands one to Sacha and the other to me.
“You look a little flushed.” She can barely hide her amusement. “Too much dancing?”
“Something like that.” I shoot a glare at Sacha, who sips his drink and looks around, acting as though he didn’t just torture me in front of everyone.
“The celebration will continue for hours yet,” Mira continues, glancing around the throne room where people show no signs of leaving. “Parties like this are rare. People want to savor it.”
She’s right. The formal ceremony ended hours ago, but the gathering has transformed into something more relaxed. Drinks flow freely, conversations are animated, and musicians play melodies that seem to stir deep emotion in those around us.
But I’m tired, and after days of planning, and fighting, exhaustion is creeping in. I find a seat and sink into it, while Sacha moves around the room, giving everyone time to speak to him. Mira stays close by, refilling my drink when I want it, and ensuring anyone who speaks to me doesn’t overstep with their curiosity.
After an hour or more, my face hurts from smiling, so when Sacha reappears, I’m grateful for the reprieve.
“Ready to retire for the night?”
“More than ready.”
We make our farewells to Varam and Mira, pausing on our walk through the room to acknowledge Veinwardens and Veinbloods, until we reach the door.
The hallway beyond is blissfully quiet, and my steps echo on stone as we climb the stairs toward Sacha’s quarters. For the first time since the ceremony, I can breathe without feeling like I’m being watched by everyone.
When we enter the room, Sacha closes the door and immediately pulls me against him, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that tastes of Mountain Spirit and promise. His hands frame my face like I’m something precious, and I can feel the hunger he’s been holding back all evening.
“Do you have any idea,” he whispers against my lips, “how difficult it’s been to keep my hands to myself all night?”
“Youdidn’tkeep your hands to yourself.”
“That was nothing compared to what I wanted to do.” His fingers find the fastenings of my gown and he works them free. “This dress has been driving me to distraction since I first saw you in it.”
He slides it off my shoulders and the material falls with a soft whisper to pool at my feet. Black bleeds across his eyes as they move over my body, and then he reaches for me. His hands slide over my waist, a smile tipping his lips up.
“You’re wearing too many clothes.” I tug at his coat.
He drags it off, then lifts his arms so I can pull his shirt over his head. My hands spread across his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my palm.
