Chapter 46: The Price Of Salvation

••{RHIANNON’S POV}••

Not a single soul has slept ever since the attack.

Before the sun even started to rise, the castle was filled with movement. Maids, messengers, guards—any living thing at all that works in the palace has been questioned and interrogated.

But still, it’s not enough.

It doesn’t change the truth that’s been weighing heavily on my chest.

Darkholme is no longer safe, and the traitors are hiding within these walls.

My hands are tightly folded in front of me as I watch Azræl from the foot of his bed.

While he sleeps, his chest rising and falling unevenly as if simply breathing is painful for him.

He hasn’t opened his eyes once since he fell unconscious, and that worries me deeply.

His mother and sister haven’t left his side since they heard the news.

Seraphine sits beside him on the right, cupping his face with one hand while stroking his cheeks gently with her thumb.

Azeria, on the other hand, hasn’t let go of Azræl since we brought him back. She sits by his left side, both her hands wrapped tightly around one of his.

She holds onto him as if she’s afraid he’ll die if she loosens her grip even for a second.

Nayeesha sits in a chair beside me, her eyes half-open and her expression filled with exhaustion.

I can’t stop recalling that moment when I pulled those hoods back, just to see familiar faces staring back at me.

Maids who prepared my baths, brushed my hair, and served me food. Guards who bowed and greeted me every morning as I walked by.

Every time my mind wanders back to that shocking discovery, goosebumps prickle along my arms, a constant reminder that if Azræl’s own servants didn’t hesitate to tie me up and drag me away in the dead of the night. If they didn’t hesitate to drive a sword through their Emperor just to get to me, then his crown, his throne, his name—means absolutely nothing to them.

Marrying him and being his Empress is just not enough.

The door opens quietly and a guard steps aside to let a maid enter. She bows her head low as she carries in a tray with careful steps. A decanter sits on it, filled with a dark red liquid, and beside it a goblet.

Seraphine looks up sharply.

"What took you so long?" she asks.

"I–I... my apologies, Your Majesty," the maid stammers.

Seraphine rises to her feet and crosses the room before snatching the tray from the maid’s hands.

"Leave," she says coldly.

The maid bows deeply and retreats, quietly closing the door behind her.

Seraphine returns to Azræl’s bedside. She sets down the tray, lifts the decanter, and pours the liquid into the goblet.

She slides one arm beneath Azræl’s shoulders and lifts him carefully until he’s sitting upright. Then she presses the rim of the goblet to his lips.

I glance at Nayeesha. "What is she doing?" I ask quietly.

Nayeesha’s tired eyes lock with mine. "She’s giving him blood."

"Blood?"

"In his current state, he needs as much as he can get," she answers.

Seraphine’s hands shake slightly as she slowly feeds her son from the goblet. My heart aches with every beat because Azræl doesn’t even move an inch, or make a sound.

He just lies limp in his mother’s arms.

Another dark thought that I’ve been trying so hard to silence creeps back into my mind. Before I can stop myself, it slips out of my lips.

"Please... tell me he’s not going to die," I whisper.

Seraphine and Azeria immediately turn to look at me.

"Vampires can survive certain wounds inflicted by nightbane," Nayeesha says, her voice quiet but strained. "But this one..." she shakes her head slowly, "the blade ran straight through him, and even though I sealed the wound, that kind of damage..." she trails off.

After several heartbeats, she continues.

"I’m afraid the chances of Azræl surviving this are very slim."

My knees buckle, but I grab onto the bedpost to catch myself before I can fall. My eyes begin to sting with tears the longer I look at Azræl.

"I–I don’t understand," I say. "I’ve seen Azræl heal from a wound exactly like this with my own eyes. What is this nightbane? How is it capable of doing this to him?"

Azeria looks at me with tears welling up in her eyes.

"Nightbane is the one thing that truly threatens our immortality," she says quietly.

I slowly walk toward her and lower myself onto the space beside her.

"Why?" I ask.

"You’re not the only descendant of a fallen ængel, Rhiannon," she says. "All true-born vampires are."

My brows slowly knit together.

"When our ancestors were cast out of the heavens," she continues, "remnants of their divine energy fused with the earth where they fell. That is how Nightbane came to be."

She looks down at Azræl, tightening her fingers around his hand.

"To us... it’s agony," she murmurs. "It burns and rots us from the inside out the moment we’re exposed to it. It takes time to heal from a wound inflicted by nightbane, almost like when humans get hurt. And it leaves scars."

Her eyes meet mine again, but this time there’s no sadness in them.

Her expression hardens.

"Listen carefully as I say this, Rhiannon," she mutters. "It is impossible for mere servants to gain access to weapons forged from Nightbane unless one of the other ruling houses supplied it. Nightbane is only ever used to execute justice. To punish subjects who commit crimes against the empire. For one ruling house to draw it against another..." she pauses for a heartbeat. "It means war."

Her eyes drift shut but a tear slips through, trickling down her cheek before falling onto where she holds Azræl’s hand.

"Our father was murdered with nightbane," she whispers.

For a long moment after that, we all sit in heavy silence.

"I’m still struggling to believe this," Azeria says. "Traitors in the palace? His own servants would do this to him?"

"Oh, don’t act surprised, Azeria," Seraphine mutters coldly without sparing her a glance.

Azeria immediately faces her. "Mother, how could you say tha—"

"Don’t. Mother. Me," Seraphine cuts her off, her voice harsh but trembling with each word.

"I warned you... I warned both of you," she continues, pointing at Azræl and Azeria, "that it was only a matter of time before one of the houses tried to take Rhiannon by any means necessary. But you refused to listen. And now look at him."

Azeria lowers her head and doesn’t say another word.

Seraphine rises to her feet and walks around the bed toward me. As soon as she reaches me, I notice the tears brimming in her eyes.

"Rhiannon," she says softly. "Even though it would put my heart at ease... I can’t delude myself into believing that Azræl will survive this. But there’s a way we can save him."

She gently takes one of my hands in both of hers, her fingers trembling as they wrap around mine.

"Your blood," she says, her voice wavering as tears roll down her face. "Even a single drop would be enough to heal his wound... please."

For several heartbeats, I gaze into her golden eyes.

They’re filled with so much fear... and grief.

And as much as I want to—as much as I’d love to—I just can’t do what she asks of me.

I slowly pull my hand away from hers, my voice quiet as a single word leaves my lips.

"No."