Aiden stood within it, shoulders squared, lungs dragging air like molten iron. He could feel the Duke’s presence the way a man feels the weight of a mountain—not because the mountain moves, but because it could, and if it did, nothing would remain in its path.
"Indeed, my lord," Aiden said at last. His voice did not falter, though the fire in his chest tried to claw upward, tried to burn through his restraint. Each word left his lips like a coin cast into a wishing well. "I am useful... but I am useful with a price."
The sound of his declaration rang in the chamber, struck like a hammer on an anvil.
The Duke’s head turned sharply, the thick muscles in his neck shifting like coiled ropes. His golden eyes narrowed to slits, catching the torchlight like molten coins. Predatory. Measuring. Hungry. He stared at Aiden with the unblinking focus of a hawk spotting movement in the brush, daring him to twitch, daring him to show weakness.
It was a gaze that broke men. Captains had faltered under it. Lords had stammered, their tongues tangled. The Duke’s gaze was legend—men whispered that it could peel a soul bare, leaving only trembling confession behind.
But Aiden did not flinch.
His lips curved into something that was not quite a smile and not quite mockery. His chest burned, the invisible tide of mana pressing down like a storm surge, threatening to buckle his knees. It was suffocating, pressing on his ribs, his skull, his very breath. But he did not break. He leaned into it. Let it weigh him down, and still stood straight.
The smile twitched wider. Lightning invited to strike.
The Duke’s lips parted. Intrigue flickered. A shadow of approval glimmered in the corner of his mouth.
"...Boy," he rumbled, his voice deep as iron shifting underground, "you will either die very quick—or rise above faster than anyone I have ever known."
Aiden exhaled, long and deliberate, as if releasing the air he had hoarded against the storm. His grin sharpened, a blade beneath a mask. "I get that a lot."
The Duke laughed—sudden, booming, a sound that cracked the stone silence. He clapped a hand on Aiden’s back, heavy enough to stagger most men. To Aiden it was a blow like a testing strike, a question hidden in touch.
"Do you now?" the Duke asked, his mirth molten with interest. His gaze narrowed again, like a smith eyeing steel that might yet prove blade or brittle scrap. "Good. Then perhaps you know this as well—I have ambitions, boy. High ambitions. And a young fire like you... I need that fire." His voice dropped lower, intimate as whispered sin. "So—you want a price? Name it."
The torches flickered as though the air itself had caught its breath. The smoke curled like black serpents overhead, twisting, watching.
Aiden’s throat tightened. For one moment—just one—his tongue betrayed him. A name pressed against his teeth. Sabrina.
The Duchess.
Her face, her scent, her voice—already his in truth, already bound by threads deeper than contract, deeper than title. His. But to speak her name aloud, here, before this titan of suspicion? That was ruin. That was suicide.
No. He swallowed it. His hunger was larger, deeper than a single confession. He remembered the day Augustus bowed, the weight of an entire hall bending to one man’s will, the taste of that power like bitter wine he craved again.
His gaze steadied, lifted to meet the Duke’s golden fire. "The same as you, my lord," he said, each word carefully tempered. "I am ambitious. So all I want is this: that I bow down to no one."
A beat. His next words dropped like a dagger wrapped in silk.
"Except you."
The Duke froze. Then his lips curved, slow and feral, widening into something between mirth and hunger. A knight—a commoner knight—daring such audacity? Madness. Lunacy. But useful.
Ambitious men were clay. Peaceful men were stone. And clay could be shaped.
"Kid," the Duke growled, leaning close enough that his breath brushed Aiden’s ear like smoke from a forge, "like I said—you will either die early, or reach sky high. We share the same hunger, the same tainted destiny. But words are cheap." His hand tightened on Aiden’s shoulder, fingers pressing until bone ached. "You must prove yourself."
Aiden’s eyes glimmered, defiance and temptation locked together. "Prove to you—how?"
The Duke turned, gaze falling from the balcony to the hall below. A tide of nobles swirled there—dancers, flatterers, shadows wrapped in silk. But his eyes did not linger on them. They found her.
Sabrina.
The Duchess.
Her silks gleamed beneath the chandeliers, her beauty severe as frost, bright as a blade in moonlight. She sat still, a jewel set in ice, but her eyes... her eyes shimmered with something that was not submission.
"My dear wife..." the Duke said at last. His words carried gravity, as though each syllable was mined from the earth. "The Duchess."
Aiden’s heartbeat jolted. Her name in the Duke’s mouth was a curse, a weapon.
The Duke’s jaw tightened, tendons shifting beneath his skin. "My wife... she is cheating on me."
The chamber seemed to tilt. For a fraction of a second, Aiden’s mask cracked. His breath hitched, chest burning. But he forced it shut, forced calm into his voice, painted disbelief across his lips.
"The Duchess?... how could she?"
The Duke did not answer. His gaze clung to her, unblinking, heavy as stone. Sabrina did not return it. She stared past him, a still statue crowned in veils.
He could feel it. The bond was broken. Once he had bent her spirit with black spells, had twisted her heart into loyalty. But the chain was gone. The taint erased.
Someone else had reached her heart. Someone else had shattered what he forged.
His golden eyes cut back to Aiden, burning. "Aiden," he said, his voice thick as thunder rolling across mountains, "I want you close to her. I will assign you to her service. Watch her every move. Tell me who she meets. Tell me who holds her in secret."
The torchlight glowed over Aiden’s face, shadow and fire battling across his features. Inside, joy screamed. Savage and wild. His veins burned like molten gold, his blood surged with ecstasy. He wanted to laugh. To howl.
But outwardly, his lips shaped measured obedience.
"Your order, I shall take to heart, my lord," he said. His words rang like oath. "I will be by her side—always. Starting today. Starting tonight. Starting now."
The Duke barked a laugh, echoing against the vaulted stone. "Ha! I knew I could count on you. If you prove worthy, I shall share my darkness with you." His voice dropped, promises and threats dripping together.
Aiden inclined his head, then raised it with eyes sharp as spearpoints. "My lord... actually, I have some information already."
The Duke’s gaze ignited, interest flaring, gold blazing brighter. "Speak."
Aiden leaned close, lips near the Duke’s ear. His whisper cut like a knife dipped in poison.
The Duke’s eyes widened. Shock cracked through his iron face.
"Lady Catherine as well...?"
The question throbbed in the chamber, heavy with disbelief.
Aiden bowed, deep and humble. His mouth hid the smile curling savage beneath. His eyes flicked once across the chamber—torchlight, shadows, veils, whispers of silk. Victory rang in his skull like bells.
Of course. Of course he would obey. To the letter. To the marrow. To the very vein.
Because every order placed him closer to her. To Sabrina. To the fire-throne he would seize.
And the Duke—mighty, golden-eyed, predator of men—did not yet see that the prey he thought to collar had already sunk quiet fangs into his fate.