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Chapter 1: The Offering

  The carriage rattled over the uneven stones, its heavy wheels grinding against the bones of the earth. Inside, Elser sat still as a doll, her spine straight despite the cold iron colr pressing against her throat. Her wrists were bound in velvet straps—a kindness, perhaps, compared to chains. But the message was clear: she was a gift, wrapped for presentation, not for escape.

  The scent of scorched metal and burning roses crept into the enclosed space as they neared the border. Somewhere beyond the misted hills, the Castle of Ash loomed, home of the exiled fme prince, Rafael of the Third Blood.

  She had heard the stories. Everyone had. A man whose bones were forged of fire, whose breath could melt stone, whose hands could ignite flesh with a touch. A creature both divine and monstrous, sealed away because the royal blood in him had become... impure. Too votile. Too alive.

  And now, they were sending him a girl.

  Her.

  When the carriage stopped, she was led out in silence, escorted by faceless guards who did not look at her. Not even once.

  The gates of the castle opened without sound. Beyond them, the air felt thinner. Hotter. Elser took a step, then another, the heat licking up her legs like the tongue of something eager, something hungry. The moment she passed the threshold, the colr around her neck pulsed—a small warning from the seal etched into it.

  Do not run. Do not disobey. Do not touch him.

  She entered a hall of obsidian and bone. Candles burned blue along the walls. And at the end of the room, upon a throne carved of bck iron and regret, sat the prince.

  His head was bowed, one hand pressed against his temple. He looked too still to be alive. But then he moved—a twitch, a breath, a turn of crimson eyes that pinned her where she stood.

  "So," he said, voice like embers falling through snow. "They've sent me a toy."

  She met his gaze, steady. "Not a toy. A remedy."

  He ughed, low and bitter. "You think your blood can cool me? You think your soft human skin can endure what I am?"

  She stepped forward. Her colr fred hot in warning, but she ignored it. The heat from him was unbearable, like standing too close to a forge, but she did not look away.

  "Try me."

  He stood.

  And the world tilted.

  His presence crashed over her like a tidal wave of fire, not just heat but sensation—want, hunger, fury, restraint stretched too thin.

  Elser's knees buckled. She caught herself with one hand on the stone floor, breathing hard. The colr hissed against her skin, burning lines into her neck.

  Rafael stepped closer. He knelt, and for a moment, they were face to face.

  "You're either very brave," he murmured, "or very stupid."

  She didn't flinch. "Maybe both."

  A pause.

  Then he reached out, his fingers brushing the curve of her jaw. Just barely. Just enough. And she felt it—the raw, searing ache of a creature who had not been touched in years, perhaps centuries. It wasn't lust.

  It was need.

  Violent, starved, and aching.

  Their eyes held.

  The moment stretched—a breath, a heartbeat, the edge of a knife.

  And still, he did not pull away.

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