Ruby stands in the absolute silence. The castle is a ruin of gold filigree and faded velvet... a graveyard of the Vraj legacy.

She pulls at the white silk of her wedding gown. Jacob had ripped the long train away at the palace, leaving the hem jagged and frayed. She looks like a beautiful, broken doll.

She scrubs a patch of the sofa with a scrap of fabric. Her stomach gives a hollow, demanding growl.

The kitchen holds three bottles of milk and a few crusts of bread. She downs the milk in three frantic gulps, her hands shaking against the glass.

The silence of the fortress is heavier than Solara Palace. She is an island in a sea of dust. She wonders if Dion Lancaster knew this was her destination when he let her go.

She curls onto the sofa, pulling the dark cloak over her shoulders. The cold seeps through the silk of her dress.

Sleep comes in fits. A dream flickers: Dion Lancaster's pale, perfect face is inches from hers.

He kneels on the marble, his breath a frost against her ear. "Vraj is coming for you today," he whispers. "Run fast."

Ruby's breath hitches in her sleep. She reaches for the shadow's hand.

Her eyes snap open. The room is a dull grey. The itch on her cheek is just the lace of her own tattered sleeve.

Footsteps click behind the sofa. In the dead silence of the fortress, the sound is a hammer against stone.

Jacob Vraj is back. A pungent, metallic scent floods the air.

Ruby Kingsley stays pinned to the cushions. She watches him through the dark. He moves to the hearth and strikes a flame.

Orange light flickers across his black riding leathers. His posture is a rigid line of cold iron. He looks untouched, his clothes free of dust or tears.

He snaps his head toward her. The usual smirk is gone. His eyes are hollow, tracking her like a predator.

Ruby's pulse hitches. She hadn't made a sound.

She sits up, the lace of her tattered gown rustling. "The border?" she asks. "Yeah," he grunts.

He turns toward her, blocking the fire. A raw, wet hole gapes open over his heart. Crimson maps a path down his stomach.

Ruby's hand flies to her mouth. The pungent smell is rot and iron. It's coming from him.

Jacob ignores the gore. "It gets cold. Firewood arrives at the door tomorrow. Food, too. Get it when they leave."

Ruby springs from the sofa. Her knees shake. "You were stabbed! Your heart... we need to fix that."

Jacob looks at the hole in his chest. "It heals." He blurs past her, disappearing into the shadows of the upper landing.

Ruby sinks back toward the fire. The image of the wound stays burned behind her eyelids.

Purebloods recover in seconds. Half-bloods... she doesn't know. If he dies, she's trapped in a tomb with no key.

She grabs a candle from the kitchen. She finds the stairs. A massive gap on the wall marks where a portrait used to hang.

The second floor is an icebox. A draft catches the flame as she nears a door with a sliver of light.

Ruby presses her ear to the wood. Silence. The candle flickers and dies, hot wax biting her skin. "Ah!"

The door swings open. Jacob looms over her. "I told you. No stairs."

He's in a clean shirt. Blood already maps a dark circle over his heart. He's letting the wound fester.

Ruby lifts a wooden bucket. "No medicine. But you need to clean it."

She holds out a scrap of white silk torn from her wedding petticoat. "Use this. Stop the bleeding."

Jacob stares at the jagged hem of her dress. He snatches the bucket and the silk.

He sits on the edge of the mattress, shirt discarded. The blade hit inches from his heart. A month to close... maybe more.

His head swims. The air in the room shifts. It smells of sugar and warm life.

Ruby's blood. It's the only thing that doesn't smell like the war. His throat hitches.

He slams the silk against the wound. The pain is a cold shock to his system. Stay awake. Stay human.

He hasn't tasted a human in a thousand years. He won't become the monster he hunts.

Ruby takes a chair. The moon is a white plate outside the balcony. The curtains dance in the wind.

"Did you see Angelina?" she asks.

Jacob lets out a jagged laugh. His eyes are dark pits in the candlelight. "Yeah."

He gestures to the hole in his chest. "She gave me this."

Ruby's breath catches.

"I told her we meet when the war ends," Jacob rasps. "She pulled a sword."

He ties the silk scrap tight over the gore. A grunt escapes his teeth. "My King... she's perfect."

Ruby stares at his hands. Angelina Arthur didn't hesitate. She aimed for the kill.

Jacob stands. "Wait here." The door clicks shut.

Ruby looks at the shadows on the ceiling. He's using her as a leash. Win the war, or everyone dies.

The door opens again. A heavy blue gown lands in her lap. "Change."

The fabric is thick. Classical. It smells of cedar and old trunks. "Thank you," Ruby murmurs.

"Bath's fixed tomorrow," Jacob says. "Stay off the stairs."

Ruby fingers the blue wool. "Understood."

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Ruby Kingsley tracks the dust motes dancing in the grey light of the hall. The war is a muffled drum beat somewhere beyond the horizon. She is a ghost in a tattered white gown.

Jacob stays anchored to the kitchen, his movements stiff and measured. Baskets of fresh produce appear on the stone threshold every morning. A Duke standing over a hot stove... the sight is a glitch in the hierarchy of Châtelet.

In the spires of the city, nobles don't lift a finger. They have bloodbound servants for every whim. Dion comes to mind... his hands are too soft, his boots too polished for real work.

The aroma of seared meat fills the hall. Jacob's cooking is a surprise—clean flavors and steady heat. Ruby clears her plate twice a day.

"Where'd you learn to handle a stove?" Ruby asks. 

Jacob stares at the empty porcelain. "The human cities," he rasps. "You blend in or you starve."

Ruby watches the bandage on his chest. She stays seated. She would likely burn the fortress down if she touched the iron skillet.

The hours stretch into a grey blur. No books. No escape. Ruby naps until her bones ache, then stares at the ceiling.

She watches Jacob sharpen a long blade. She is the leverage... the leash Jacob uses to guide the Kingdom of Aurelia's steel.

Ruby traces a deep crack in the mahogany table. Would Angelina risk the crown for a "sloth" like her? She shakes her head, her fingers tightening on the wood.

The silence in the hall begins to crack. Ruby fills the space with chatter about the salt and the weather. A friendly guard is better than a starving one.

Jacob nods. He offers the wine. He looks like a gentleman again, the monster from the stairs hidden under a clean collar.

"How's the border?" Ruby asks, leaning in. Jacob's jaw locks. He stands abruptly, leaving his glass half-full as he walks into the dark.

Seven days pass. The front door slams before dawn. Jacob returns long after Ruby has curled into her cloak for the night.

The hot meals vanish. A wicker basket of cold sandwiches sits on the stone threshold every morning. The boredom becomes a physical weight.