Chapter Eighty-Six

REMI'S POV

The room is larger than I expected, the space stretching far beyond what I can fully take in. The soft carpet cushions my every crawl forward, its deep red plushness beneath my knees an oddly comforting contrast to the weight of the crowd around me. At least the carpet is soft.

I’m walking through the Midnight Court, the crowd parting before me like a river breaking around a rock. The air is silent, the flicker of candles casting flickering shadows against the stone walls the only sound. Every face, every pair of eyes, is turned toward me. I feel their gazes like a thousand invisible pinpricks against my skin, cold and assessing. The vampires, with their too-perfect skin and sharp eyes, stand like statues—silent, expectant.

I move forward, Rhodes above me at my side, guiding me by the leash through the sea of bodies, his grip firm but not unkind on my neck. I can feel his calm presence like a shield against the weight of their stares. But even with his steady influence, I can't shake the sensation of being seen, of every moment, every step, being scrutinized by hundreds of vampires whose lives depend on this moment, on me.

I glance around, but I can’t make eye contact with anyone. Their eyes flicker away too quickly, never staying too long. The whispers start almost immediately, hushed and full of judgment. "Isn’t she the mortal princess?" "How far gone is she?" "How much has Keiran twisted her mind for her to degrade herself in such a manner?"

I push the words aside, focusing on the path ahead. But my heart races with each crawl, my legs feeling heavy, like I’m struggling through molasses.

Behind me, Kallias follows closely, his energy like a storm contained. I can feel his tension, the edge of something darker, sharper, that just barely hovers beneath the surface. He doesn’t speak, but his presence presses against me like a heavy weight. I try not to think about how I’m walking ahead of him, knowing that his every move is an unspoken promise that he’s ready to pounce if anyone dares to make a move toward me.

But there’s nothing more dangerous than being with Keiran tonight. I can feel it in the air, the sharp crackle of power, of control, of domination. It flows around me like a force I can’t escape.

I try not to think about it, not to think about how my body betrays me in its nervousness, how my stomach twists with a mixture of dread and something else—something dark that makes my heart beat faster every time I catch sight of Keiran. I can feel him ahead, seated on his throne, his power radiating outward, pulling everyone toward him. There is no mistaking that presence.

The crowd parts for him. They part for me, but it’s not out of respect—no, it’s fear. They all know what he is capable of. What he’ll do if they step out of line.

I push forward, trying to ignore the anxious fluttering in my stomach. I move toward him, each movement drawing me closer to the reality of what I’ve agreed to, of what I’ve chosen. I don’t look back at the crowd behind me, but I can feel the heat of their eyes tracking my every movement.

And then, just as I think I’ve made it, I hear a sudden shout—a body launches from the crowd, a vampire with a dagger in hand. My heart lurches, panic flooding my veins, but before I can even take a full breath, Kallias is there. One fluid motion, and he grabs the attacker by the throat, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. The crowd gasps, but Kallias doesn’t flinch. His hand tightens, and the vampire’s body falls limp, tossed aside like a ragdoll.

The court goes silent, the tension hanging thick in the air. I don’t have time to react. Kallias moves without speaking, without hesitation, his eyes never leaving the space ahead of us. I look over at Rhodes, who doesn’t even seem to have blinked, still focused, still the picture of calm. He gives a subtle nod. “Keep going.”

And so I do. But my legs feel like lead, each crawl harder than the last as we draw closer to Keiran’s throne. The chain around my neck—the cold weight of it—reminds me of my place here. Of the decision I’ve made. I try not to think about how heavy it is, how real it is, the further I walk into his domain.

I’m closer now, the center of the room stretching out before me. Keiran’s throne looms, an obsidian thing—carved from black diamond, smooth and sharp, a piece of perfection that reflects his power. It’s beautiful, in its own way, but to me it feels cold. Like it doesn’t belong to me. I don’t belong here.

Not yet. Not fully.

As we get nearer, I feel my heart beating faster, my body responding to the magnetic pull of Keiran’s presence. I’ve never felt his full power before—never this closely, never this intensely. It surrounds him, a shadow cast over everything, and I realize, for the first time, just how much of his strength he keeps hidden beneath the surface. The room itself seems to feel his power, like the very walls are holding their breath in anticipation of his next move. 

I’ve never known Keiran with his full magic, but it feels like his pearl is here. In this very room, from the way he carries himself. 

When I finally stand before him, the crowd stilling in the aftermath of the brief chaos, I feel my body tense. Keiran looks at me, and for a moment, it’s like everything stops. His gaze locks onto mine, intense, unwavering, and I feel a shiver of recognition crawl down my spine. He is the king. He is everything. And I—I am his.

Keiran gestures to the seat beside him, his lips curling into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His voice is low, calm, but filled with dark intent. “Sit,” he commands, and the word is both a demand and a promise.

Rhodes nudges me gently, his touch grounding as always. “Stand to cross the stairs, then go sit at his side. The ceremony will begin shortly.”

I reach out, my fingers grazing the cold, smooth surface of the black diamond throne. It gleams in the soft light of the room, impossibly beautiful—shiny, flawless. It looks like something from a myth, a creation of power and legend. But beneath its polished surface, there’s no warmth. No life.

My hand lingers against it, and I realize how much I long for warmth. A warmth I’ve never truly felt, not from anyone, and certainly not from Keiran. Not from him. I glance up at him then, sitting effortlessly in his power, like a god cloaked in shadow, beautiful and untouchable. His eyes are locked on me, unwavering, and I wonder—Is this what I’m choosing?

I take a deep breath and slowly lower myself to the cold floor beside the throne. My knees hit the ground with a soft thud, and I try not to wince at the discomfort of it. There’s nothing soft about this. Nothing comforting. I’m on the ground, beneath him, beneath the weight of his presence.

The decision presses down on me like a hundred-ton weight. I glance sideways at Keiran, at his cold, perfect face, watching him as he surveys the room, his expression unreadable. His power radiates from him, like an invisible force, and for a fleeting moment, doubt gnaws at me.

Am I making the right choice?

But before I can settle my thoughts, a voice breaks through the reverie.

A tall, imposing figure steps forward from across the room. His cherry-red hair catches the light as he speaks, his eyes hard, cold. He’s an immortal, from the unnatural beauty he carries, accompanied by a raw power that is clearly challenging Keiran’s. 

I go numb. The King of the Fifth Isle.

Keiran’s enemy. 

The King of the Fifth Isle steps forward. His hair is so familiar, so reminiscent of Vienna’s, it catches me off guard. For a brief moment, I think it is her, standing there, but no. It’s not.

Vienna.

Where is she?

I feel a brief flicker of concern, my eyes scanning the crowd, searching for my friend. But then I spot her, standing just behind Keiran’s throne. My breath catches. Vienna’s eyes are narrowed in disgust as she watches me, her face hard with anger, her posture tense. There’s no warmth in her expression. Only disdain.

And it stings. It stings worse than any insult the vampires could hurl at me. She’s angry. Angry at me. I feel the weight of it, heavy and suffocating, as I realize—she’s judging me just as the others are.

But this is not the time to focus on that. Not now. Not when Keiran’s gaze is still locked onto mine, his presence pulling me toward him like a magnetic force.

“I don’t understand this,” the King of Fifth Isle sneers, eyes flickering disdainfully toward me. “What is the point of revamping the Night Court? Why are we invited here? To watch you announce that low-life human as your new pet?”

The room goes deathly quiet. The insult hits like a slap, and I feel my skin burn with humiliation. But it’s not just me that reacts.

Kallias moves in an instant, his hand shifting toward the dagger at his side. But Rhodes steps forward first, his arm outstretched to keep Kallias in check. His eyes are steely, unwavering, his loyalty to Keiran clear.

Keiran, however, doesn’t flinch. He remains perfectly still on the all black throne, the power swirling around him like a storm waiting to be unleashed. His eyes never leave the King of the Fifth Isle, his expression calm—far too calm, in fact, for the words that just sliced through the room.

Keiran tilts his head slightly, a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “This pet,” he says softly, but there’s nothing kind in his voice, “is more than that.”

Without another word, Keiran reaches down and guides me to my feet, his fingers firm around my waist. The crowd gasps. I don’t have time to react before he lifts me effortlessly, positioning me on his lap.