CHAPTER 131: CHAPTER 131: WHAT’S DESERVED.

The chamber was hushed save for the faint flicker of firelight and the slow, deliberate beat of three hearts.

Aiden did not wait. He had learned that hesitation was death—on the battlefield, in courtly halls, and in chambers such as these. His gauntleted hand reached, swift and sure, closing around Shina’s fingers before she had even realized what he intended.

Her breath caught.

The contact was small, simple. Yet in that single gesture, an entire world shifted. Her skin was warm, impossibly soft against the cold metal of his gauntlet. A flush spread over her cheeks, painting her noble poise in human vulnerability.

She looked up. And there, in the golden storm of his eyes, she drowned.

"Do you want me gone?" he asked, voice low, intimate, each word dropping like molten iron into her chest. "Do you never wish to feel again what you felt that night on the balcony?"

Her lips parted, but sound betrayed her. The mere memory of it—the Duke’s palace, the hidden corner where she had let herself fall into his orbit—sent a tremor racing through her body.

The balcony. The forbidden kiss, searing as wine, terrifying as flame.

A moment she had replayed in secret, in the lonely dark, over and over, until it blurred into dream.

To deny it now would be to deny her own heartbeat.

And oh, how her body betrayed her. Her shoulders trembled. Her throat worked. The color in her cheeks deepened until it looked as though her very blood wished to leap out and cry her truth aloud.

Of course she wanted it. Craved it. Missed him with a hunger she could scarcely name.

Her head moved—slow, hesitant, but firm in its truth. She nodded.

Aiden’s smile was slight, but it carried the weight of conquest. He drew from beneath his armor a vial, its glass glowing faintly with the scarlet liquid that pulsed like a living ember.

"Then help me," he said, pressing it gently into her free hand. "Mix this in their cups—the Baronesses, every one of them who sits at your table. And if chance grants you boldness... slip it into the drink of the Earl’s wife herself."

Shina stared at the vial, transfixed. The blood within caught the torchlight, burning with an almost hypnotic allure. Her hand trembled as she closed her fingers around it, and in that tremor lived every fear, every thrill, every risk she had ever dared not take.

Her thoughts whirled:

This is madness. Treason. Sin.

And yet—this is power. This is life. This is him.

She swallowed, her voice a whisper: "I... I have been invited. A tea gathering. Tomorrow."

Her eyes lifted, timid yet burning. "...I can do it."

Aiden’s lips curved into a smile, dangerous and sweet all at once. He moved with sudden swiftness, his hand sliding to her waist, pulling her against him. Before she could draw breath, his mouth claimed hers.

It was not a courtly kiss. Not the polite brush of lips that noble suitors traded like coin. This was hunger, raw and unashamed. A passionate tongue pressed past her lips, drawing a startled gasp from her throat.

Shina melted. Her body sagged into his, the world spinning until the only thing left was heat—his breath, his strength, his taste.

Behind them, Tanya froze. Shock sparked across her sharp features, but beneath it came something else: recognition.

He’s marked her, Tanya thought, cold creeping down her spine. He’s claimed her already, quicker than I imagined.

Her eyes dropped to the vial in Shina’s trembling grip. Then to the slip of parchment he pressed into the Baroness’s palm as their bodies pressed close.

A letter. A plan. A storm waiting in ink.

Tanya’s lips parted in the faintest smile. Fear and thrill twined in her veins like twin serpents. If this played as he intended, then soon it would not only be Baroness Shina ensnared. The Baronesses would fall, one by one. And if fortune favored... even the Earl’s own wife.

She shivered. Whether in dread or in excitement, she could not yet name.

When at last Aiden broke the kiss, Shina’s lips were red, her breath unsteady, her composure shattered. She clutched the vial and letter as though they were relics, holy or profane she no longer cared.

Aiden’s eyes softened, just for a flicker. Enough to whisper without words: You are mine.

He turned to Tanya. Their eyes met. No words were needed. He nodded once. She answered in kind.

The pact was sealed.

By the time Aiden returned to his cell, his armor clinking softly in the torchlit corridors, the world had shifted beneath his feet.

The guard he had ordered earlier stood at attention outside the cell door. Aiden offered no explanation, only a sharp command. "Back to your post. You’ve lingered long enough."

The man saluted stiffly and left.

Alone, Aiden stepped inside, turned the key, and locked the door himself. The click echoed like the toll of a bell.

He lay back on the hard stone, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling. His mind raced.

Time. I have time. Days at most. But enough.

He had set the first stones tumbling. Shina would speak of him, weave his name into the noblewomen’s conversations like a thread of silk laced through every gown. The blood would follow, subtle and insidious, until it thrummed in their veins.

But that was not enough. Not yet.

He needed more than whispers in salons. He needed thunder in halls of power. And for that, he had another target.

The Earl.

Drunk, predictable, blinded by arrogance. A puppet ripe for strings.

Tanya would carry the letter. The meeting would come. And when it did, the game would change.

They had wanted a storm.

He would give them one.

The dungeon was still, silent but for the distant drip of water.

And then—

Thud.

Aiden’s eyes snapped open.

Another thud. Heavy. Deliberate. The echo of a giant’s stride.

The air shifted, oppressive, as though the walls themselves bent to the weight of the figure approaching.

The torchlight flickered.

And then the silhouette filled the doorway.

Seven feet of iron and malice, clad in crimson armor that gleamed like fresh blood.

The Blood Commander.

He did not speak at once. He simply stood there, filling the cell with his presence, his shadow draping over Aiden like a shroud. His eyes, burning red in the gloom, drank him in.

Jealousy. Hatred. And now—satisfaction.

At last he spoke, voice a low growl. "You got what you deserved."

The words struck like blows.

Aiden did not flinch. Did not rise. He only smiled, slow and sharp, as though the chains at his wrists were but threads of silk.