Chapter 3 Teeth beneath the silk

The air in Duskfall tasted different by morning.

Peach awoke in a place that refused to feel real. The velvet bed, the cold-stoned walls, the faint perfume of ash and age-it all clung to her like a second skin. She had drifted in and out of sleep, haunted by dreams she couldn't remember but left her heart pounding.

She rose early. Not out of peace, but necessity. Her instincts whispered of danger in stillness.

Outside her window, the valley below was blanketed in red mist, and the sun-if it was sun-was little more than a crimson smear behind stormy clouds. Nothing about this place was right. Not even the daylight.

She washed at the basin in silence, then dressed herself in one of the gowns provided-dark green velvet, embroidered with fine silver thread that glinted like spider silk. It was heavier than anything she was used to, but it fit perfectly. Almost too perfectly. As if it had been chosen before she ever arrived.

When she stepped into the corridor, the castle was hushed. No servants bustled about. No guards patrolled the halls. Only the steady flicker of torches and the distant groan of the wind greeted her.

She walked, careful but unafraid, her boots echoing against the stone floor. Duskfall was a labyrinth of archways, winding staircases, and doors that seemed to lead nowhere-or worse, everywhere. It would be easy to get lost.

So it surprised her when she found the library with ease.

It was as if the keep had led her there.

The doors were already open. Inside, the room stretched into shadows, packed with shelves, maps, scrolls, and books bound in leather, bone, and sometimes-she swore-skin. A cathedral of ancient knowledge.

And at the center of it all sat Demetrius, his back to her, reading.

He was dressed in black again, a high-collared coat with silver clasps. His hair fell just past his shoulders, jet-black like spilled ink, and he moved with the stillness of a creature who had no need to rush.

He didn't acknowledge her at first. Just turned a page with deliberate care.

"You're up early," he finally said, not looking away from his book.

"I didn't sleep," Peach replied.

"Wise."

She stepped forward, unsure if she was being tested-or watched.

"You left my room unguarded," she said.

"I'm not your jailer."

"You're my captor."

"That, too," he said, and finally looked up.

His gaze was dark, unreadable. But not cruel.

Peach crossed her arms. "Why the library?"

Demetrius stood and walked toward a shelf, running a hand over a row of ancient spines. "Because knowledge endures. Unlike blood. Unlike kingdoms."

"And unlike brides?" she asked.

That earned her a glance-sharp, almost amused.

"You're sharper than most."

"I was raised in a court," she said. "I know how to listen."

"Do you?" He stepped closer, holding her gaze. "Then listen carefully, Peach reigns. This castle is not your enemy. But it is not your ally, either."

She frowned. "What does that mean?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he beckoned her. "Come. There's something I want to show you."

---

They walked in silence through the inner halls of the keep. The deeper they went, the colder the air grew, until Peach could see her breath ghosting in the air.

Finally, he opened a narrow door and stepped aside to let her pass.

The room was circular, stone from floor to ceiling, with a single wide window overlooking the valley. But the centerpiece was the mirror.

It was enormous-tall as a man, framed in blackened iron shaped like vines and thorns. The surface shimmered faintly in the light.

She stepped forward.

And saw only herself.

No Demetrius.

Her heart skipped.

"You..." she whispered. "You have no reflection."

"I gave it up long ago," he said behind her. "A ritual. A sacrifice."

She turned to face him. "Why show me this?"

"Because there are things you should understand," he said. "This isn't just a marriage. It's a treaty. And there are those who would see it broken. Some from your world. Some from mine."

"And you think I'll help you hold it together?"

"I think you'll help me survive it," he said, eyes glinting. "Or at least give the wolves something to focus on while I deal with the real threat."

Her temper flared. "So I'm your bait."

"You're my bride," he said coolly. "What you choose to become beyond that... is up to you."

---

Later that day, a letter arrived.

It was written in blood-red ink on fine black parchment. A summons. From the court of House Ashgrave-one of the five remaining noble vampire lines.

They were holding a feast.

And Demetrius was expected to attend.

With his new bride.

Peach stood in her chambers as a maid brushed her hair into waves and laced her into a dress of deep burgundy silk. She looked at herself in the mirror, unrecognizable. No longer the daughter of a disgraced lord.

Now, she was a symbol. A claim. A threat.

When Demetrius arrived at her door, dressed in midnight velvet with a blade at his hip, she met him with a steady gaze.

"I don't need you to protect me tonight," she said.

He offered her his arm.

"No," he said. "But I need you to protect me."

And together, they descended into the court of knives.