Nicholas stirred, his head throbbing with a rhythmic, sharp agony that made every movement a battle. As he forced his eyelids open, a faint groan escaped his parched lips. He scanned his surroundings through a hazy veil; he was lying in his own chambers, tucked into the familiar expanse of his bed, though the room felt alien through his blurred vision.

  He winced, shifting his weight and pressing a palm against his brow as if to manually quiet the pounding headache.

  "Nick! You’re finally with us," a voice broke the silence. He turned toward the sound to find Yasmine. Her features were pinched with a mix of relief and lingering dread as she sat at his bedside, scrutinizing his pale face. "You look like you’ve been through the wringer. You need more rest." She noted his uncharacteristic sluggishness, her lips pulling into a thin line of sorrow.

  Nicholas let out a weary, self-deprecating chuckle. "Nonsense. My pride simply took a bit of a tumble, that’s all."

  Yasmine’s eyes shimmered with a sudden intensity, her head tilting as she studied him. "Nick... this is no time for light-hearted banter. You’ve been dead to the world for three whole days." Her voice carried a weight that suggested he was severely underestimating the gravity of the situation.

  "Three days? Hardly seems excessive," he replied with a chillingly calm demeanor, before adding a touch of irony, "considering my lifeblood was harvested against my will."

  Yasmine recoiled at his cold detachment toward his own brush with death. She crossed her arms tightly. "Are you not even incensed? You were forced into such a grotesque position... you were on the brink of death!"

  A flicker of memory sparked in Nicholas’s eyes—the sensation of cold fangs and emerald eyes. "The youth with the green eyes," he murmured. "What became of him?"

  To Nicholas, the stranger was nothing more than an assailant who had struck without provocation. Yasmine’s face darkened with a clear, visceral loathing. "He’s been thrown behind bars." She fell silent, offering nothing more. Nicholas’s frustration flared. "Is that all? No further insight into his identity or his motives?"

  Yasmine sighed, averting her gaze from her brother’s piercing stare. "When we were waiting for you at the summit, he delivered you to us himself. He didn't even bother to cover his tracks. He provoked a skirmish with us, but in the end, he stood his ground against James and brazenly declared he had no intention of fleeing. That was when the Prince made the call to bring him back with us."

  Nicholas narrowed his eyes, resting his cheek against his hand, a faint, calculating smile playing on his lips. "And what did His Highness have to say about the ordeal?" He was eager to see how the Prince had handled the reins in his absence—hoping to find a leader capable of decisive action.

  Yasmine rolled her eyes. "He ordered his execution, to be carried out the moment the interrogation is complete."

  Nicholas’s eyes snapped wide, and a heavy silence settled between them for several long seconds. "So? What is the hold-up? Has he not been questioned yet?"

  "The man won't utter a single syllable," she answered bluntly. "He refuses to speak to anyone but the Prince. Until then, he’s clamping up."

  As Nicholas pondered the stranger's endgame, Yasmine asked the question that had been gnawing at her. "And what of your intuition, Nick? What do you make of him? What kind of creature is he?" He gave a nonchalant shrug. "That is a question for His Highness."

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  Sensing his lingering frailty—for he could barely hold himself upright—Yasmine reached out, her protective instincts taking over as she helped him steady himself to rise.

  Nicholas inquired with the guards about the Prince’s whereabouts, only to find him entrenched in his private study, buried under a mountain of vital documents and ancient scrolls. With an uncharacteristic display of formal etiquette, Nicholas rapped softly on the heavy oak door. Upon receiving permission, he slipped inside.

  "How are you, my Prince?" Nicholas greeted, a playful edge to his weary voice. "You seem so swamped with the weight of the realm that you couldn't spare a moment of your precious time to grace my bedside."

  The Prince’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. He stood so abruptly that his heavy chair clattered to the floor, forgotten. "Nick!" The Prince rushed to his side, guiding him further into the room to ensure he was seated comfortably. "I’ve been checking on you constantly these past few days, and I was just about to... Why on earth did you go to the trouble of coming here? Look at the state of you!"

  Nicholas let out a soft chuckle, momentarily ignoring the strange, pulsing ache at the back of his neck—a sensation that felt distinct and hauntingly separate from the wound itself "Let’s not dwell on that; I’m perfectly fine," Nicholas smiled, earning a long,exasperated sigh from the Prince, who took a seat opposite him.

  "You’re dying of curiosity regarding the boy, aren't you?" the Prince asked, knowing Nicholas’s nature all too well. Nicholas offered a simple, confirming nod.

  "Not much has transpired," the Prince admitted, his expression darkening. "He has remained tight-lipped, refusing to utter a word unless it’s to me. For some reason, he insists on an audience." He paused, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face as a memory surfaced. "Ah... while we were in the carriage, he had the gall to introduce himself without a shred of shame. His name is Liam."

  The Prince scoffed, mimicking the stranger’s insolence. "He told me I’d best get used to the name, I would be hearing it quite often."

  Nicholas smiled with a touch of his signature arrogance. "It seems the scales aren't exactly tipped in our favor, are they?"

  The Prince shot him a sharp look that silently told him he wasn't helping, but then he added thoughtfully, "For some reason, he seems fixated on you as well... What exactly is his end game?"

  Nicholas gave a nonchalant shrug. "I suspect he’ll reveal his hand soon enough. Why not invite him in and see what he’s hiding up his sleeve?"

  The Prince hesitated for a heartbeat, the instinctual alarm bells regarding the stranger still ringing in his mind, but Nicholas’s logic was hard to ignore. "If you are truly convinced," the Prince conceded, "then let the games begin."

  ---

  With heavy, echoing strides, James marched toward the dungeons. The Prince’s orders were absolute: Liam was to be brought to the royal study for a personal interrogation.

  The air in the cells was frigid and draped in shadows, yet not dark enough to obscure the sharp, mocking glint in Liam’s eyes. "Well, if it isn't a reunion!" Liam chirped as James approached. "How have you been?" His voice carried a smooth, melodic rasp—a jarring contrast to the savage impression he had left during their first encounter.

  James let out an exhausted breath, his jaw tightening. "I see your tongue has finally found its wag. What’s the occasion?" James harbored a deep-seated loathing for the youth; first impressions, after all, are everything.

  "You’re his friend, aren't you?" Liam asked, tilting his head with a curious, almost innocent air. "How is he faring?"

  James’s brow furrowed in sheer disgust. "He is alive, no thanks to you. He was dead to the world for three days because of your 'intervention'." Liam exhaled a sigh of visible relief, a reaction that made James’s skin crawl. Is this scoundrel truly showing concern, James wondered, or is he merely checking the status of his prey?

  James fished the heavy iron key from his pocket and unlatched the cell. "Mind your manners. You are about to stand before His Highness." Liam offered no retort, merely following behind with a nonchalant stride.

  The journey to the study was long, the silence eventually broken by Liam’s probing voice. "Tell me... does he feel a lingering ache at the nape of his neck?"

  James snapped his head around, eyeing him suspiciously. He knew Liam was referring to Nicholas. "You mean the wound from your barbaric assault?" Liam chuckled, unfazed by the jab. "Never mind. I shall see for myself." That bold declaration sent a surge of caution through James; he realized then that this boy wasn't just a threat—he was stark raving mad.

  They arrived at the study, the guards flanking the door as it swung open. The moment Liam’s eyes landed on Nicholas, standing tall beside the Prince, a crooked smirk danced across his lips.

  "Now," the Prince began, his voice cold as steel as he noted Liam’s predatory gaze toward Nicholas. "Divulge the motives behind your actions, and I might just lighten the burden of your punishment."

  Liam didn’t hesitate; he laid his cards on the table with a brazen simplicity. "Lend me your aid, and in return, I shall grant you a service beyond your wildest imagination." The audacity of the proposal made the guards tighten their grip on their hilts, and James’s knuckles turned white.

  The Prince narrowed his eyes, uni

  mpressed. "And why, pray tell, should I entertain such a notion?"