Chapter 7 LORD SILAS.
Venessa’s POV.
I woke up alone.
My body felt like it had been put through a meat grinder. Every muscle ached, and my head throbbed.
The pain was a lot.
I pushed myself up, my eyes immediately darting to my hands.
The smoky grey tint in my veins was still there. It was faint barely noticeable unless you were looking for it but it was a permanent reminder of what happened in the cellar.
I hadn't just saved Dante; I’d tied my life to his rot.
The door to the chambers swung open.
Dante walked in. He was fully dressed in another impeccable black suit, his hair swept back, his jaw clean-shaven.
"You're awake," he said. His voice was… cold.
The warmth from the cellar—the way he had held me, the way he’d whispered my name was gone. It was like it had been a fever dream brought on by blood loss and the moonlight.
"I am," I said, pulling the covers up to my chest. "How are you feeling?"
"I am functional." He didn't look at me. He was busy straightening his cufflinks. "There is a meeting with the Council in an hour. You will be there."
I frowned, the sting of his coldness hitting harder than I expected. "Functional? That’s it? Dante, we almost died last night. You saw the moon. You saw what happened to me."
He finally looked at me, but his eyes were still lacking that warmth I wanted so bad.
"I saw a temporary solution to a permanent problem. Don't mistake a moment of survival for a change in our arrangement, Venessa."
I climbed out of bed, ignoring the way my legs wobbled.
I walked straight up to him, forcing him to acknowledge me. "I took that darkness into my own blood for you. Look at my hands!"
I shoved my palms toward him. He glanced down, and for a split second, I saw a flicker of something—guilt, maybe? Or maybe just disgust.
"I didn't ask you to do that," he retorted. "I told you to run. You chose to stay. Now you have to live with the consequences."
He stepped around me as if I were a piece of bad furniture.
"Wait," I called out.
He stopped at the door, his back to me.
"Is it still there?" I asked, my voice softer. "The pain. Is it coming back?"
He went still. I watched the back of his neck, looking for any sign of the black veins, any pulse of the shadow.
I needed to know if my sacrifice had been worth it, or if the curse was already eating him alive again.
"It doesn't matter," he said.
"It matters to me!"
He turned around. "Why? Because you think we’re soulmates now? Because you think a little blood-sharing makes this a fairy tale? Look at me, Venessa. I am a cursed King in a castle full of traitors. I don't have room for 'feelings.' And neither do you if you want to stay alive."
I didn’t have any thing to say anymore.
The man I really thought I could love said he didn’t have room for feelings.
The Great Hall was freezing.
Lord Silas sat at the long table, his fingers tapping a rhythmic, annoying beat against the wood.
When Dante and I walked in together, Silas’s hand stopped.
He looked at Dante, then at me. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second—surprise that we were both breathing probably, before his face smoothed into a mask of fake concern.
"Your Majesty," Silas called, bowing his head. "We heard reports of... a disturbance in the lower levels last night. And your Beta is nowhere to be found."
Dante sat at the head of the table, his posture perfect. "Rick has been exiled for treason. He attempted to assassinate the Queen."
A murmur went around the room.
Silas’s eyes turned cold. "Assassinate? Surely there is a misunderstanding. Rick was your most loyal servant."
"He was a dog who bit the wrong hand," Dante snapped. "The matter is closed. We are here to discuss the border treaties."
I sat beside Dante, trying to focus on the boring talk of land and taxes, but I couldn't stop watching him.
He was too still.
His hand was resting on the table, and I noticed the way his fingers twitching.
Was the shadow pushing back?
I reached out under the table, my fingers grazing his thigh. I just wanted to check—to see if the bond would tell me what he wouldn't.
Dante flinched as if I’d burned him.
He grabbed my hand under the table, his grip bruisingly tight.
He didn't look at me, but his knuckles were white.
After the meeting, Silas cornered me in the hallway.
Dante had disappeared the moment the session ended, leaving me to fend for myself.
"You look pale, my dear," Silas said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "The King can be... draining. My daughter used to say the same thing before she refused the match."
"I'm fine, Silas," I said, trying to walk past him.
He stepped in my way. "Are you? Or are you just realizing that you’re a tool? He looks better today than he has in years. Stronger. And you look like you’re fading."
He leaned in, his breath smelling of stale wine. "How long do you think you can hold it, Venessa? How long until he realizes he doesn't need a wife?”
I pushed past him, my heart hammering.
I spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the halls, looking for Dante.
I found him in the training courtyard, hacking at a wooden dummy with a broadsword.
He was shirtless, sweat going down his back.
I stood back, watching.
He was fast. Brutal. But every few swings, he would stumble. He’d clutch his chest for a heartbeat before forcing himself to continue.
That made me realize that the curse wasn't gone.
I wanted to go to him. I wanted to put my hand on his chest and pull the pain away again. But I remembered the look in his eyes this morning. The coldness. The way he had treated me like the warmth he gave me last night was a mistake he regretted making.
He didn't want my help. He wanted to suffer alone.
I turned away before he could see me.
As I walked back to my room, I felt a sharp, stinging pain in my palm. I looked down.
The grey veins weren't just in my hand anymore.
They were moving up my wrist.
The curse wasn't just bothering him.
It was starting to bother me.