The White Star Hotel was even more beautiful in the evening. Vincent had arranged for our dinner table to be set in a gorgeous glass enclosure, an extension to the grand dining room. We could see the night sky above, clearing as it unveiled billions of stars and all three moons rising. The hotel was surrounded by a beautiful garden, a plethora of trees and colorful flowers displayed between low-hedged greenery lines that formed a majestic maze.

The glass enclosure itself was stylishly decorated, with crystal chandeliers glimmering overhead and white floral arrangements to match the pristine white porcelain dinnerware and silk napkins. We were treated to a fine selection of blood mixtures, with various spices and exotic flavors.

“I guess this is what you call a ‘fine dining experience’,” I muttered as I sipped a particularly spicy blend from a crystal flute glass, the stem delicately engraved with gold filigree.

A lonely set of strings played somewhere in the background, at the hands of a young Iman musician. Waiters kept their distance, standing by the archway leading back into the dining room in order to give us some privacy.

My mind kept wandering back to Zane and his peculiar attachment to me, while Vincent talked about plans for the city’s future. They’d been discussing a mass exodus for a couple of days, but the Lords weren’t ready to really consider it as an option. If anything, Darius’s death had provided even more determination for the Exiled Maras to push back against the rising threat of daemons.

“Like I said before, we could both do with some pampering after the past couple of days.” Vincent gave me a gentle smile as he drank his blood.

“Yes, well, life isn’t meant to be boring anyway,” I replied, my gaze drifting through the glass enclosure, while Vincent’s eyes were fixed on me. He seemed to want more from me, romantically speaking, but I couldn’t reciprocate. I liked him, but there was no spark, nothing to make me hold my breath whenever he came near me.

You mean, like when Zane pressed you up against the wall and breathed in your scent?

I shook my head and took a deep breath, rattled by my own treacherous conscience. What the hell am I thinking?

“My life hasn’t been the same since you came to this world,” Vincent said, his gaze softening as I looked at him. Warmth spread through my cheeks, and I felt slightly uncomfortable. I wasn’t good at letting people down in an easy, non-hurtful way. Not that diplomacy was a weak point of mine, but I’d always found the bare truth to be more… effective.

In this case, however, Vincent was already dealing with enough—a city under siege by soul-eating daemons, his sister running off to live with one such daemon, and two of his elders killed just the night before. Two uncles of his, Rowan’s cousins, had perished in the explosions. He had enough on his plate, and I could tell, from the occasional flickers of sadness in his eyes, he wasn’t going to feel any better if I flat-out turned him down.

“Thank you, Vincent.” I nodded slowly, then decided it was time to change the subject. “So, tell me, why doesn’t your library hold any literature or archives on Imen culture? I noticed that the other day, when I was doing research for our mission. There’s absolutely nothing from their lore in that massive place…”

“Nice deflection,” he laughed lightly, “but I’ll humor you nonetheless. We don’t keep any Imen culture because we… well, we sort of keep our civilizations separate.”

“How so? You’re sharing a city, after all.”

“True, but we founded this city. We designed every building. We built it and helped it thrive. The Imen simply chose to live here with us, rather than with their own beyond the gorges. There were rules in place, and preserving our Mara heritage was a prerequisite. I hear they keep some of their own books and stories in little shops, somewhere on the lower levels, but I never bothered to read any of their folklore tales. The library is ours. I’d be more than happy to suggest a couple of decent Imen bookshops you could check out, if you’d like?”

“Sounds reasonable,” I murmured, though not really impressed with this… elitist separation. It was as if the Imen weren’t “good enough” to be included in the library, but they were “good enough” to work the reception desk.

“To be honest, most of the Imen who stayed with us didn’t know how to read or write.” Vincent shrugged. “The ones who did kept mostly to themselves and passed the skill down from one generation to another, but they never bothered to… say, open a school and educate the others. In fact, I think you care more about the Imen’s culture than the Imen themselves.”

Looking at it from that perspective, I couldn’t help but agree with Vincent’s point. This city was becoming more complex with each day that went by. Its varied nuances seemed downright contradictory at times, but the overall image was pretty clear: on one hand, we had the stylish, elitist, and art-loving Maras who considered themselves noble and superior, and, on the other hand, we had the Imen—the “simpletons”, the servants and helpers, the second-class citizens. And somehow, they lived together in apparent harmony, threatened only by daemons.

But then came the whole mind-bending issue, like a big black stain that destroyed the picture, turning the Maras into secretive creatures I couldn’t trust at all. Not even Vincent…

We couldn’t exactly point fingers at them, either. The situation was already difficult and complicated enough. Sparking a diplomacy war over their treatment of Imen wasn’t in our best interest—yet. Once we managed to reach out to Calliope, however, we were going to address the issue. Until then, all I could do was be quiet and observe everything related to the mind-bending of Imen.

“But enough about them.” Vincent sighed, then stood and offered me his hand. “Shall we dance?”

He winked at the musician, who switched to a deep but beautiful ballad. Its melody was soft and relatively linear, but the higher notes made my lips stretch into a smile, and I joined him on the white marble dancefloor for a dance.

Vincent held me close, one hand resting on my hip, as we swayed to the music. He studied me intently, with a mixture of curiosity and adoration, his citrus scent tickling my senses. I placed my left hand on his shoulder, my fingertips enjoying the velvety feel of his dark green jacket. He was, by all means, an elegant Mara with a keen sense of fashion. I realized then that I could never fall in love with someone like him. My peculiar strength made me yearn for someone who could handle it—and me, a warrior of sorts…

I glanced around the glass enclosure again, my eyes wandering aimlessly as the song carried us through its steady rhythm. My eyes nearly popped out at the sight of Zane standing outside, watching us. My grip on Vincent’s shoulder instinctively tightened as I stared at the daemon—the look on his face was a mixture of irritation and amusement. Had he never seen people dancing before? Or did he have an issue with my dancing with Vincent, in particular?

Also, what the hell is he doing here?

“Ouch!” Vincent broke me out of my shock. “Fiona, ouch…”

I stilled, realizing I’d been squeezing his shoulder hard. A gasp left my throat, and I immediately took my hand back.

“I am so sorry,” I mumbled, covering my mouth with both hands. He chuckled, then resumed the dancing pose, reclaiming control over my hip and right arm.

“It’s okay,” he said, and spun me around.

I briefly scanned the garden outside, but I couldn’t see Zane anymore. Had I imagined him there? If so, why?

“The sky is beautiful tonight.” I sighed, looking up. A sea of twinkling stars stretched overhead, against an indigo backdrop. Vincent, however, was unable to take his eyes off me.

“It pales in comparison to you,” he breathed, gradually lowering his head in an attempt to bring his lips closer to mine.

Oh, crap, he’s going to kiss me. No, no… Not a good idea…

I caught movement in the corner of my eye. Zane was once again standing on the other side of the glass, staring at us with discontent. My cheeks caught fire. My blood was simmering.

What the hell is his problem?

“What the…” I muttered, downright irritated.

“Are you okay, Fiona?” Vincent’s question broke my train of thought. I blinked a few times, then shifted my focus back to him and smiled.

“Yes… Sorry, I’m a bit tired. My mind keeps running off in different directions,” I replied, then checked the garden again. Zane was gone. Again. I was starting to oscillate between the potential loss of my sanity and the possibility that the daemon was actually trying to mess with my head.

He wasn’t there to physically hurt me; otherwise he would’ve done so. With or without the yellow powder, Zane seemed more than capable of knocking me off my feet, and even killing me. I needed more time to learn his fight patterns if I wanted to survive a potential attack from him. He was too damn fast, to begin with.

I saw him again, on the west side this time. He’s doing this on purpose.

Not willing to give him the satisfaction of disrupting my dinner and dance with Vincent, I decided to ignore him.

“How is Rewa holding up?” I asked, wrapping my arms around Vincent’s neck, in an attempt to show Zane that he wasn’t going to win this.

“She’s… She’s fine, for the most part. It will take some time for her to… heal.” Vincent blinked several times, both confused and excited by my gesture. I didn’t even realize how he might interpret this—I’d been too focused on sticking it to Zane. He put his arms around my waist and pulled me closer to him, as we kept dancing.

He felt nice and warm. But the closeness didn’t make my heart flutter.

“Do you think she’ll pull through as Lady of Azure Heights?” I replied.

“I know she’ll do her best to live up to her father’s expectations,” he muttered, his gaze darkening as he inched closer, his lips almost touching mine.

I pulled my head back slowly, prompting him to frown slightly, and saw Zane again—this time much closer, still on the west side of the glass enclosure.

“That’s it.” I exhaled sharply and gently pushed myself away from Vincent’s arms.

He looked confused, almost upset.

“Did I do something to offend you?” he asked, and I genuinely felt sorry for him.

“No, not at all, Vincent. It’s my fault.” I shook my head, trying to control my frayed nerves as my gaze darted between him and Zane, who was blatantly standing several feet away in the garden, arms crossed over his chest, looking as if he’d just eaten a whole, raw lemon. “I’m tired and unable to focus… I think it’s time I go get some rest. Please, rest assured, you’ve been a wonderful host. Thank you for dinner and the company…”

A couple of seconds went by as Vincent processed my excuse, then sighed and put on a half-smile.

“I understand,” he said. “Shall I walk you to the inn?”

“No!” I replied, a little too loudly. Try to soften it a bit… “No, don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself, remember?”

I gave him a playful smirk, as I felt him drifting into a sad state that I didn’t want to feel responsible for. He slipped his hands into his pockets, then stepped forward and dropped a kiss on my cheek. His lips were soft and warm. Zane was still there, carved in dark stone as he glared at me.

What is his problem?!

“Thank you for joining me for dinner tonight, Fiona,” Vincent whispered.

“Have a good night, Vincent,” I said, then waved goodbye and walked away, passing through the dining room filled with elegant Maras enjoying their blood dinners in the warmth of candle lights.

Never had a flame burned as hot as I did in that instant. Zane was playing a very dangerous game with me. And I wasn’t going to let him win.

He might be bigger and stronger than me, but he is not going to mess with my head anymore! Not while I still have something to say about it!