Chapter 21: The Latest One

Marcel dismissed Elias with a single word. The specialist gathered his tools without comment, bowed once, and left the suite. The door closed behind him with a soft click that seemed far too loud in the sudden silence.

Asher remained sitting on the edge of the bed, left hand still extended as though the ring might somehow change its mind and fall off on its own. It did not. The dark metal sat pretty and unmoving against his skin.

He tried for a joke. It was the only defense he had ever really mastered.

"Well," he said, forcing a crooked smile, "at least now I know I’m stuck with expensive jewelry for life. Could be worse. Could’ve been a cursed necklace that strangles me every full moon."

The attempt landed in the middle of the room and died there.

Marcel did not smile. He did not even look amused. He stood near the foot of the bed, perfectly still, black eyes fixed on the ring with an expression that had gone cold and distant in a way Asher had only seen once before

Asher’s forced humor faded, and his stomach turned. Marcel was seriously considering killing Aaron. Or maybe the vampire lord was thinking about something else. No, his first intuition was probably right. He needed to know, not guess. If Marcel was going to kill the Crown Prince because of him, then Asher needed to see it coming. He needed to look.

He shifted forward on the bed and reached out, fingers moving toward Marcel’s wrist. One touch. One clear look at the future that was already forming behind those black eyes.

Marcel moved first. He stepped back just enough that Asher’s hand closed on empty air, then turned toward the door.

"I have something important to attend to," Marcel said. His voice was calm, almost gentle, and completely closed. "I will return shortly."

Asher’s hand dropped. He managed a smile that felt brittle even to himself. "Okay. I’ll just... sit here and not panic. Extremely easy."

Marcel’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, before he turned and left.

Asher stared at the place where Marcel had stood and felt a sharp, unexpected twist of guilt. He had been about to look without asking. To dig into Marcel’s future the same way strangers had once demanded he dig into theirs for a handful of coins. The fact that he had almost done it to the one person who had never treated his gift like a transaction made the guilt sit heavier.

He dragged both hands through his hair and exhaled hard. He did not know what to do.

The ring was permanent unless Aaron died or changed his mind. Marcel was already calculating the first option. Asher knew what damage killing the crown Prince would do, and the fact that Marcel knew too and was willing to do it made him scared. Did Marcel really value him like that?

Asher was still turning the same impossible thoughts over when the door opened again without a knock.

Adrian leaned against the frame, smiling as though the morning had been nothing more than mildly entertaining.

"You look like someone just told you the world is ending," he said cheerfully. "Which, given the news about the ring, is not entirely inaccurate."

Asher did not bother asking how Adrian already knew. "Marcel just left."

"I noticed. Perfect timing, really." Adrian pushed off the doorframe. "Why don’t we have a chat and a short walk while he’s gone? I wouldn’t want our guest to sit here alone and brood. It’s bad for the complexion."

Asher eyed him with open skepticism. Everything about Adrian felt like a carefully baited trap. Yet the alternative was sitting in silence with the ring and the knowledge that Marcel was somewhere in the manor deciding how best to commit royal murder.

He stood, pulling on the shirt that had been left folded nearby. "Fine."

Adrian led the way out of the private suite and down a corridor Asher had not yet seen. The air grew colder with every turn. The elegant warmth of the main living areas faded into stone and silence. No windows. No decorative lighting. Only soft, steady mage-lights set high in the walls.

They descended a short flight of stairs, and the temperature dropped further.

Adrian stopped in front of a heavy door, pushed it open, and gestured for Asher to enter first.

The room beyond was long, narrow, and deliberately cold. Stone walls, stone floor, and along both sides, resting on raised platforms of dark wood, were coffins. Five of them.

They were not ornate. No gold inlay. No elaborate carvings. Just clean, dark wood and heavy lids, each one perfectly maintained. The air smelled faintly of old preservation magic and something older still.

Asher stopped just inside the threshold, he had a bad feeling about this place, and his entire body shuddered at the thought of stepping further into the room.

"What is this?" he asked, voice quieter than he intended.

Adrian stepped up beside him, hands in his pockets, expression bright and almost fond as he surveyed the row of coffins.

"These," he said cheerfully, "are the bodies of Marcel’s old lovers."

Asher turned to stare at him, stunned at the words he had just heard. But Adrian’s smile did not waver. How could he be smiling at something like this?

"He keeps them," he continued, as though discussing a collection of rare books. "Some lasted longer than others. A few decades here, a few decades there. When they finally died, age, illness, unfortunate accidents, he had them preserved and brought here. He visits sometimes. Not often. But he never has them moved."

Asher’s mouth had gone dry. He looked from one coffin to the next, the weight of the claim ring on his finger suddenly feeling like a countdown.

Adrian’s voice remained light, almost kind.

"My brother has a pattern, Asher. He falls hard for humans. He keeps them close. He tries to outrun the inevitable. And when the inevitable arrives anyway... he puts them in boxes and pretends the next one will be different."

He turned his head, black eyes meeting Asher’s with quiet, pointed amusement.

"You’re just the latest one."