Page 63 of Maksym

I did. I bowed my head and pressed my forehead to her knees.

The fabric of her dress was soft beneath my skin.

For a moment, I could not speak.

Words seemed grotesque. Too clean for what had been done. Too late to matter. Promises were cheap in the mouths of monsters, and I was one, whether I had built laws against men like Lucian or not. I had fangs. I had a crown. I had inherited a world where creatures believed themselves entitled to human blood and bodies, and obedience.

Grace’s knees trembled beneath my forehead. I stayed there. Not holding her. Not asking. Only lower than she was, because every other man in that story had stood above her and called it power.Her fingers touched my hair. The contact was so light I might have imagined it if my entire body had not answered.

She moved her hand once through the dark strands, careful and uncertain, the way someone touched something she was still deciding was real. Her fingers did not linger long. They did not need to.

I lifted my head.

Her eyes were bloodshot. Tears had washed faint tracks through the careful work at the corners. The red at her mouth had faded to something softer. She looked exhausted, furious, newly immortal, and more courageous than any creature I had ever seen crowned.

I kept my hands on my thighs.

“Gracelyn Marlow,” I said.

Her breath caught at the use of her full name. I wanted every god listening to know precisely whom I addressed.

“I swear on my kingdom and on my very soul that every person who hurt you will pay with their blood.”

My voice dropped into the register that had ended rebellions. I did not raise it. I did not need to. Oaths did not become truer with volume.

“Not only Lucian. Not only those whose names we already know. Every hand. Every mouth. Every creature who fed. Everyone who watched. Every official who looked away. Every Elder who smiled across a council table while humans cried behind walls.”

Her lower lip trembled.

I continued, “And when they fall, you will not hear of it afterward like some fragile thing kept away from consequence. You will stand beside me when they are named. You will stand beside me when sentence is given. If you wish to witness justice, you will witness it. If you wish to speak, they will hear you. If you wish silence, then my voice will carry yours.”

Grace stared down at me as if she did not know whether to trust the shape of what I offered. Good. Trust given too quickly after captivity was only another wound waiting to open.

I held her gaze.

“I will be your blade,” I said. “Not your cage. Not your keeper. Your blade. Point me where justice requires, and I will cut.”

The last word settled into the room like steel laid upon stone. Grace’s hand found mine. Not fully. Her fingers touched the backs of mine where they rested on my thigh. It was enough. No—more than enough. It was a trust so small and so immense that I could barely breathe around it.

Before I could speak again, Remy rose.

Her chair made no sound as it moved back. She stood at the head of the table, all sleek height and dark beauty and power held in human shape. The amber-gold had faded from her eyes, leaving them deep brown and clear.

She placed her right hand over her heart. Not dramatically. Not for court. No flourish, no ancient witch-language, no sigils burning on the floor. Plainly. Her gaze met Grace’s.

“I offer you my fealty, Grace Marlow,” Remy said. “Not because he is my king. Because you have mine now, too.”

Grace’s fingers tightened on my hand.

Remy’s voice remained steady. “I am Remington Duval, keeper of Amethyst’s doors, wards, secrets, and thresholds. No one crosses toward you without answer from me. No one hides behind magic I can break. No one uses the old rot and calls it tradition while I still draw breath in this world.”

Lucian Devereux did not know it yet.

But the first wall of his world had cracked.

Chapter 10

Grace