The proceedings began, the low voices of the coven's leaders droning on as they discussed matters of territory, alliances, and rogue vampires. Eira kept her expression neutral, her hands resting lightly in her lap. She nodded occasionally, her gaze flickering between the speakers as if she understood every word.
The high-backed chair felt unforgiving beneath her, the cold wood pressing into her spine. She shifted slightly, careful to keep her movements subtle, lest she draw attention to herself. Her fingers itched to fidget with the fabric of her gown, but she forced them to remain still, resting in her lap like they belonged there.
Each moment dragged, her awareness of every gaze lingering on her like a weight she couldn't shake. Was someone watching her too closely? Waiting for her to slip? She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the tightness in her chest.
If I look too interested, they'll ask me something, she thought, her stomach twisting at the idea. If I look bored, they'll see it as weakness.
Her gaze darted to Caius, who sat beside her like a carved statue. He was listening intently, his golden eyes sharp as he considered each argument, each subtle jab. Occasionally, he would speak, his voice cutting through the room with a quiet authority that silenced all others.
Her gaze swept the room, noting how some vampires leaned toward each other, whispering too softly for her to hear. A few exchanged pointed glances whenever Caius spoke, their expressions carefully blank but for the faintest flickers of tension around their mouths.
Eira's attention snagged on one figure in particular—a tall man dressed in sleek black, his features sharp and angular. He wasn't speaking, but his eyes followed every word exchanged, every gesture Caius made, with a sharpness that sent a shiver up her spine.
These people, these vampires, weren't just immortal—they were ancient, their every gesture and word steeped in centuries of strategy and suspicion. Even their silence felt deliberate, like a blade waiting to strike. She wondered how many of them had seen humans rise and fall, had grown bored of mortal lives flickering out in an instant.
At the far end of the hall, a woman with pale blonde hair and piercing blue eyes sat back in her chair, her fingers idly toying with the stem of a wine glass. Her smile was faint, but there was something predatory in the way her gaze flickered toward Caius and then to Eira.
They're not just listening, Eira realized. They're calculating. Watching every move he makes. Watching me.
She wasn't blind to the contrast between herself and Caius. Where he commanded the room with a single glance, she felt like an intruder at a feast she hadn't been invited to. The vampires weren't just watching her—they were waiting for her to falter.
Caius's presence was like steel, unyielding and perfectly controlled. Eira envied it, even as she fought to mimic it. Her stillness felt forced, brittle—a mask that could crack at any moment. But Caius… Caius wore his strength like armor, seamless and impenetrable.
As the discussion shifted to a dispute over a distant territory, Eira caught the gaze of a vampire across the room. A woman with pale blonde hair and eyes like ice was watching her, a faint smirk curving her lips.
Eira's stomach churned, but she didn't look away. She held the woman's gaze for a moment longer than was comfortable, then shifted her attention back to the speakers, her heart hammering in her chest.
Don't give them anything, she told herself. You are not weak.
The minutes stretched on, each one heavier than the last. Eira's back ached from sitting so stiffly, and her palms were damp against the smooth fabric of her gown. She stole another glance at Caius, wishing she could draw some strength from his unshakable calm.
His expression was unreadable, but for the briefest moment, his eyes flickered toward her. It was so quick she almost missed it, but the faint crease of his brow was enough to steady her.
He knows, she realized, her chest tightening. He knew how uncomfortable she was, how much effort it was taking to keep her composure.
But he didn't say anything.
Instead, Caius turned back to the speaker, his voice cool and measured as he made a pointed remark that sent a ripple of subdued laughter through the room. The tension eased slightly, and Eira allowed herself a shallow breath.
The conversation continued, but Eira remained silent, doing her best to blend into the background while sitting at the center of everyone's attention.
When they returned to Eira's quarters, the silence between them was palpable. Caius closed the door behind them, his expression unreadable.
Eira turned to him, her voice sharp. "You didn't have to do that."
His eyes flicked to hers, something dark and restrained flickering in their depths. "Yes, I did."
She crossed her arms, frustration and gratitude warring within her. "I could have handled it," she said, though the words felt hollow even as they left her lips. Could she have stood up to Anton's taunts? To the stares of an entire court that wanted her to fail? The thought made her chest tighten, but she shoved it aside, meeting Caius's gaze head-on.
"Perhaps," he said, stepping closer. "But Anton wasn't the only one watching. The court needed to see that I would defend you, no matter the cost."
No matter the cost. The words echoed in her mind.
"And what about what I needed?" she asked, her voice rising. "Do you think I enjoyed standing there while you fought my battles for me?"
Caius's jaw tightened, his composure slipping just slightly. "I don't care if you enjoyed it. I care that you survived it."
The words were meant to sound cold, but something about them stuck, refusing to let go. It wasn't just his need to protect her—it was the weight behind it, the unspoken demand that she rise to meet the expectations he refused to lower.
For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—anger, yes, but also something softer, something he wouldn't allow himself to name. He exhaled sharply, as though forcing the thought away, and when he spoke again, his voice was cold once more. "Rest," he said, his voice cooler now. "You have training tomorrow."
He turned and left without another word.
Eira sank into the armchair, the tension in her body unraveling all at once. She hated the way his words lingered, carving jagged lines through her thoughts. She hated the court for their cruelty, herself for caring, and most of all, Caius—for defending her in a way that felt more like a cage than a shield.
And yet, beneath the anger, there was something else. A flicker of gratitude she couldn't bring herself to extinguish. It was infuriating—the way he could stand before a room of predators and make them quake, the way he could claim her with a single glance.
She hated needing him, hated the effortless strength he wielded like a weapon, cutting through the world with precision she could only envy. But most of all, she hated the part of herself that yearned to wield that same power—to rise beside him, unflinching and unbroken, an equal in a world that demanded her submission.