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I didn't get in the car.
I stood there on the sidewalk outside the clinic, staring at the black SUV with tinted windows like it might swallow me whole. Dorian was already by the door, one hand on the handle, waiting.
"I'm not going."
He turned his head. Slow. Like he had all the time in the world and I had none.
"You are."
"You can't just—" I stopped. My hand went to my stomach without thinking. Thirteen weeks. There was a person in there. Half me, half him. Half human, half something that shouldn't exist. "You can't make me."
His eyes flicked down to where my hand was. Then back up.
"The blood bond already did."
I hated how calm he sounded. Like this was paperwork. Like I was a logistics problem he'd already solved.
"I have a life," I said. "I have a job. I have an apartment."
"You have a lease Edwin paid off this morning. Your supervisor received notice you're taking medical leave. Your things will be packed and delivered by tonight." He opened the car door. "Get in, Iris."
My throat closed up.
He'd already erased me.
"I didn't agree to any of this."
"You triggered a blood ritual in my family's crypt." His voice dropped. Still even, but colder now. "You bound yourself to me. You conceived an heir to the Night Court. Agreement stopped mattering three months ago."
I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. But Edwin's words were still rattling around in my head. *The bond will kill you both if you try to sever it.*
I got in the car.
Dorian slid in beside me. The door shut with a heavy click that sounded too much like a lock.
The driver didn't look back. Didn't speak. We pulled into traffic and I watched my neighborhood blur past the tinted glass. The café where I got my morning coffee. The bookstore that stayed open late. The park where I used to sketch on weekends.
Gone.
"How long?" I asked.
Dorian was looking at his phone. He didn't glance up.
"How long what."
"How long do I have to stay in your palace."
He typed something. Sent it. Then finally looked at me.
"Five years."
I laughed. I couldn't help it. It came out sharp and a little broken.
"Five years."
"Standard contract for royal consorts bearing heirs. You'll deliver at Thornveil. You'll remain in residence until the child is weaned and assessed by the Court physicians. Then we'll revisit terms."
Consort. Like I was some kind of medieval concubine.
"What if I say no?"
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
He leaned back against the seat, eyes still on me. There was something too still about the way he looked at people. Like a predator deciding whether you were prey or just boring.
"You're carrying my child. Royal law is absolute. If you run, I'll find you. If you fight, you'll lose. If you harm the bond or the child, you'll die." He tilted his head slightly. "So no, Iris. You won't say no."
I wanted to hit him.
Instead I turned toward the window and tried not to cry.
We drove for an hour. The city gave way to forest, thick and dark even in late afternoon. The road got narrower. Private. No signs, no other cars. Just trees and shadows and the hum of the engine.
Then we turned onto a long gravel drive and I saw it.
Thornveil Court.
It wasn't a palace. It was a fortress. Black stone walls rising out of the hillside like something that had grown there instead of being built. Towers with narrow windows. Iron gates that looked like they could hold back an army. Everything about it screamed *old* and *dangerous* and *you don't belong here.*
The gates opened as we approached. No guard, no checkpoint. Just smooth, silent movement like the place recognized him.
We pulled into a courtyard paved in dark slate. Torches burning in sconces even though it wasn't night yet. The air smelled like rain and stone and something else. Something I didn't have a word for.
Magic, maybe. Or blood.
Dorian got out first. I stayed in the car, staring up at the walls.
"This isn't protection," I said quietly. "This is a cage."
He leaned down, one hand on the open door.
"Call it what you want. You're staying."
I climbed out because I didn't have a choice. My legs felt shaky. I pressed one hand to my stomach again, like I could shield the baby from all this. From him. From whatever the hell I'd gotten us into.
A servant appeared from a side door. Young, pale, human. She bowed slightly and gestured toward the main entrance.
"This way, my lady."
My lady. I wasn't anyone's lady. I was a fucking art restorer who'd made one mistake and lost her entire life.
But I followed.
The inside was worse. Vaulted ceilings that swallowed sound. Tapestries on the walls showing battles I didn't recognize. Candelabras dripping wax onto stone floors that looked like they'd been walked on for centuries. Everything was cold and beautiful and so far from human it made my skin crawl.
Dorian walked ahead of me, his coat swirling slightly as he moved. He didn't look back to see if I was keeping up.
We passed a hallway lined with portraits. Pale faces, dark eyes, elegant clothes from every century. His family, probably. Every single one of them looked like they could kill you and not lose a minute of sleep.
Then I saw movement at the end of the hall.
Someone was coming toward us. Fast.
Dorian stopped. His posture changed. Tighter. Ready.
"Stay behind me," he said.
I didn't argue.
A man rounded the corner. Tall, built like a soldier, with scars running down one side of his face. His eyes locked on me and his lips pulled back.
Fangs.
"That's her?" His voice was a growl. "That's the human carrying your bastard?"
Dorian stepped in front of me. Completely. I couldn't see past his shoulders.
"Careful, Marcus."
"She doesn't belong here. She's polluting the bloodline. The Council—"
"The Council will accept my heir or they'll answer to me."
Marcus took another step forward. I felt the air shift. Colder. Heavier. My pulse spiked and I realized with a sick lurch that I could feel Dorian's heartbeat. Faster now. Angry.
The bond.
"She's not one of us," Marcus said. "She's food. She's—"
Dorian moved.
I didn't see it happen. One second he was standing in front of me, the next his hand was at Marcus's throat, claws out, black and sharp and pressed against skin. Marcus froze.
But Dorian's other hand—
His other hand was behind him. Palm flat against my stomach. Shielding.
I couldn't breathe.
"She's under my protection," Dorian said softly. "She carries my child. If you threaten her again, I'll remove your tongue and feed it to the hounds. Do you understand me?"
Marcus's eyes flicked to me. Hatred. Pure, burning hatred.
But he nodded.
Dorian let him go and stepped back. His hand dropped from my stomach but I could still feel the heat of it. The weight.
Marcus backed away, then turned and disappeared down the hall.
I was shaking.
Dorian glanced at me. His claws retracted slowly, sliding back under his nails like they'd never been there.
"You'll have enemies here," he said. "Stay close to your assigned rooms. Don't wander. Don't trust anyone."
"Except you?" The words came out bitter.
He looked at me for a long moment.
"No," he said finally. "Not even me."
Then he turned and kept walking.
I followed because I didn't know what else to do.
We climbed a staircase that seemed to go on forever. My calves burned. My head was spinning. I wanted to sit down. I wanted to go home. I wanted to wake up and find out the last three months were just a nightmare.
Finally we stopped in front of a heavy wooden door. Dorian pushed it open.
"Your room."
I stepped inside. It was huge. Four-poster bed with dark curtains. A fireplace already burning. Tall windows overlooking the forest. Furniture that looked like it cost more than my entire apartment.
A cage with silk sheets.
"Someone will bring your things tonight. Meals are delivered. Edwin will visit tomorrow to check on you and the child." He paused in the doorway. "Don't try to leave, Iris. The wards won't let you."
Then he was gone.
I stood there in the middle of that beautiful, suffocating room and tried not to scream.
I don't know how long I stood there. Long enough for the light outside to start fading. Long enough for my feet to ache and my eyes to burn.
Then I heard footsteps in the hall.
I turned.
A woman stepped into the doorway.
She was stunning. Silver-blonde hair pulled back in a perfect twist. Pale skin, sharp cheekbones, ice-blue eyes. She wore a gown that looked like it cost more than I'd make in a year, deep crimson with black embroidery.
She looked at me like I was a stain on her carpet.
Then she smiled.
"Welcome home, fiancé," she said.
My stomach dropped.
Financée. Dorian's fiancée.
He hadn't mentioned her.
She stepped into the room, her heels clicking on the stone floor. Her smile didn't reach her eyes.
"I'm Seraphine Voss," she said. "Dorian's intended. His equal. His future queen."
She stopped a few feet away, looking me up and down. Taking in my jeans, my wrinkled shirt, my unbrushed hair.
"And you," she said softly, "are a mistake he'll regret for the rest of his very long life."