Dawn had not yet broken when I shook Pero awake. Careful not to wake the others, I led the still-drowsy girl away with me. Only Beret, who was keeping watch, was awake. He sat at the foot of a tree while we positioned ourselves a few paces in front of him.

I should have done this much sooner. Instead of arguing with Beret and Selene aboard the ship, we should have made certain the girl knew how to fight. I felt deeply ashamed of myself for not having done so before.

I had been cruel to Pero, and the girl had not once complained about my appalling behavior. She had fulfilled her role as Duchess with courage despite her young age, and I had struggled to acknowledge it. I had mistaken her brave confidence for foolish recklessness.

We could make use of that courage. Just as the former Dukes had once taken me under their wings, it was now my turn to do the same—to pass on what my father and the others had taught me.

I knelt before her with her sword in my hands and tried to draw it, hoping to understand why she had been unable to do so during the battle. Yet I encountered no difficulty.

When I noticed the concern on the girl’s face, I understood that criticizing her yet again would solve nothing. I would only destroy the confidence she had built for herself—the confidence that had allowed her to follow us almost without trembling, without complaining even once.

“They must have polished your sword poorly before giving it to you,” I assured her with enough conviction that she believed me. “Your scabbard is unique. Every scabbard is. One scabbard for one sword. If the blade has been polished incorrectly, then the scabbard will no longer fit it properly. It was not your fault.”

Pero looked profoundly relieved. A radiant smile illuminated her young face.

That was what I had failed to offer her until now. I had shown far too little patience.

She was only a child.

Selene had understood that.

And so, lying to Pero so that she would not lose the spirit that made her so singular was a sacrifice I was willing to make. Even though falsehood was unworthy of a pureblood, I asked my God Rodel to forgive me for it.

I placed Pero’s blade in her hands, let the scabbard fall to the ground, and drew my own sword.

“A sword is not merely a weapon. When you hold one, you hold all our lives in your hands. If you falter, we die.”

I noticed that her feet were poorly positioned and slid one of mine toward them, nudging them into the proper stance. Then I stepped back and raised my sword before me.

“Plant yourself firmly upon the ground. If an enemy tries to throw you off balance, you are not allowed to fall. If you fall, it must be because you chose to.”

Without warning, I struck her lightly but sharply. She stumbled back several steps to keep herself upright.

“Take your stance again,” I ordered. “The enemy may come from anywhere. Even your simplest steps must be steady.”

She nodded vigorously, and I repeated the movement several times. Each time, she nearly fell, and each time, I began again.

We would watch over her, but I knew better than anyone that events never unfolded as planned upon The Damned. I wanted her to know how to fend for herself, at least a little. I did not expect her to succeed at everything I asked of her.

Still, I wanted to be satisfied.

So when I shoved her yet again and one of her feet slid back to grant her a stable footing, I stopped. I offered her an approving smile, and her chest swelled with pride. That tiny gesture, insignificant to some, moved me.

She wanted to do well. Despite her youth, she took matters seriously. Under different circumstances, Pero would have become an admirable Duchess. I wanted to promise her that she would return home. But I knew such a promise was impossible. I could guarantee only my own fate—not hers, nor anyone else’s.

Knowing that, I had still chosen to kiss Selene.

I found myself particularly cruel.

Even though I knew how strongly he was drawn to me, I had asked such a thing of him. We had no future together. Tomorrow was far too uncertain. I had chosen to make matters more difficult for us both, all because I could not bear the thought of him disappearing before I had tasted, at least once, what he might offer me.

My cruelty left me breathless.

“Duke Anela?” Pero asked. “Are you all right?”

“Forgive me. Yes. I was… lost in thought. Let us contin—”

“Is it because of Duke Selene?”

I did not know what expression crossed my face, but she giggled. Heat rose to my cheeks, as though she had seen straight through me.

Which, in truth, she had.

I lightly tapped the top of her head and gestured for her to raise her sword.

“Let us continue. Focus. I am going to teach you the basic movements. It is like a dance. If you master them, your sword will leave no opening near your vulnerable points, and your enemies will have no chance. Watch.”

Accustomed to performing them, I closed my eyes.

I had not lied to her. The steps were like a dance—graceful and light, yet powerful and deliberate. I slid one foot backward while tracing an arabesque, an arabesque my blade echoed through the air. Whatever shapes my feet drew, my sword reproduced. I allowed the wind created by my movements to determine how swiftly I should move. There was no need for music to follow a rhythm.

Not upon The Damned. It did not lack life.

One only had to listen to the endless song of the red whistlers. I followed their small, sinister calls until I found myself once more in my original stance. 

I opened my eyes, soothed by the dance. Then I straightened and turned toward Pero. Her eyes were wide with wonder, and the sight immediately made me uncomfortable. I did not want her admiration. I did not want her to see me as an example.

“You were magnificent! It looked as though you were sailing upon the wind! As though… as though the red whistlers were singing for you!” she exclaimed, euphoric.

I tapped her head again.

“Stop spouting nonsense and concentrate. Reproduce what you saw as closely as you can. Do not stop until morning.”

Determined, she nodded vigorously. With a small hop, she took her position and began.

As for me, I stepped back.

I would not correct her if she made mistakes. In truth, that dance did not truly exist. Every pureblood fought in their own way. We were trained with swords, but movements such as these were perfected alone.

I allowed her to draw inspiration from me because I knew my way of fighting was one of the reasons I remained alive today. If it could help keep her alive as well, then I wanted her to use it. It would be the only thing I agreed to pass on.

I wanted to leave nothing behind in this world by which others might remember me. Even if I was not destined to die, I was destined to disappear, one way or another.

I did not want anyone to remember and admire the Bloody Vicar. I did not want children—did not want purebloods—to grow, generation after generation, believing that becoming like me would be a good thing. I did not want to drive future generations toward war. I did not want to give children the courage to fight. And yet, I was forced to admit that I had already left an indelible mark.

I did not know how to erase it, and the thought filled me with such anxiety. Disheartened, I let myself drop beside Beret.

“The girl is right. Your steps were magnificent. It was so beautiful that I am almost sorry to see them used for such bloody purposes.”

I did not answer him. There was nothing to say. In truth, I could not stop myself from thinking the same. I had misjudged him as well. He took matters far more seriously than I had believed.

“If… if our world had been different, I would have liked to make it my profession,” I confessed, embarrassed.

Beret lifted his head, stunned by my words—or perhaps deeply shocked that I had chosen to confide in him.

“Dancing, I mean. I often danced for my mother. When Father taught me how to hold a sword, it seemed natural to weave something I loved so deeply into it. I enjoy wielding a sword, but you are right. I do not enjoy using it for such bloody purposes. It is ironic, is it not?”

He let out a hollow laugh, appearing almost outraged by what I had confessed.

“To be honest with you, Anela, the few times I saw you, you seemed so cold that I assumed you enjoyed it—the war and the blood. Despite your pretty face, I thought you must be quite the monster on the battlefield.”

His words hardly surprised me. Everyone across Blood who did not know me must have thought the same. I had never made any effort to appear likable, yet somehow, they had still come to love me and rely upon me.

Unfortunately.

“I was deeply shocked when I first saw you fight. I feel… reassured every time I watch you now. Your movements are neither brutal nor hurried. You never seem eager to kill them. When your blade cuts through our enemies, you do not try to make them suffer. Despite appearances, I do not enjoy senseless violence. You are not cruel. In truth…”

When he turned his head to look at me, I discovered an expression of perfect calm upon Beret’s face. He was genuinely at peace.

He was not lying to me.

“In truth, you are the gentlest man I have ever seen. You remind me greatly of your father. I did not know him as well as Fratera did, but I had the honor of dining at his table. He took no pleasure in killing bloodfeasts, either.”

The mention of my father made my heart slowly swell with a treacherous grief.

In Vileblood, no one spoke of him. He had been fortunate enough to fade into oblivion, though I still remembered the warm, broken man he had been.

“You were as young as Pero when you were named Duke. You should tell her your story. Perhaps it might help her. Look at her. She is doing everything she can to resemble you.”

He was not wrong. She was not trying to make my movements her own. She was merely reproducing them clumsily, exactly as she had seen them. I shook my head and sighed.

“I do not want anyone to resemble me. I do not want to give people the courage to go out and fight. I do not want to drive anyone toward war.”

“If you do not teach them, someone else will, and perhaps with far less kindness than you. This is not about fighting. It is about surviving. Besides, it is too late for you to be forgotten, Anela.”

Seeing that I would not answer, he placed a hand upon my shoulder.

“I will continue my watch and make certain Pero keeps practicing. Go and rest a little longer.”

I did not try to resist.

Beret’s words had affected me far more deeply than I would have believed. I felt gloomy and heartsick. I rose and returned to our camp, only a few paces behind us.

I was about to return to my bedroll when my gaze caught upon Selene’s body. He was fast asleep. I moved silently toward him and lay down by his side. I did not try to touch him, but I allowed my fingers to hover above his face. 

His hard features possessed something almost childlike while he slept.

“If you do not do it, someone else will,” Beret had told me.

As for this journey, it was Selene who gave me courage.

With him beside me, I did not feel as though I carried everything upon my shoulders. Among our inexperienced companions, Selene brought something steadier and more reassuring to our quest.

I liked the sense of safety he gave me. And I felt cruel for… wanting him when I knew I was incapable of building anything with him. My fingertips eventually brushed his cheek. His eyes flew open, making me start. There was the light sleep of a pureblood on an expedition.

“Anela?” he whispered in surprise.

His surprise quickly became concern as he studied my face. I did not know him, yet the desire to lean upon him—to believe in him—was so powerful that I had done so without thought. 

I liked it.

“What is wrong?”

“Hold me, Selene. Hold me tightly and do not let go.”

He did not hesitate. He asked no further questions. His powerful arms immediately closed around me, and I found myself lost among the hard muscles of his body. I breathed deeply, made dizzy by his scent.

He smelled… Yes. He smelled like the sanguines. How wonderful he smelled. I buried my face more deeply against his neck. His skin was warm. It felt so pleasant to be held. Something gentle spread throughout my body, and I urged him to tighten his embrace even further.

“Please, Selene. Do not let me go,” I begged.

His lips settled into the hollow of my shoulder, and he growled—not as a man would have, but as a beast.

And lost within his arms, his scent, and his tenderness, I found myself thinking that dying while being devoured by a beast—by him—might not be so terrifying after all.