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“Charm bags–or hex bags are known for directing energy and intention,” he says, summarizing as he reads. “Depending on what’s inside, they can protect, curse, bind, or summon. These ingredients… they’re not for protection. This is old, nasty work. Blood magic mixed with death rites. It’s meant to weaken barriers. Thin the veil. Prepare a space for something bigger.”

“How much bigger?”

“Literal sacrifice and rebirth. The kind of shit that feeds on pain and imbalance.”

I drop into a leather chair, stretching my legs out. The King’s desk sits on the far wall, dark and imposing. I have every right to sit there now, but it still feels wrong. Like I’m playing dress-up in someone else’s crown.

Hunter keeps reading, describing how the combination of herbs, bone, and blood symbols is used to “soften” a location for a major working, making it easier for darker forces to take root.

Noise in the hallway makes us both look up.

Arianette walks in, still wearing my oversized hoodie and those tiny sleep shorts. Her hair is tucked up in that satin bonnet. She looks soft and sleepy, her body probably still lax from coming on my tongue, but her eyes are alert.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“Hey,” I say, softening my voice. “Can’t sleep?”

“I woke up, and both of you were gone.” Her gaze darts to Hunter. He’s standing ramrod straight, jaw tight, staring at her like she’s both everything he wants and everything he fears.

“Ari,” he starts, eyes skimming over her like he’s looking for evidence of his assault. “I’m sorry. That whole thing was fucked up.” He closes the book with a heavy thud and crosses his arms over his chest like he’s physically trying to restrain himself. “I should go. We shouldn’t be together–”

“You’re not leaving,” Arianette says firmly, stepping further into the room and blocking his path. “It’s going to be okay.” She looks between us, searching for agreement. “We’re going to be okay.”

“You don’t know that,” Hunter argues, still looking like he wants to bolt.

“I do know that,” she insists. “We’ve been okay before. Like at Noir Sanctum and the night of the winter solstice.”

“That’s because the King–” Hunter looks at me. “Timothy, was managing us.”

“Okay,” she says, nodding to herself. “Then we just need that. Timothy. Except…”

Except he’s gone. Out of the hospital, holed up somewhere recovering. Even I don’t know where he is. Graves does, but he’s made it clear that he won’t betray his oldest friend, and I don’t want to be the douche that makes him do it. If Maddox doesn’t want to be around us, then fuck him. We’ll figure it out ourselves.

I’ll figure it out.

I lift my hand and gesture for Ari to come to me. When she gets close enough, I thread my fingers with hers and pull her down into my lap, wrapping my arms around her waist. “I agree,” I murmur, pressing a slow kiss to the side of her neck. “We’re going to figure this out. But until then, let’s make sure everyone stays safe, okay? No touching unless you’re supervised.”

Both of them look unhappy with that arrangement, but they don’t argue. At least Hunter no longer looks like he’s about to run out the door.

“What’s all this?” Arianette asks, looking at the items spread across the table.

“Something Ares found in the woods,” I tell her. “A charm bag of some kind.”

She leans forward slightly, studying the herbs, bones, and bloody parchment. Her body tenses in my lap. My gaze flicks to Hunter, and silently we agree not to go into our theories of who or why it was on the grounds.

“Regina said something to me before she killed herself,” she says. “I think it brought up a memory.”

“Yeah?” I ask, rubbing my thumb over her hand.

“Maybe. While she was describing what happened to her after being taken by the Guardian, it all clicked into place. Like I can almost see it myself.”

“Can you describe it now?” Hunter asks, grabbing a pen and a scrap of paper.

“I think so.” She exhales and closes her eyes. “It’s not the cell, but somewhere more ceremonial. There are cold stone walls covered in ancient carvings. Flickering black candles casting long shadows. The air is thick with incense and copper. On the wall are shelves lined with vials of dark liquid and bundles of dried herbs tied with black thread. I can see a ceremonial dagger with a bone handle and idols carved from obsidian and ivory. In the center of the room stood a large altar.”

I tighten my grip on her waist and ask, “Is there anything on the altar?”

She opens her eyes, breathing a little faster. “No, but there’s a stain on the stone floor.”