Chapter 16: Sacred Night - Hunger & Harmony

The sun is setting.

There’s no window to confirm. Only my phone buzzing under my pillow.

I’ve woken enough times in the evening to be used to it. I already know it’s not the time, or even amount of sleep, that’s keeping me glued to the bed.

After a third message vibrates, I bottle up my despair and put my working cap on. It’s not like tonight—the finale of the tour—was ever going to be a vacation.

Sitting up, I swing my legs over the bed and slide my hand under the pillow. Wait. It’s not Lorelai checking in, but my personal phone going off.

My heart stops. The pit in my stomach can go deeper.

Lala

What’re you doing?

Cadence, do you even know what Sancte Noctis is?

Call me. We can figure this out.

I don’t know whether to scoff or cry. Both sound good. She treats me like I don’t know my own job, like I’m not aware of where I’m sitting, literally, as she messages me. Lucky for her, she’s right. Unlucky for me, it’s not for the reasons she’s thinking.

Another message pops up.

Lala

You’re not just an assistant anymore, are you?

The silence crushes me, turning my lungs to lead. I almost miss the wrong notes that followed me into restless dreams. Anything to not be alone with my thoughts.

Did they truly follow me, though?

Or can wrong notes belong to me?

I toss my phone away. There's no point in spiraling over it. There’s also no point in answering Viola, no matter how badly I want to call and beg her to come pick me up. Freedom comes with a cost; independence means fixing my own messes. It’s already six o’clock. Time to do my job and be an assistant.

Nothing more.

When I stand with a sniffle, I’m suddenly blinking at my luggage. My carry-ons sit neatly next to the door, a splash of sky blue amongst the dreary neutrals. While I’m sick of this dress twisted around my body, a chill blows over me at the thought of those guides or even a cloaked figure coming in while I slept. Still, there’s nothing to do but open them up and get ready.

Ready for what, I’m still not sure.

* * *

“This seems . . .” I hesitate to find the right word for the outfit she’s helped me into. “I mean, I think it’s a bit too romantic, right?”

Lorelai raises a brow at me through the floor-length mirror.

“What? This is standard for Court performances,” she says. “You know, the symphonic ritual to the Vox Crown? I told you this yesterday.”

A symphonic . . .what?

“The final show is a ritual?”

Her jaw can’t get any lower.

“Cadie, are you a couple sandwiches short of a picnic?”

I blink at her. She stares back.

“Uh . . .I guess I didn’t understand,” I say, meaning every bit of that.

There’s so much to vampire society. It doesn’t help that Sancte Noctis itself is setting me up to fail, and I can’t remember the rules and protocols.

“Ugh . . .”

Lorelai groans before she physically finds her center, hands clapping together as she releases a breath.

“Okay!” she says, already back to fussing with the curls she wove into my hair. “Whatever. Just be compliant and helpful, and we’ll make it through.”

That can’t be enough, right? Except she’s already moving on, and we have mere minutes before leaving. We barely had time to shower and eat, yet all this time was taken up by getting dressed.

When I turn back to the mirror, my red lips twist into a pout. I hate how pretty I look. While Lorelai is draped in modest, dark layers, she dolled me up in crimson silk. This dress feels like it belongs to a vintage starlet. Like the main character in a tragedy.

Lustrous fabric smooths down my calves, moving with my body as I twist black, tulle gloves together. Every detail is darling, from the sweetheart neckline to both puffed sleeves lined with ruffled trim and delicate ribbons. Lorelai pinned my hair half up, half down, with a matching rouge bow fastening it together.

I look coquettish, like a present wrapped in silken seduction. It betrays every needle stabbed into my heart. Why am I dressed like this? Is it really customary for some human nobody to wear this?

Another bottle has to join the others in the back corner of my mind. I label it ‘anger.’

“We don’t have all evening, c’mon,” Lorelai says, putting back her makeup case and gathering our things.

When I grab my phone off her nightstand, she plucks it from my grasp.

“Only approved personnel are allowed devices that can record.”

While it makes sense, unease clings to my skin as she tucks it into her suitcase. Maybe I’m being ridiculous. Who would I call? What could they do?

Another bottle joins my mind’s collection, and I follow after Lorelai. Cass is already waiting outside our rooms, his outfit similar to hers. I don’t have time to question it when I spot familiar green eyes.

“Ez!”

“Long time, no—wow!” He glances me up and down. “I mean, you’re always pretty, but damn.”

I’m still upset about it, but his compliment eases the sting. I hurry into his arms for a big hug, always surprised by how warm he feels.

“Shit, now I feel underdressed,” he says, chuckling as I pull back.

Never mind how lavish he looks. Black cuts around his waist over a billowing, storm-green shirt, the corset structured while his smoky eyes and blond curls stay wild. He’s predatory grace in leather and muslin.

“Don’t lie! You could make a potato sack look glamorous,” I say, and his fangs gleam in his grin.

“Aw, shucks.”

I almost forget all my troubles and the night ahead. Cass breaks the spell.

“You’re on in thirty?”

“Hey, that’s thirty minutes to steer clear of the Court.” Ezren rolls his eyes. “They even let a couple of human reporters in. All this Q&A is pissing me off.”

“Where’s . . .” I clear my throat. “Where’s, uh, the others?”

It’s painful to even think about facing Niko, but I need to keep my cool. Especially with cameras pointed at him. There’s enough scrutiny without capturing his every move for the world.

Sancte Noctis feels like a pressure cooker teetering on the line between perfection and disaster.

“Oh, speaking of!” Lorelai says before Ezren can answer. “Sel is asking for our ETA.”

She taps at her phone, and my brows furrow. How come she’s an authorized personnel? Because she’s been here longer?

“I’ll lead the way,” Ezren says.

He loops his elbow with mine, stealing my left arm. Just as Lorelai glances up from her screen, he snags her right elbow, pulling us both to his sides.

“They’re gonna look anyway, right?”

His snickering brings an amused smile to my face, one that quickly fades. He’s right. They’ll be watching him, but even us. We’re directly linked to Arteria. We’re tied to the king of vampires, the center of tonight’s ritual.

My whole body numbs as Ezren hurries us off, Cass following silently. Everything’s a blur of long shadows and wilted flowers. The perfume of floral and iron laces every heavy breath I take, irritating my already stinging eyes.

No, I have to keep calm. I can’t screw up here. With even the shadows against me, this is the last place to be a crybaby.

Music joins our hurried footsteps. The closer we return to the cathedral’s center, the louder it grows, accompanied by the hushed murmurings of a crowd. My stomach is so knotted, I’m trying not to make my breakfast the opening act.

I hold Ezren’s arm tighter, and he glances down at me. We exchange a strained smile. He must feel it, too. We’re all in this cage.

A ribcage. That’s what it looks like, at least, my lips parting in awe when we enter the main hall from before. Only, it’s alive now, its undead heartbeat pulsing between rib-like beams. At the center of the ceiling is that chandelier of bone and crystal, now demanding attention.

The Vox Crown.

One glance, and I know it’s what called me. Its power radiates in orchestral notes, the same violin plucks and piano keys blending with its consistent hum, like it’s acknowledging me. Goosebumps sweep over my skin. I hope my grip isn’t too tense on Ezren as he walks us forward.

Below the crown’s domineering majesty, the main hall has transformed from barren to part opera house, part ossuary. Rising tiers form like an amphitheater, semicircular rows of vampires in ancient elegance waiting. Sumptuous fabrics marry jewel-toned, ivory, and ink details. What sends chills down my spine are the masks. Whether faceless or painted visages, vampires of the Midnight Court conceal their true faces.

All but one. Archduchess Imara watches from the only balcony, cloaked in jewels and vampiric regalia beyond my understanding. Few sit by her side, and I realize her power hasn’t diminished, despite stepping down for Niko. Her throne-like seating is stark white against the shadowed rows below.

From here, I notice her burgundy eyes are steady on one thing: the black-marble altar raised under the Vox Crown, serving as the center stage. There’s nothing but the veinlike inlays of silver, pulsing and anticipating.

There’s no chaos. No clutter of a typical stage with instruments, wires, and glitter stains. Only reverence and amplified scrutiny.

I hold my breath, moving like the ground under us is eggshells. As Ezren draws us closer to the center, masked faces openly turn towards us. Even if I can’t see them, I feel their piercing eyes. I’d almost rather be naked than in this red dress—the audience picks me apart like I am.

Archduchess Imara’s chin snaps downwards, and my blood runs cold. Her gaze fixes on me, and my only defense is Niko’s necklace pressing into my wrist.

I had every intention of leaving it behind. I don't know what possessed me to wrap it around my wrist and tuck it under my glove. The last thing I want is his protection, right? The pendant still feels like a shield.

Ezren doesn’t miss a beat. He casually leads us across the walkway, and we leave the concert hall through the opposite corridor as quickly as we arrived.

Oxygen returns to my lungs, and I’m shaking when we’re out of the Court’s sight. It’s quiet here, and intimately dim. Not a bad place to try to steel myself for the night ahead.

My relief immediately dissolves. I stop short, my eyes finding the only other one here. Niko’s back is to us as he stands before an arched window, the waning crescent moon staring down at him.

“Um, Ez . . .” I whisper.

My brows furrow when he eases out of my grasp. Ezren’s smile is sheepish, and it’s definitely not reaching his eyes.

“He wanted to see you,” he says, and I frown. “I’m sorry, Cadie. King’s orders.”

Of course. No matter how good of friends we are, his loyalty is to Niko. My allies aren’t my own. Especially in Sancte Noctis.

That fact does little to soothe the sting, and I fidget with my gloves to keep my reaction contained.

“Oh, okay.”

Ezren takes a step back. Cass isn’t anywhere to be found, and I lock eyes with Lorelai in a pathetic attempt to escape this.

“We'd better check in with Sel,” she says to Ezren, and he nods.

I don’t bother trying to stop them, turning my face to the ground as they hurry off.

The stiff silence doesn’t last a heartbeat.

“Cadence.”

I can count the number of times he’s said my name on my fingers. This is the saddest. Like a bird with no song, a man with no will.

Like my name is his last hope.

My fingers curl into fists. I hold my body even tighter, like it’ll somehow keep my pooling tears back.

“King Niklaus.”

There’s no satisfaction in watching his shoulders tense. I let my eyes linger, not knowing when I’ll next have the luxury to do so.

He turns, and I almost forget where we are. Who we are. His eyes are so soft, so pleading. They beg me not to turn away as he steps forward.

It all rushes back as I take him in. Not just his face twisted in longing.

There’s no subtlety to his clothes; black and crimson fabrics create music of their own across him. Not silver, but gold details sweep across the cape, cascading from his sharp, gilded shoulders. Tightly buttoned and pristine, every inch of his skin is covered in heavy ceremony. Even jewels and gaudy rings line his hand reaching for me, not at all like the fingers that cupped my face or stroked guitar strings.

It’s pleasing to the eye, yet so hollow. He’s theatre and painted masks and performance.

I take a step back.

“Cadence,” he repeats, nearly frantic this time.

“You’re on in minutes⁠—”

“Damn the performance,” he says, and I squeeze my fists. “I don’t care about anything until I clear up the misunderstandings.”

“There’s nothing to misunderstand,” I say, the reminder mostly for myself.

“No, I haven’t⁠—”

“There’s nothing to misunderstand!” I exclaim, teary eyes narrowing. “You had every right. You still do.”

Acid pools on my tongue. The images of those women around him haunt me.

“You’re a king,” I say, lowering my voice to a pitiful whisper. “You belong here, with courtesans at your disposal and power in your hands.”

It’s not just the distant hum of the Vox Crown anymore. Wrong notes begin their jarring tune. I fully accept they’re from me.

“I don’t want that,” he says, and I shake my head.

“It doesn’t matter.”

The disjointed melody crescendos, growing louder like it wants to drown out his voice.

“It doesn’t matter?” he echoes, crossing the distance between us. “That’s a lie. You’re lying to me.”

“You’re lying to yourself,” I whisper, stepping back again. “Look around. We’re in Sancte Noctis. Where you belong.”

He shakes his head, backing me to the wall. I hate how my body leans into him when there’s nowhere to run, how relief fights the worry as his scent envelopes me.

“You belong, too,” he says, and I press my hands to his chest.

In return, his hands find my waist. He doesn’t hold me still or pin me in place. His hands are a simple prayer against red silk, and I so badly want to answer it.

“I don’t.”

“You belong where I am.” He stares down at me, and I know he’s speaking his heart. “If you hate it, tell me where to go. Anywhere, I promise, we can go there.”

“You can’t,” I say, trying to push him away. “You can’t abandon your people. Arteria are waiting for the ritual to start as we speak.”

I give up trying to push and grip the fabric of his shirt instead. It feels wrong to bunch the opulent fabric between my fingers. Somehow, the wrong notes sound right, but are no different from before. Maybe it’s my own acceptance of them.

“I don’t want this burden.”

Niko stills. I let my words linger for a moment.

“I don’t want the burden of breaking your crown. For destroying your people. For hurting Arteria.”

Looking up at him, my heart constricts in agony. Because it’s not just my desires. It’s not just his promises.

“I want you,” I whisper, a few tears betraying me. “But I can’t hold that.”

His eyes lower to the single tear dripping off my chin. When it stains my dress, his expression falters.

“I’d never want that,” he says. “I’d never burden you.”

When his hands fall back to his sides, I damn myself for missing his touch. But I won’t do that to him. I won’t reach back out when we know the end.

His face hardens, and it reminds me of when we first arrived. He’s no longer showing his true self—he’s an echo of his Court.

Hurt calcifies into numbness. We stand before each other no better than strangers.

“Your Majesty.”

I can’t look at Selene.

“I know,” he tells her.

With no hesitation, he turns away. I don’t have the guts to watch him leave. I can’t look until his shadow has left the hallway.

My breaths come shallow. At least I’m a coward doing the right thing.

Why does it feel so wrong, then?

I let my chest heave and my sobs echo. It’s my only release from this horrible, horrible festering in my stomach. I invite the wrong notes to dance around me. No point in denying them.

The moon stares at me, and I turn to the wall. I’m ashamed to look at what once promised hope. I’m no longer the same woman looking back.

I’m not sure how long it’s been when a swell of music interrupts my crying fit. Not that I pull myself from the wall. I know that signature guitar note, and Ryel is the last one I’d stop crying for.

They must be ready. The ritual is starting. No one has come looking for me, and I’m glad to stay back here. I need to craft up an excuse for Lorelai. Maybe start looking for a different job, too. The pieces of my heart shatter further.

Niko’s voice fills the hall, bleeding out into my dark hiding spot. His words are so simple; a greeting I’ve heard again and again throughout this tour.

“Welcome all.”

But different.

My head slowly raises, and I instinctively push myself off the wall. His voice is not a poignant tone of longing, regret, or even melancholy. It sends shivers down my spine, and my feet pick up to at least see what’s going on.

“Yes, welcome, ladies and gentlemen of my court.”

There’s an edge to his voice I’ve never heard before. When I finally dare a glance into the main hall, my eyes widen at the sight.

No longer empty, the black altar hosts all of Arteria and their instruments. The once silver veins are now a rich gold, reflecting the details of Niko’s outfit. My eyes peel away from him to glance at the audience. Archduchess Imara stands at the balcony’s edge, her fingers tight on the bannister.

“Fortunately, there’s been a change in plans,” he continues, and I find Selene’s face.

While measured, she looks confused as she clasps her bass guitar. Alarmed. So do Ezren and Ryel. The Vox Crown responds to its king above, pulsing silently like it waits for a command.

“At least it’s fortunate for me.” Niko’s eyes then narrow, vividly crimson. “You will hear the truth in my ruin.”

Gasps erupt from behind masks as he gestures broadly.

“All of you.”

My breath catches in my throat. The cameras. Human media broadcasts his every word, already on-air. It’s not just vampires and the Midnight Court watching. It’s all of Aurea.

This isn’t to punish me. This is to punish them. The Court, the crown, the world.

Himself.

Just as I reach a hand out, the first note from his guitar wails. Its force sweeps through the hall, knocking onlookers back and awakening the crown above.

All of Sancte Noctis groans. As Niko’s fingers spark along guitar strings, its searing attacks build and build. The Vox Crown shakes violently, each iridescent crystal darkening into red and the bone shining in etheric response. I raise my arm to cover my face, every note striking through my body like I’m made of paper.

It doesn’t physically hurt, but I feel every ounce of his rage filling the air. The rest of Arteria are frozen as his electric solo punches out in high frequencies, and it’s only when the last note fades out that Selene steps towards him.

Was taught to pray with hands in chains,

Taught desire is another name for pain.

Selene halts halfway, though when I watch her face, I can’t tell if she stopped on her own. Unrest breaks out in the audience, and one thing is clear: there’s nothing restraining the king’s power.

But I won’t bow, I won’t repent,

I’ll only ruin what the dark has sent.

His siren song is no longer weaving or commanding. Tearing through the hall, it splinters stone, bringing vampires and mortals alike to their knees. His voice is destroying.

I cling to the archway’s edge, not weakened by his power, but his anguish. All of his smiles, all of his laughter, and all of his softness play in my mind.

He never wanted this. I know it. Maybe I’m the only one who has ever known that about him.

When you burn, look in my eyes . . .

Each syllable is inauthentic to the man I know. He flirts with danger, beckoning destruction like a lover. Music bursts out from behind him, not from his members, but the hall itself. Even his guitar is rendered useless around his waist; only his voice is needed to devastate all he sees.

His garments rip open, the last shreds of restraint lost to his might. Sancte Noctis was built to listen, and now he doesn’t hold back.

As he unravels before the world, I know I can’t let him.

I need the hunger,

I choose it as mine.

Maybe I should know better. Maybe I should turn and run while I still can. Maybe I should leave him alone, and allow him his rage.

I step into the music.

The song surges, and I brace myself. Everyone else surrenders to his eminence, whether on their hands and knees or simply shielding themselves. Although each note seeks me like a missile, I’m steady on my feet as I power through whipping winds.

“Your Majesty!” I call out, hoping my voice isn’t lost in his power.

The Vox Crown bleeds, and the altar he stands on is cracking. Sancte Noctis’ mirage wavers, and I lose my footing in the barren hall I was used to. Between these two realities, Niko’s voice cuts through everything, ripping his kingdom apart with an ancient tongue I no longer recognize.

I press forward. Even the ground I step on is disorienting, so I focus on him and him alone.

“Ah!”

A hiss emits from between my teeth when wrist starts burning. Hurrying off my gloves, my eyes widen in horror as the tulle falls away. The guitar pick heats violently, as if rejecting the song crashing around me, and I instinctively grab it.

“Shit.”

My cry is lost as blood stains the necklace. It burns into my skin, blood immediately beading and smearing in my palms.

Before it hurts me further, I yank the chain from my wrist, shaking as it clatters onto the stone floor. This isn’t a normal burn. As I raise my hands, I stare down at precise wounds, chest heaving as crimson beads drip onto the floor next to Niko’s necklace.

Niko.

Where is he? I frantically look up, breath stolen as I meet his stare from above.

His vivid gaze widens, realizing it’s me. Realizing that I’m running to him.

“Your Majesty!” I call again, stepping over the mess I made.

My dress clings to my legs, and I forget the pain in my palms as I hike up the skirt. I won’t let anything stop me.

“Niklaus!”

The hall is nothing but white smoke and high-pitched ringing. Only he remains, with the ruined altar lowering to the floor as I hurry towards him.

“Cadence?”

Over rubble and broken masks, I finally reach him. He stares in disbelief, his once pristine attire ripped open, and his vengeance quieted. I don’t hear his song, and I don’t pick up on the Vox Crown’s notes.

“Niko!” I exclaim as I rush into his arms.

We collapse to our knees together, and my bloody fingers find his face. I don’t care about the blood staining his jaw as I caress him. I don’t know when I started crying again.

“Niko . . .” I sob, clinging to him, echoing his name like it’s salvation.

It’s so quiet now. My pleas are the only sound in this haze of aftermath.

“Cadence,” he finally whispers, holding me so gently, like he doesn’t believe I’m really here.

I can’t take it anymore. My lips find his, and I surge against him. Desperation, worry, and want all marry between us, and I’m not careful of his fangs. I’m already bleeding for him; a kiss can’t cut me deeper.

It breaks his stupor, and his hands firmly press into my hips. Everything pours out between us.

Light glows from behind me, so bright that it breaks our fervor. I turn from the kiss for only a moment, before double-taking in his embrace.

Where my blood meets stone, where the necklace lies discarded in ruin . . .

Sancte Noctis repairs itself. Not from song, and not from hunger.

Pressure builds behind my eyes, and a dull sensation in my ribcage tugs me towards Niko. As I fall back into his arms, I hear it. Not him. Not anyone else.

An echo from the Vox Crown as it calls my name.

Resonant.