The Spider Queen’s Prey

The midnight bells rang through Nyssara’s palace like a slow blade. Silver-thread chandeliers trembled above the upper hall, each strand catching candlelight and pulling it into thin, cold lines. Nyssara stood at the edge of the ritual platform with her palms resting on the arm of her throne, feeling the web’s heartbeat through the floor. She had learned to wait for the moment boredom became duty.

Tonight, she expected one man. One chosen “companion,” one contract, one end to the nightly story. The priests called it stability for the realm. Nyssara called it a way to keep herself from feeling anything real.

The bells finished their last toll, and the ritual threshold brightened—an oval of silver air in the center of the hall. A hush ran through the chamber like a breath held too long. Nyssara lifted her chin. Her voice came out low and exact. “Bring him forward.”