CHAPTER SEVEN
THE BLOOD WEDDING
y wedding was a spectacle of red and gold.M The Grand Hall of Vareth’s palace had been transformed for the occasion, the usual banners of my father’s kingdom now interwoven with the dark crimson standards of Nocthar. Candlelight flickered against walls hung with tapestries depicting great victories, though tonight they seemed to tell a different story—a silent prelude to something far more sinister. The air carried the scent of incense and crushed rose petals, but beneath it lurked something else, something metallic and sharp.
I knew it was my own mind playing tricks on me, but for a fleeting moment, I could have sworn it was the scent of blood.
My reflection caught in one of the gilded mirrors lining the processional path. A bride in bloodred, my gown falling in heavy folds to the marble floor, garnets dripping from my bodice like fresh droplets. The fine fabric of my veil cast a crimson haze over the world, transforming the assembled nobility into blurred specters. Above it all sat my mother’s crown.
I had not wept after my father left, tears being a luxury I’d long since learned to deny myself. But the sudden knowledge that my mother had been real enough to leave this behind—that she had worn this crown, that her fingers had traced these same intricate patterns—had opened something inside me. Twenty-six years I had lived with nothing but rumors and whispers of the woman who bore me, and now this tangible piece of her history sat atop my head on the day I was to be given away.
Given away. Such a quaint phrase for what was happening. As though I were a parcel to be handed from one owner to another.
I supposed that was precisely what I was. The bargaining chip that bought peace for Vareth. The king’s shame, finally serving a purpose.
I focused on the assembled guests, noting how they had segregated themselves despite the pretense of unity.
The nobility of Vareth clustered together, their finery a riot of jewel tones and summer hues, though their faces were pale and drawn.
Across from them stood the Nocthari delegation—a small contingent of warriors who had accompanied their king. They were not numerous, but their presence was oppressive, like storm clouds gathering on the horizon. They dressed differently from my father’s court, all in shades of black and deep red, with silver ornaments that caught the light like the edges of blades. Their eyes—assessing, calculating—followed me as I moved down the aisle. These were not people who had been told they were witnessing a joyous union.
These were conquerors watching the surrender of a prize.
And there, at the altar, waited the prize-taker himself.
King Valen of Nocthar stood perfectly still, a statue carved from shadows. He was dressed in black, embroidered with silver so fine it might have been woven from the light of a dying star. A crown of dark iron rested upon his head, wicked in design, its jagged points reminiscent of fangs. The dim candlelight cast shadows across his sharp features, making his already piercing gaze seem even more unnatural.
I had expected cruelty in those eyes. I had braced myself for arrogance, for hunger. But what I saw unsettled me far more.
Amusement, as though all of this—the ceremony, the kingdom, even me —was nothing more than an elaborate game he alone understood.
The countless stories I’d heard of the Blood King, tales of battlefields left drenched in gore, of enemies flayed alive, of dark rituals performed beneath a moonless sky, seemed simultaneously too fantastical and not terrible enough to encompass the man who watched my approach with that calm, knowing smile.
My father stood to one side, his expression carefully neutral. Beside him, Queen Ira’s face betrayed nothing, though I knew she must be rejoicing at the prospect of finally being rid of me. My half-siblings were arranged around them in order of age and importance, a tableau of the perfect royal family I had never truly been part of. Only little Lysa looked openly happy to see me,
and I felt a pang of sorrow at the sight.
The music faded as I reached the altar. The hall completely silent as I stood before King Valen, my eyes lowered to the fine details of his attire. The silver thread that formed patterns too complex to be merely decorative, the way his crown seemed sharp enough to cut. I was close enough to notice that his scent was not the same as the previous night. No perfumes or oils, but something earthier, elemental. Like soil after rain, like metal left to rust, like something ancient unearthed after centuries buried.
The High Priest of Vareth shifted, his hands trembling as he cleared his throat. Old Priest Eidir, a follower of the Twin Goddesses, had served the royal family since before I was born. He had blessed me as an infant despite the scandal of my birth, had taught me prayers when no one else would acknowledge my existence.
But tonight, the familiar comfort of his presence was absent. His eyes darted nervously between Valen and the assembled Nocthari warriors, and there was a hesitancy in his usual confident stance.
I had been raised with the vows he would speak, had seen countless unions bound by these words. Yet as I stood at this alter, something felt different.
“We gather beneath the eyes of gods and men,” Father Eidir intoned, “to bind these two souls, these two bloodlines, these two kingdoms.”
Souls? Bloodlines? An odd choice of words for a Varethian ceremony, which typically emphasized the joining of hearts and minds. I glanced up at Valen, but his expression remained one of polite attention toward the preist, offering no acknowledgment of the deviation.
I wanted to step back, to demand an explanation, but Valen’s hand suddenly grasped mine with surprising gentleness. His skin was warm, too warm, as though fever burned beneath the surface. The contrast to his cold demeanor sent a strange shiver up my arm.
“Blood calls to blood,” Father Eidir continued, his voice wavering slightly, “as power calls to power.”
I felt it then. The subtle shift in the air, like the pressure change before a storm. The candle flames throughout the hall trembled in unison, though no draft disturbed the heavy tapestries. I looked out toward the guests but no one seemed to find anything amiss. But I knew… something was off with this ceremony.
Valen’s eyes met mine, and I saw knowledge there. He at least had
expected this, perhaps had orchestrated it. The corner of his mouth lifted in the barest suggestion of a smile as Father Eidir produced the ceremonial cord, a length of red and gold intertwined, representing the union of our houses.
“As has been since the first binding decreed by the primordial gods,” the Priest continued, his voice steadier now, as though reciting words he had been instructed to memorize, “so shall it be with this union. Through blood freely given, through power freely shared.”
His hands shook as he began to wrap it around our joined wrists, binding us together in the ancient tradition of Vareth.
“In the presence of these witnesses,” Father Eidir said, “I ask now for both parties’ vows. Once spoken, will never be unbroken.”
“I, Valen of Nocthar, take Mireille of Vareth as my queen and consort.
By blood, I claim her. By will, I bind her. By oath, I keep her.”
A murmur rippled through the Varethian nobility. These were not the traditional words of love and safety. They were changed ever so slightly, and I felt my pulse quicken as I tried to keep my face impassive. I had known of the blood exchange, but this claiming of blood, this binding of will... this was something else entirely.
Father Eidir turned to me, his eyes pleading. For what, I couldn’t say. To refuse? To run? It was far too late for either.
I repeated the words as required, changing them to match Valen’s vows, my voice holding steady. “I, Mireille of Vareth, take Valen of Nocthar as my king and husband. By blood, we are bound. By will, we are one. By oath, we are eternal.”
The moment I uttered the last vow, something in the air shifted. The candles flickered violently, the flame nearest to Valen momentarily darkening before reigniting in a shade of brighter orange. A chill danced along my spine, but when I turned to look up at him, he merely smirked.
Father Eidir produced a ceremonial knife. Not the silver blade traditionally used in Varethian weddings for the symbolic cutting of binding cords, but something older, darker. Its hilt was black iron, twisted into shapes that hurt the eye to follow, its blade curved and gleaming with an edge that seemed impossibly sharp.
“The blood exchange,” Father Eidir announced, his voice barely above a whisper, “to seal the union in the tradition of Nocthar.”
Valen took the knife, handling it with the casual familiarity of a man accustomed to blades. Without hesitation, he drew it across his palm, a
precise, controlled cut that welled with dark blood almost instantly. Then he extended the knife to me, handle first.
I took it, careful not to reveal how my hand wanted to tremble. The hilt was cold against my skin, unnaturally so, as though it had lain in a snowbank rather than the warm hall. The blade seemed to hum with anticipation as I brought it to my own palm.
I had prepared myself for this moment, had told myself it was nothing but barbaric symbolism, a relic of Nocthar’s bloody history. And yet, as I drew the blade across my skin, watching as my own blood rose to meet it, I could not suppress the feeling that I was surrendering something far more precious than a few drops of blood.
Valen took my bleeding hand in his and pressed our wounds together.
The moment our blood mingled, a shock raced up my arm and through my chest, a sensation like lightning seeking ground. My vision blurred at the edges, and for a heartbeat, the great hall seemed to fall away, leaving only Valen and me at what felt like standing at the edge of a cliff. His pupils were blown wide, those full lips parting slightly, the only indication that he too felt this strange communion. For a heartbeat, I thought I saw crimson bleeding into the depths of his irises, but the vision was gone before I could be certain.
I felt... something. A connection forming, tendrils of sensation extending from the point where our hands joined, reaching deeper, winding around something core and essential within me. It was not painful, not precisely, but deeply unsettling, like fingers probing at the edges of a wound.
And then, as suddenly as it came, it changed. A pulse of heat ignited within me, surging through my veins like molten fire. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. A potent mix of power and desire that wrapped around my senses with insistent urgency.
Valen leaned forward, his expression shifting from surprise to a dark hunger that mirrored the wildfire igniting in my chest. The scent of incense faded to nothing, replaced by the intoxicating blend of him.
My body swayed slightly toward him, feeling his breath warm against my cheek, and time itself paused.
Father Eidir cleared his throat, a sharp sound that cut through the haze enveloping us. The world rushed back in with surprising clarity—the flicker of candlelight, the low murmur of the assembled court. Valen’s grip on my hand tightened reflexively, anchoring me against the tide of sensation that had threatened to overwhelm my senses.
A smirk unfurled on Valen’s lips as he met my gaze, a knowing look that carried the weight of future promises and filthy intentions. In that fleeting instant, I saw not just a conqueror but a man who reveled in the chaos he had wrought. It thrilled me even as it terrified me.
Father Eidir began to finish the ceremony, murmuring blessings that sounded more like warnings. When he spoke the final words, pronouncing us wed in the eyes of gods and men, the hall erupted in formal applause that held no joy, only relief that the spectacle was complete.
Valen’s eyes never left mine as he raised our bound hands, a gesture of triumph that made my skin crawl. “You are now mine,” he said, the words barely audible beneath the sound of the gathered crowd.
Something inside me whispered that I had not merely become a wife this night. I had been claimed by a force I did not understand, bound by words whose meaning I had only begun to grasp. The crown upon my head seemed suddenly heavier, the garnets on my dress like drops of my own blood, sacrificed to seal a pact whose true terms remained hidden.
And Valen—the Blood King, my husband—smiled as though he could read every thought that passed through my mind.
As though he had orchestrated not just this ceremony, but every step that had led me to this moment, this binding, this surrender.
The feast that followed was a celebration in name alone.
Golden goblets overflowed with wine as laughter and music filled the great feasting hall, but the merriment rang empty, like the practiced smile of a prisoner awaiting execution.
I sat beside Valen at the high table, watching as the nobility of two kingdoms circled each other with the wary grace of predators sharing a kill.
The shadows seemed to deepen in the corners of the hall despite the hundred candles that blazed in their sconces, and I could not shake the feeling that something unseen watched us all with hungry anticipation.
Servants moved through the crowd like silent ghosts, bearing platters of succulent meats and delicate confections. The palace kitchens had outdone themselves—roasted pheasant glazed with honey, venison swimming in wine sauces, pastries shaped like roses and dusted with sugar that glittered like
frost. A feast fit for a royal wedding, they would say. A proper sendoff for the bastard princess.
Yet, I found I had no appetite. Every bite tasted of dust and iron, every sip of wine only deepening the heaviness in my stomach. I felt uncomfortable with my earlier reaction to Valen, and now, sitting beside him, I did not know how to continue on as if nothing had happened.
“You’re not eating, wife.” Valen’s voice was low enough that only I could hear it, the word ‘wife’ carrying a weight that made my skin prickle.
“The cooks would be disappointed.”
“I find my appetite has deserted me,” I replied, careful to keep my voice steady. “The excitement of the day, I suppose.”
His lips curved into that same knowing smile I’d seen at the altar.
“Indeed. Such momentous occasions often overwhelm the senses.” He lifted his own goblet, the dark wine within almost black in the candlelight.
“Though I do hope your appetite will return in time. For all manner of things.”
I did not miss the implication in his words, nor the way his eyes traveled briefly over my form before returning to my face. The heat of his gaze ignited something within me that I couldn’t quite temper, something dangerously close to attraction. How infuriating it was to feel this rush of desire when all I really wanted was to wipe that smirk off his face.
Instead, I lifted my goblet, the golden vessel cool against my lips. The wine was strong and sweet, a vintage I did not recognize. Nocthari, perhaps. I drank deeply, welcoming the slight burn as it slipped down my throat.
Perhaps if I drank enough, the warmth would spread, thawing the chill that had settled within me.
The goblet was empty before I realized it, and a servant appeared at my elbow to refill it with practiced efficiency. I drank again, willing the wine to wash away the taste of fear and uncertainty. To blur the sharp edges of this day, this night, this new life bound by blood and iron.
Valen watched me with an amusement that bordered on indulgence. He gestured for my goblet to be filled once more, and I did not refuse. As the wine flowed, so too did a looseness in my limbs, a lightness in my head that almost felt like relief. For the first time that evening, I found myself able to breathe without feeling the consuming grip of a hundred eyes pressing against me.
“You’re quiet,” Valen observed, his gaze steady beneath dark lashes.
“Does married life leave you speechless already?”
“Only momentarily,” I replied with more boldness than I’d intended. “I assure you, it will not last.”
He laughed then. A low sound that seemed to vibrate through me, unsettling and yet horribly compelling. I could not look away from him, from those dark eyes that absorbed all light and gave back none in return.
“And here I thought to enjoy a few moments’ peace,” he said, his voice threaded with mock despair. I sat securely in my chair, although the room spun slightly around me, blurring into a swirl of colors and sound.
The wine was doing its work well.
“You should enjoy it while you can,” I said softly, but Valen’s sharp gaze told me he missed none of my words, “for peace is not what you will receive with me, husband.”
I turned my attention to the guests below, not caring to see his reaction to my words, instead watching the interplay of alliances and rivalries unfold like an elaborate dance.
My father’s court kept their distance from the Nocthari contingent, though their eyes strayed often to the black-armored figures who stood out like shadows cast upon new-fallen snow. I imagined King Aeldrin watching from his place across the hall, pretending indifference as he always had.
Valen, for his part, played the role of the victorious groom with unsettling ease. He laughed, he drank, he spoke in low, silken tones to the nobles who dared approach him. And yet, beneath it all, I could feel something else. A pulse, steady and dark, like the beating of a great unseen heart.
It was in the way the candlelight seemed to bend around him, in the way the shadows clung to his form just a fraction too long before dissipating. It was in the way his fingers drummed idly against the table, as though counting something unseen.
And his eyes. Gods, his eyes. Every time I looked at him, I felt as though I were standing on the edge of an abyss. There was something in them that went beyond cruelty, beyond arrogance. A depth of something ancient and patient and terrifying.
The music swelled, a dark and haunting melody that wound its way through the hall like smoke. It was not a tune I recognized from Vareth, too minor, too mournful, but it suited the mood of the evening perfectly.
Valen took my hand, his grip firm, unyielding. “Dance with me.”
The command should have ignited a spark of defiance, yet I found I had
no will to resist. Perhaps it was the wine, warm and thick in my blood, or the curious shift that came with this almost surrender. Or perhaps it was the way he looked at me, not even trying to hide the desire in his gaze. Regardless, I rose without hesitation, allowing him to draw me towards the open floor, aware of every eye tracking our passage. The whispering ceased, replaced by an expectant hush as we took our place, alone, beneath the vaulted ceiling.
His hand rested at the small of my back, drawing me close with an intimacy that felt almost obscene in its public audacity. The music slowed to match our movement, strings and flutes weaving a mournful tapestry around us. Valen’s grip was possessive as he guided me through the steps, but there was something else there too… a heat that made me shiver despite my best efforts to suppress it.
I met his gaze even as my pulse quickened. He was beautiful in a way I’d never allow myself to admit. A dark god fallen from some violent realm to claim what he deemed his own. As we spun beneath the hovering silence, I wondered if I could play my own game… Let myself want him. Let myself desire him just enough to keep him satisfied, while I maneuvered the pieces to my own advantage.
That may be the true danger to this surrender. Not that I would lose, but that I might start to enjoy playing.
The thought should have alarmed me more than it did. Was this how it began? A slow erosion of self, chipped away by the thrill of matching wits and wills with a man who thrived on conquest?
“Have I told you how stunning you look tonight?” Valen’s voice was smooth as silk, brushing against the tension that hung between us. He leaned closer, the warmth of his breath ghosting across my cheek, igniting an unwelcome flutter in my chest. “Your gown suits you beautifully.”
I forced a haughty smile, unwilling to reveal how his compliment stirred something dangerous within me. “Flattery won’t win you any favors here, Valen. I am hardly impressed by any attempts at charm.”
“Ah, but it is charming, is it not?” His lips curled into a smirk that set my heart racing. “And if it befits my queen to hear praise on her wedding day, then who am I to deprive her of such a pleasure?”
I arched an eyebrow at him, refusing to let his playful tone disarm me.
“Pleasure is hardly what one feels when they are bound to a bloodthirsty king.”
Valen chuckled softly as we twirled, his movements confident and fluid.
“Oh, but that’s where you’re mistaken, wife.” He lowered his voice further, almost conspiratorially. “There are countless ways I can make you feel pleasure while bound.”
I tried to muster a dismissive laugh, but it caught in my throat, replaced by a warmth that spread across my skin like wildfire. I was not prepared for the way his words ignited an unexpected coil of heat, nor how alluring his playful confidence could be. “I see you are arrogant as well as bloodthirsty,”
I retorted, though the slight tremor in my voice betrayed my attempt at bravado.
Valen’s lips curled further, the smirk transforming into a full-fledged grin that illuminated his features with a disarming charm. “One must possess certain qualities to rule as I do. Arrogance is merely confidence wearing its finest attire,” he replied smoothly. “And who better than my wife to appreciate it? Soon you’ll grow accustomed to my many talents.”
I rolled my eyes dramatically, though beneath the pretense of disdain, I felt heat creeping up my neck and settling into my cheeks. “You certainly have a talent for self-aggrandizement.”
“Is that not the mark of a true king?” He drew me closer, the fabric of my gown brushing between his legs, creating a sensation that made me acutely aware of everything. Every flicker of his breath against my skin, every glimmer of mischief in his dark eyes. “Besides, if you find my charms overwhelming now, just wait until we are alone.” His voice dropped to a nefarious whisper that sent shivers coiling down my spine.
“Do you always proclaim your intentions so boldly?” I shot back, fighting to keep the teasing tone from cracking under the force of his gaze. “Or is being insufferable part of your charm?”
Valen laughed, the sound low and sultry, sending a tremor through me that I desperately tried to stifle. “You will find, dear wife, that I am nothing if not forthright.” His dark eyes flashed with an intensity that ignited a flicker of something in my core. Whether it was fear, desire, or both, I could not tell.
“And as for insufferable... well, perhaps I only reserve that for special occasions.”
“Such as your wedding day?” I asked, unable to suppress my smile any longer.
He leaned closer as we twirled again. “Precisely. You see how much care I’ve taken today? A lavish wedding requires an equally grand performance from both sides.”
“I might remind you that this isn’t quite the celebration most brides envision.”
“But there lies the beauty… the unexpected makes for a far more interesting tale,” he said with an arch of his brow. “What better story can be told than that of Vareth’s bastard princess captured in a web of intrigue by her dark and mysterious husband?”
I couldn’t help it. I found myself laughing—a genuine sound that danced above the din of murmured conversations around us. “You think yourself dark and mysterious?”
“Am I not?” he asked innocently, acting as if he were genuinely unaware of how others perceived him.
“You’re certainly something.” The challenge was bold on my lips— inviting and biting—and I relished it as his expression shifted subtly at my words.
“You flatter me, wife,” he replied, his grin turning lazy. “But tell me, what do the good people of Vareth truly say about me? Surely you’ve heard whispers.”
I raised an eyebrow at the sudden shift in tone, noting how the lighthearted banter had been replaced by a more serious undertone. It was as though he sought to peel back the layers of my thoughts, eager to dissect the opinions that swirled around him like shadows.
“Whispers,” I echoed, leaning back slightly as we spun once more, determined not to let him see how much his question stirred something within me. “Should you not ask your own courtiers, the ones who seem enamored with your reputation?”
“But they dare not speak as freely as you,” he mused, a playful lilt to his voice returning as he tightened his grip on my waist. “Not with my presence so keenly felt. No, only your delicate lips have the freedom to share brutal truths.”
My eyes widened. Was that a compliment to my lips from the Butcher?
I realized he still waited on an answer, and I tried to focus on a political response. We were entering perilous ground, but I could hardly turn away from this particular dance.
“They say many things,” I began slowly, searching his gaze for any flicker of reaction. “That you leave destruction in your wake. That you—“ I hesitated, then decided actual truth might serve me better than half-lies. “That you bathe in the blood of virgins to maintain your youth.”
Valen’s eyebrows arched slightly, amusement simmering just beneath the surface. “And do you believe these tales, wife?”
“I believe there is often truth at the heart of even the most outlandish rumors,” I replied carefully. “Though details may be distorted in the telling.”
“Wise,” he acknowledged, executing a turn that brought his lips close to my ear. “And in this case, entirely accurate. I prefer the blood of my enemies to that of virgins. It carries more power, you see.”
I couldn’t suppress this shudder that passed through me at his words, spoken with such casual certainty that I knew, without doubt, he was telling the truth. This man before me—king, conqueror, and now, my husband—was a creature whose literal thirst for blood sent tremors through my resolve.
“Does that frighten you?” he asked, reading my reaction with unsettling accuracy.
“Should it?” I murmured, meeting his gaze, refusing to let him see how much he affected me.
Something flickered in those black depths… approval, maybe anticipation. “Yes, sparrow. You should fear me greatly.”
The music began to fade, signaling the end of our dance, but neither of us stepped away.
“And yet,” I replied softly, “I find that I do not.”
It was a lie, of course. Fear now coursed through me like ice water, sharp and clarifying. But in that moment, with his body against mine and his eyes searching my face for weakness, I understood that showing fear would be tantamount to surrender. And I would never fully surrender.
Not to this man.
Not to this fate.
A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes, a predator’s recognition of unexpected resistance. His fingers tightened fractionally at my waist as the final notes of the music drifted in the air between us, stretching the moment beyond comfort.
Valen’s hold on me loosened, his gaze searching mine with an intensity that seemed to pierce through flesh and bone.
“These mortal customs have begun to bore me. Shall we retire?” he asked, his voice a velvet whisper in the sudden quiet.
I pulled back slightly, confused by his odd terminology and lack of propriety. It almost drew another laugh from my lips. “Do you not think a speech is in order?” I stalled, letting my eyes flicker to where our audience
awaited our next move. The nobles of Vareth and Nocthar alike watched with bated breath, eager for the unfolding drama of this union.
A shadow of amusement crossed his features. “Yes, I suppose it is expected,” he said with a mock sigh. His grip on my hand tightened, pulling me toward the dais.
He held the attention of the entire court as he began to speak, his voice cutting through the din with the casual confidence of a god addressing his worshippers.
“Lords and ladies,” he droned, almost lazily, casting a sweeping glance over the assembled courtiers. “Tonight marks the beginning of a monumental union, one long awaited by both our kingdoms.”
There was a stirring in the crowd at his words, a murmur that rippled outward like water in a pond. Faces turned toward each other as alliances were silently recalculated, futures weighed and measured.
Valen continued, his tone commanding attention with every word. “Some may have doubted this day would come,” he said, allowing a pause for effect.
“But doubt is for those who lack vision.” His gaze swept over them, and I could see the unease creeping in among the Varethians. “Tonight, we prove that power must be claimed, not inherited. We lay the foundations for a new order, one that will echo throughout history.”
The murmur grew louder, a seething undercurrent of speculation and surprise. I felt my father’s eyes on me now, a weight I had long grown accustomed to. Valen maintained his hold on my hand, almost as if he dared anyone to question his claim.
“We stand at the threshold of a new era,” Valen declared, the room falling silent once more. “An era where Vareth and Nocthar are bound not by war, but by marriage. By blood. A bond stronger than any blade or treaty.”
He turned to me then, drawing me closer with a possessive certainty that left no room for doubt. “And this alliance would not have been possible without my bride,” he said softly, though his words carried easily to every corner of the hall. My breath caught in my throat as his gaze held mine so intently. “A woman who has enchanted me so completely.”
He paused, studying my reaction, seeing how my breath came faster, how I knew my pupils had enlarged.
He then lifted his glass to the crowd. “To Nocthar’s future queen,” his voice louder, “And to what we will accomplish together.”
The nobles erupted into applause, a cacophony of approval and
acquiescence drowning out any dissenting voices. No one had ever given a toast to me, and I was completely, utterly, unmoored by it, even knowing it was expected.
Valen’s lips brushed my knuckles in a mockery of gallantry before leading me from the dais. My heart thundered in my chest. Not from fear or reluctance, but from something far more dangerous.
Desire.
