The lich’s eye-flames flickered. “The Marquis doesn’t deal in gold, holy man. He deals in secrets. Or flesh. Usually both.”

The Marquis of Midnight resided in the Oubliette of Open Wounds , a cathedral built upside-down, its altar on the ceiling and its congregation hanging from iron hooks. Kaelen was escorted through levels of debauchery that would shatter a normal mind.

Kaelen had a choice. Die with his secrets or pay with his shame.

“The price is not gold or service,” the Marquis said, leaning forward. “The price is a single moment. Your most secret sin. Uncensored. You will live it again, fully, in front of this court. And you will not look away.”

“I didn’t burn her for magic,” he whispered. “I burned her because I caught her in bed with my father. And I wanted the farm.”