Jaxon hadpurchasedher. The thought of it made him sick—that she’d insisted it was her choice made it worse. Did she kneel willingly before the monster that would destroy their people? Did she look up into his eyes and smile?
The shadows stirred at the edges of the cell, sensing his turmoil. They slithered around him, their angry whispers scraping over his mind like shards of glass. They all spoke over each other, their voicesa confused cacophony of orders and accusations. Loren could almost never understand them now, except when they chantedhername, tearing at the already frayed threads of his sanity.
Somewhere outside, footsteps echoed. Loren's eyes snapped open, his heart hammering in time with the heavy cadence. He knew that gait—Jaxon was back.
The door groaned open, and the shadows scattered like rats, slinking away to hide in the corners of the cell like they always did when someone came. Loren glared after them. What good was being heir to the shadows if they only ever tormented him?
“Your Highness,” Jaxon drawled, his smirk firmly in place. The guard closed the door behind him, the key grating in the lock again. “I hope I’m not interrupting. I know you have a busy schedule.”
Loren fixed his gaze on the far wall, locking his eyes onto the cracked stone there. His silence had been his shield for years. He'd faltered when he spoke to her—but he wouldn't give Jaxon the satisfaction of getting under his skin a second time.
Jaxon chuckled, shaking his head like a teacher humoring a stubborn pupil. “Back to pretending to be mute? That’s fine.”
He crossed the cell with measured steps, unrolling his leather kit and hanging it from the hook driven into the wall. The dim light glinted off the tools inside—blades, hooks, clamps—Loren knew the iron-edged bite of every one of them at this point.
“Let’s make this easy,” Jaxon said, selecting a wickedly curved blade. “Tell me your true name, and we can skip the rest—” he waved the knife lazily. “Maybe I even get you some real food, hm?”
Loren pressed his lips into a firm line. He wouldn’t hand over his name—not ever. That Jaxon already hadhers…that was bad enough. He could use it to make her do anything he wanted—and she wouldn’t even have the power, or the knowledge, to fight back.
She’d been seven years old when they took it from her. When they killed her mother in front of her. When they mutilated her body and branded her with their runes. And nowheowned it—owned her.
Humanity had a lot to answer for. And if Loren ever got thechance, he would make Jaxon Shaw choke on what he’d stolen from her.
Jaxon sighed, rolling his shoulders before tilting his head until his neck cracked. “Have it your way, then,” he said, grinning. “I’ll have fun either way.” He lifted a hand, flicking his fingers with lazy precision as the burnt stench of his stolen magic filled the cell.
Loren hissed as his bindings wrenched tighter, iron biting deep into the raw, open wounds on his wrists. The manacles glowed faintly, the runes etched into the metal pulsing as they forced Loren’s arms out, stretching them painfully wide against the cold stone.
Jaxon closed the distance between them in a few leisurely strides, twirling the knife in his hand. Loren bared his teeth as the man ran his eyes over Loren’s pinned body, assessing. Then, almost casually, Jaxon pressed the blade against Loren’s shoulder.
Loren swallowed his scream as cold iron bit through the thin, filthy shirt and into his skin. Sharp, searing pain blazed along the thin line. Hot, sticky blood soaked his shirt, spilling down his arm and splashing onto the stones.
"See? I’m trying to be gentle," Jaxon sighed deeply, twisting the blade slightly. “But you make it so difficult.”
Loren ground his teeth, locking his jaw as he forced himself to remain silent. He fixed his gaze on the far wall, willing himself to think of nothing but the crack in that stone until Jaxon’s voice faded and blurred?—
The iron edge scraped bone, wrenching a ragged cry from his throat.
“Focus, Your Highness,” Jaxon chided, clicking his tongue softly. “I’m speaking to you.”
He stepped back, letting the knife hang lazily at his side as his dark eyes swept over Loren’s blood-soaked shirt, admiring his work.
“Araya came up with a very interesting theory about the Shadowed Veil,” he said idly. “She doesn’t think it’s a curse at all. She thinks it’s some sort of ancient magic tied to your bloodline. Isn’t that a fascinating theory?”
Do not react.Loren hung from his restraints. He ached, every breath coming slow and measured as he fought the instinct to look up and snarl. She was close—too close to the truth.
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Jaxon continued. “Your ancestors—they must have kept it tethered somehow. But when your father died you didn’t step up.”
Loren’s jaw tightened at the accusation. Only because the Arcanum had him shackled in iron in this cursed cell, where the shadows cowered in corners instead of obeying him. But he couldn’t say that, couldn’t defend himself. He needed to stay silent.
“It’s such a shame, really,” Jaxon shook his head. “She’s brilliant. She could have been extraordinary—if only she was human.”
Loren’s fists clenched, the iron shackles biting deeper into his raw wrists. His breath hitched, a slight tremor betraying the storm raging inside him. Jaxon didn’t miss it. His expression sharpened, satisfaction gleaming in his dark eyes.
“But you’ve noticed that, haven’t you?” He continued, trailing the tip of his knife across Loren’s chest. “Is that why you can’t stand the thought of her being with me?”
Loren stared at the crack in the wall, his vision blurring as Jaxon wielded her name like another blade, twisting deeply into an already gaping wound. But the human stepped closer, leaning in until Loren could feel his breath against his blood and sweat-slicked skin.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she? So eager to please. And when she touches me…” Jaxon’s soft laugh slid under Loren’s skin. “You should have seen her last night.”
