The words dug into Loren like iron barbs, twisting and cruel. His chest heaved, each breath trembling with barely-contained fury. Jaxon didn’t just own her name—he ownedher. Loren pictured those hands on her skin, that voice whispering lies into her ear—and she would have no defense against him.
Blood pooled on his tongue, hot and metallic, and before he could stop himself, Loren twisted his head and spat.
Jaxon’s grin faltered, his dark eyes narrowing as he slowlydragged his hand over his face, studying the blood smeared there. Then, his lips curled into a new smile—one sharper, colder, and infinitely more dangerous.
“Now we’re getting somewhere, Your Highness,” Jaxon purred. “What is it about her that puts that fire in you? Do you think you can actually do anything to save her?”
Loren stayed silent, his jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ached. Jaxon could never know why he cared so deeply about her.
Jaxon sighed, shaking his head. “So predictable.”
He wiped his blade clean, tucking it back into his kit before rolling it up, bundling his tools away. “Don’t worry—we have all the time in the world. Who knows—you started down here with my father. Maybe one day it will be my child here torturing you instead of me. Do you think they’ll get Araya’s hair? It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? I love seeing it wrapped around my fist?—”
A violent snarl ripped from Loren’s throat as he strained against his chains, but they didn’t give this time.
Not like before.
It hadn’t been strength that freed him that night—it had been fear. Fear forher, fueling his desperate, all-consuming need to reach her. To save her.
But she didn’t need to be saved. She’dchosenJaxon Shaw.
The knowledge burned hotter than iron. She had returned to the man who hurt him, the man who owned her name—who wielded it like a weapon. She had gone back to the man who carved into him like meat. Back to the hands that held the blade. The bond didn’t care. It pulled at him anyway—tight, unrelenting, aching with every breath. It refused to let go of her, even as his pride screamed that he should.
Because gods help him… he still wanted her safe.
Jaxon didn’t even flinch. He took his time, wiping his blade clean with a deliberate slowness, savoring Loren’s ragged breathing.
“Rest up, Your Highness,” he said, shouldering his kit andrapping twice on the door. “Maybe if you cooperate, I’ll let you see her again.”
The chains loosened as soon as the door slammed shut behind him, dropping Loren’s broken body onto the sticky puddle of blood on the stone floor. He retched from the pain, but nothing came up. His head spun, hazy from pain and blood loss.
The shadows slunk out of their corners, coiling around him like silent sentinels now that Jaxon was gone. Their whispers brushed over him, her name echoing in the darkness. They wanted to see her again.
Goddess, so did he.
But it was too dangerous. Jaxon already had her name—if he ever learned she was Loren’s mate...he wouldn’t need chains. Just her.
Chapter
Thirteen
Araya descendedinto the depths of the Aetherium, every reluctant step carrying her closer to the chained prince she never wanted to see again. His shadows pressed in around her—no longer content to linger politely in the corners where they belonged. Instead, they slid through the cracks in the walls and pooled in the seams of the floor, thicker than darkness should be—slithering at the edges of her vision and curling their dark tendrils around her ankles.
“Leave me alone,” she whispered. “I don’t know what you want.”
But they didn’t listen.
Their voices rose in a hissing, whispered chorus—like wind through dead branches, or knives dragged over wet stone. The words didn’t make sense, not in any language she knew, but they meant something. She could feel it—scraping along the inside of her skull, tugging at memories she’d buried long ago.
She squeezed her eyes shut, gripping the railing until her knuckles ached. It had been weeks since Jaxon first brought her here—long enough that Araya had started to nurture a flicker of hope that the Arcanum would deny Garrick’s request for her clearance. But this morning, she’d found the note on her workbench.
Meet me, it read. Jaxon hadn’t signed it, hadn’t said where to meet him—but she knew. And she knew what would be waiting for her when she got there.
She pressed her palm to the first iron door, that last ember of hope guttering out as the runes carved into it flared silver-blue under her touch. It swung open, confirming exactly what she had dreaded. The Arcanum had granted her clearance. There was no escaping what they wanted from her now.
Get the prince to talk to her. Convince him to trust her. Then betray him.
It was just another task. No different than the others they’d assigned her over the years. Working for them was the price of the freedom they’d allowed her. This was the same.
