Cold stone and iron bars—at least there was distance. This was too intimate. Every object had been touched by him, chosen by him, arranged exactly how he wanted, and now I was part of the collection.
I crossed to the window and looked down.
No rooftops to climb across, just a sheer drop. Even if I survived, I’d freeze before I reached the city.
I pressed my forehead to the glass, swallowing a scream as I took in the devastation of Skalgard.
Outside, the sun had begun to set, painting the ruined city in gold. But the rubble was…shifting. Stone grinding softly against stone. Cracks sealing themselves with thin veins of pale light. A collapsed wall dragged itself upright, stones knitting together.
“What’s happening?”
“Dragon magic,” Vaeris said, directly behind me. “I made an arrangement with one of them.”
I spun around, heart slamming against my ribs.
He stood less than three paces away. The shadows peeled from his shoulders like smoke. He’d changed—the bloodied armor gone, replaced by a midnight-blue tunic, and his hair was damp.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough. It’s four stories,” he continued mildly. “Onto frozen ground. You’ll shatter both legs, if yousurvived at all, and then my guards would carry you back up here.”
He didn’t move, watching me with those frostbitten eyes.
“There’s nowhere to run.”
I swallowed hard. “What do you plan to do with me?”
Vaeris opened his mouth. Closed it. Then he let out a breath and walked to a leather-backed chair. He sank into it, bracing his elbows on his knees.
“I have no idea,” he laughed. “I never thought I’d get this far.”
A sick feeling settled in my stomach. This room was…weird. The air pressed against my skin, and I shivered despite the fire in the hearth. I kept glancing at the door, praying someone would enter.
The chair creaked.
I tensed.
Vaeris rose slowly, unfolding from his seat like a shadow given form. He watched me, his head tilting, then stepped forward.
“You’re different,” he murmured.
He stopped a few feet away, his brow furrowing. His nostrils flared once. Twice. Something shifted in his expression—confusion bleeding into focus.
“What is that?”
He inched closer. I pressed harder against the window.
“That scent. Underneath yours. It’s…”
He sniffed again, deeper this time, frowning. A muscle jumped in his cheek.
“No,” he breathed.
He crossed the distance in two strides, grabbing my wrist and yanking it toward his face. He inhaled, and I tried to wrench free, but he was too strong.
When he looked up, his eyes were blazing.
He paused, studying my face. “Oh.”
