The thought made something warm and anticipatory curl in my stomach. Not fear. Excitement. Like I was finally testing whether the structure he'd promised was real. Whether his word was reliable. Whether he'd actually follow through with the discipline he'd outlined in our contract.
I grinned at the ceiling and reached out for the citadel's storm-warning system.
Just to see how it worked.
Thestorm-warningsystemwaselegant in its simplicity. A series of sensors distributed across the citadel's exterior measured atmospheric pressure, humidity, and electrical potential. When those readings indicated dangerous weather approaching, the system triggered alarms to give residents time to secure themselves.
The sensors fed data continuously to a central processing unit, which analyzed patterns and made automated decisions about threat levels. The whole thing ran on its own dedicated circuit—separate from the main power grid to ensure it would function even during outages.
I was just curious how it worked. That's all. Just wanted to understand the mechanism. See how the sensors communicated with the processor.
I sent a gentle pulse through the sensor network. Just examining. Not trying to activate anything. Just following the current to see how the data flowed—
The entire system exploded into emergency mode.
Klaxons screamed throughout the citadel. Not the gentle warning chimes I'd imagined. Full-throated alarm bells designed to penetrate walls and wake sleeping residents. The sound was deafening even through my closed nursery door.
Lightning-bolt shaped warning lights began flashing in every corridor. I could feel them through my electrical sense—hundreds of red strobing lights activating simultaneously, drawing enormous power from the backup batteries designed to keep them functional during storms.
Oh no.
My electrical signature had been interpreted as an incoming superstorm. The sensors had felt my power pulsing through their circuits and concluded that atmospheric conditions were catastrophically dangerous. Every warning system in the citadel thought death was approaching on lightning wings.
I froze, electricity still crackling enthusiastically across my hands. The nursery lights flickered in response to my panic. The bedside lamp exploded in a shower of glass and sparks.
"Emergency storm alert!" Someone's voice carried through the chaos. "All personnel to secure positions! This is not a drill!"
Oh no.
Oh no no no.
I tried to pull my power back from the warning system. Tried to convince it that there was no storm, no danger, just an idiotnewly-transformed girl who'd poked something she shouldn't have touched.
The klaxons screamed louder. I must have triggered a secondary system, because now I heard metallic grinding as storm shutters began to deploy over the exterior windows.
Through the bond, I felt Zephyron's attention snap toward me like a lightning strike. One moment he'd been focused on tactical discussions in the war room. The next, his awareness locked onto my location with predatory precision.
His emotions flooded through our connection. Assessment—the warning system triggered, my power signature all over the circuits. Recognition—I'd done exactly what he'd told me not to do. And underneath it all, satisfaction. Like I'd confirmed something he'd been waiting to see.
The bond hummed with his command. Not words. Just intent that crashed through my consciousness like thunder: Stay. There.
I stayed.
My hands were shaking now. Electricity arced between my fingers in chaotic patterns, responding to my panic. I tried to calm down. Tried to get control of my power before I accidentally triggered something else.
The klaxons finally stopped. Someone had manually shut down the warning system. The sudden silence was almost worse than the noise—it left room for imagining what was about to happen.
I could hear staff throughout the citadel. Confused voices. People checking the actual weather—which was clear and calm apart from that distant storm over the ocean. Trying to figure out what had caused a false alarm in a system that was supposed to be foolproof.
I sank to the floor, too anxious to stay in bed. The broken lamp sparked weakly beside the nightstand. Scorch markstraced across the carpet where I'd accidentally discharged while panicking.
Through the bond, I felt Zephyron excuse himself from the meeting. Felt his purposeful movement through the citadel corridors. Felt his controlled emotions—not anger, never anger, but stern attention. Authority. The Storm Lord who'd just watched his mate trigger a citadel-wide emergency after explicitly being told not to experiment with her powers.
Ten minutes. That's how long it took him to reach the nursery. Ten minutes where I sat surrounded by evidence of my mischief—the broken lamp, the scorch marks, the electricity that wouldn't stop crackling because I was too worked up to control it properly.
Ten minutes to feel both proud and guilty. Proud because I'd interfaced with sophisticated systems and mostly succeeded. Guilty because I'd deliberately broken his rule and caused real chaos rather than just harmless light shows.
Ten minutes to realize I was absolutely going to face consequences and some part of me wanted that. Needed to know if he'd really follow through. If the structure he'd promised was real or just words.
