Vanished into shadow like he was never there.
I stand alone in front of the mirror, wearing his dress, feeling the ghost of his hands on my waist.
And I know—with a certainty that makes me want to scream—that when tomorrow comes, I won’t tell him no.
Chapter 17
Bree
I wake in silk.
The dress clings to my skin like shadow, dark and unfamiliar. I never chose this. The fabric pools around me on cold stone, and when I move, it slides against me with a whisper that makes my skin crawl.
Where am I?
The chamber breathes around me—black stone walls, silver fire flickering without heat. Everything is wrong. The air tastes like smoke and frost, and underneath it all, something that makes my stomach turn.
Hunger.
I try to remember how I got here. The sanctuary. The fountain. Ethos’s voice threading through my mind like silk ribbon around my throat.
“Come to me, little queen.”
I must have followed. Must have walked through shadows or mirrors or whatever pathway he laid out for me. But the memory feels hazy, dreamlike. Like watching someone else’s life through thick glass.
The mirror catches my attention.
It stands against the far wall—black iron scrollwork, ornate and ancient. The kind of mirror that belongs in nightmares. When I lookinto it, my reflection stares back, but there’s something in my eyes I don’t recognize.
Surrender.
The thought comes from nowhere, settling in my chest like a weight I don’t remember picking up. I should be afraid. Should be fighting to get out of here. Instead, I just… exist. Suspended in this strange space between terror and something that might be relief.
I’m tired of fighting.
The realization whispers through me, and part of me—a part I don’t want to acknowledge—finds comfort in it.
“You waited for me.”
His voice comes from behind me, warm and intimate. I don’t turn around. Can’t, maybe. Or won’t. In the mirror, I watch my reflection’s eyes flutter closed at the sound.
Ethos moves behind me like shadow given form. I feel him more than see him—heat at my back, the whisper of breath against my neck. The silver fire along the walls pulses once—like a heartbeat beneath the stone. Then his fingers brush my shoulder, and electricity shoots down my spine.
“I told you that you would choose,” he murmurs, and his voice is everything I’ve been missing. Certainty. Desire without apology. “Look how beautiful you are when you stop fighting.”
My reflection shows me the truth. The dark silk clinging to curves I usually hide. My lips parted, breath coming quick and shallow. The hunger in my own eyes that I’ve been denying for so long.
I want this.
The thought should horrify me. Instead, it settles somewhere deep in my chest and stays.
His hand slides down my arm, fingers trailing electricity. Where he touches, cold shoots through me—sharp and sudden—but then it’s gone, replaced by heat that makes me lean back against him.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispers against my ear.
“I—” The words stick in my throat. Because I do want. I want to be desired without hesitation. I want to be chosen without question. I want to take instead of always giving until there’s nothing left.
“I want to stop being afraid,” I whisper.
