"This can be civilized," he said, lifting the collar from its box. "You can sit, let me put this on, and we can continue our evening. Or..." He let the threat hang.
"I won't wear it."
"Won't you?" He moved toward her slowly, collar in hand. "You have such limited options here."
She darted left, trying to get around him to the fireplace where there were tools, weapons. He cut her off easily, herding her toward the corner.
"This game grows tiresome," he said.
When he lunged, she was ready, dropping and rolling beneath his grasp. But he was fae, faster than human reflexes could match. His hand caught her braid, yanking her back. She cried out, hands going to her hair.
"Such spirit," he murmured, using the grip to force her to her knees. "Let's see how long that lasts."
She fought him, clawing at his hands, trying to twist away. But he was stronger than she could hope to match. He forced her head back, exposing her throat, and she felt the cold metal settle against her skin.
The moment it clicked shut, something changed.
The fight drained out of her, siphoned away like water through a drain. Her raised fist fell, the strength in her arms evaporating. The fury that had been burning in her chest dimmed to an ember, leaving her gasping.
"There we are." He released her hair, stepping back to admire his work. "Much better."
She raised shaking hands to the collar, fingers finding the latch. It wouldn't budge, sealed by magic or mechanism she couldn't determine. The metal was ice-cold against her throat, pressing against the marks Eliam had left.
"What did you—"
"It's quite ingenious, really." He produced a length of pale blue ribbon from his pocket, threaded with tiny silver bells that chimed softly. "The more you fight, the more it takes. Your defiance, your anger, your will to resist—it feeds on all of it."
He knelt in front of her, threading the ribbon through a loop in the collar she hadn't noticed. The bells chimed with every movement, delicate and musical and horrible.
"Eventually," he continued, tying the ribbon in an elaborate bow, "you'll learn not to fight at all. It's so much easier to simply... comply."
The warmth in her chest recoiled from the collar's magic, shrinking deeper inside her. She felt disconnected from it, like trying to reach something through thick glass.
"We're going for a walk." He stood, holding the end of the ribbon like a leash. "You can walk beside me with dignity, or I can drag you. Your choice."
She tried to summon anger at the mockery of choice, but the collar pulled it away before it could fully form, leaving her feeling hollow and strange. When she tried to stand on her own, her legs shook from the energy drain.
"I see you need a moment to adjust." His satisfaction was palpable. "The first drain is always the most dramatic. You'll learn to manage it. Or not."
He waited while she struggled to her feet, the bells chiming with every movement. The sound would announce her presence wherever they went, ensuring everyone looked, everyone saw what she'd become.
"Come." He tugged the ribbon gently. "I have something to show you. Some new additions to my collection you might find... interesting."
The way he said it made dread pool in her stomach. She followed on unsteady legs, the bells singing her humiliation with every step, the collar a weight around her throat that had nothing to do with its physical presence.
Whatever he wanted to show her, she knew it would be another cruelty, another turn of the knife. But the collar had taken her ability to properly resist, leaving her hollow and compliant, exactly as he'd intended.
Chapter ten
The corridors grew colder as they descended, ice forming naturally on the stone walls. Malachar led her through passages that seemed carved from the mountain itself, the ribbon taut between them, bells chiming with each unsteady step. Her legs still shook from the collar's drain, though she'd stopped actively fighting it. Each time anger rose, it siphoned it away, leaving her feeling hollow.
"The dungeons here are quite different from your Forest Lord's," Malachar said conversationally, as if they were taking a pleasant tour. "We don't need oubliettes or iron bars. The mountain itself serves as prison. The cold does what chains cannot."
They passed cells carved directly into rock, most empty, some containing shapes she didn't want to examine too closely. Frost covered everything, and her breath misted in the air despite the warm gown.
"Here we are." He stopped before a larger cell, gesturing with theatrical pleasure. "My newest acquisitions."
At first, she couldn't process what she was seeing. Thaine sat against the far wall, frost in his dark hair, his hunting leathers inadequate against the cold. Beside him—practically on top of him—was Karse, pressed close enough that it should have been comical except for how wrong the Drak looked. His scales had dulled from their usual iridescent black-green to something gray and lifeless. His reptilian eyes were half-closed, and she could see him shivering—actually shivering—his body unable to maintain its usual furnace heat.
