Her eyes snapped shut, a stabbing pain throbbing at her temples as the memory she fought to contain began to seep through her defenses.
“Minva sölk harn.”
She sucked in a ragged breath, clinging to the mental path she had painstakingly constructed. But one by one, the bricks crumbled, giving way to the heterochromatic gaze that haunted her dreams.
Shit.She pressed her eyelids tighter, as if sheer will could barricade the past. But this memory defied every attempt at control; no mastery, no ritual had ever been enough to contain it once unleashed.
In a single breath, she was transported back—back to being twelve, naive, and sheltered in the capital, back to the night Thane, the Hunter's older brother, had quietly slipped into her room after her lady's maid had tucked her in.
His presence had been confusing but not immediately alarming. Elara had recognized him from court—always alongside his younger brother, his striking features made moreunusual by his mismatched eyes and the posture of a man bound to a place he clearly despised.
Elara's interactions with the both of them had been nothing more than brief, awkward exchanges—stiff and formal, staged during the times Osin paraded her around to burnish his own image of sanctity. She hadn’t really minded; those court gatherings had been her rare chances to watch other children, the noble offspring who were always so proper, if not a bit mischievous.
The Hunter had always stood out to her among them. Even at the young age of thirteen, every move he made seemed calculated, every facial expression meticulously controlled. He had a sharp, almost prickly demeanor, a coldness that suggested distance and a touch of superiority.
Never once did she think he had noticed her, so absorbed did he seem in maintaining his composed, untouchable façade. That was, until the night his brother crept into her room.
All she vividly recalled was the shock that gripped her as the cold edge of Thane's blade traced her throat, the surreal warmth of blood streaming down her neck, and the strange pang of guilt for the brand-new chemise, now ruined, and how her lady’s maid would fret.
She didn’t even scream—didn’t get the chance to—before the room erupted into chaos. There was a shout, the crash of something breaking, and then—the dark, wide eyes of the Hunter fixed above her, swirling with a depth of emotion she had never seen in him before.
His trembling hands had gripped her neck, stanching the blood flow, while his words spilled out feverishly like a sacred chant. “Minva sölk harn. Minva sölk harn. Minva sölk harn,”he had hissed, his words moving over her skin like fire, burning into her memory until at last, a healer had arrived to take over.
The Hunter had saved her that day, and even now, she couldn't fathom why.
“Minva sölk harn,”he had murmured, a litany against the panic. Those ancient words had flowed from him as naturally as breath. She hadn’t understood them then, but the earnest tremor in his voice and the image of his ashen, stricken face were something she would never forget.
Thane's betrayal had cost his family everything. From what Elara had pieced together, the boy was cast out to the bleak fringes of the realm, his family name shorn of its titles. And for the Hunter's unwavering loyalty, he was spared—taken from his family by Osin and made into his personal ward, entrusting the Hunter with responsibilities and shaping his identity to align with his own strategic goals.
Once, he had a name, one that Elara could almost remember, but now it lingered just out of reach. Now, he was only known as the Hunter, his name lost to the life he'd been forced to abandon.
And Elara knew he hated her for it—hated himself even more. She could sense it—the heavy, charged air of it—every time they occupied the same space.
“Rise.”
Elara flinched at Osin's abrupt command, her gaze snapping up to find Godfrey arranging tray after tray brimming with vials of her blood.Gods.She had been so caught up in the Hunter’s sudden arrival, so completely consumed by the shock of seeing him again, that she hadn’t realized the ritual had ended.
She struggled to her feet, her legs shaking as a dizzying wave swept over her, blurring the edges of her vision.
She had given far too much this time.
Her temples pounded as Godfrey tended to her wounds. The vile touch of his ether crawled up her damp palms, and she fought to keep from recoiling as it twisted around her wrists and stitched her skin back together. But even with his treatment,her scars would never leave. Wounds inflicted by ethereal means always left traces, whether borne on the surface or etched deep within, and Elara carried too many to count.
Once Godfrey completed his task, he gingerly picked up the tray, his hands trembling noticeably as he navigated toward the distant end of the room. With great care, he set it down at the ceremonial table before joining Fenlin in a silent vigil.
Elara rolled her shoulders, trying to shake off some of the tension, and took a deep breath, bracing herself for the onslaught of venomous words Osin seemed to relish. It was always the same with him—petty jabs meant to wound, a dismissive wave, and then she'd be free of this cursed room for another three months.
She watched him as he rose from his throne, a lazy yet calculated movement, and closed the gap between them.
“You wear your suffering so elegantly, Hallowed. It's almost a pity the rest of the realm doesn't get to witness it as I do.” Osin’s thumbs traced her newly sealed wounds in an intimate mockery of comfort, and she flinched, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth.
Osin tilted his head slightly, a tender smile pulling at his lips. “Such a delicate thing, yet so full of fire,” he whispered affectionately. “You know, it's always the ones who fight the hardest who break the most spectacularly in the end. Idohope you won't disappoint me.”
Heat scorched her neck, a wild storm of anger and shame building inside her. She shook with the effort to hold it back.
A satisfied smile curled on his lips as he gave her wrists one last squeeze before letting go.
“You're dismissed.”
