Before I can form another protest through the haze of pain, he’s gone, the doors closing behind him with a heavy, final click. The sound of locks engaging echoes through the chamber, sealing me in.
The moment I’m alone, my legs give out.
I crumple to the marble floor, the silk robe tangling around me as sobs tear from my chest. Not graceful crying—ugly, gasping sounds that echo off crystal walls and mock me with their weakness. I press my forehead to the cold stone and let the grief come.
Callum. I can feel him through our ragged connection—his fury, his desperation, his pain mirroring mine. He’s fighting. I know he’s fighting. But he’s so far away, and I’m trapped in this gilded cage with a father who looks at me like a stranger.
I don’t know how long I stay there. Long enough for the tears to run dry. Long enough for the cold marble to seep through the thin silk. Long enough for something harder to crystallize beneath the grief.
I will not break. Not here. Not for them.
Slowly, I push myself upright. My hands shake as I wipe my face. My eyes burn. But when I finally stand, my spine is straight.
If they want a defeated princess, they’ll have to keep waiting.
I circle the chamber slowly, trailing my fingers along carved wood furniture that likely cost more than most human homes. This is no simple prison—it’s a gilded cage of luxury. The bed is massive, draped in midnight blue silk embroidered with silverstars. The private bath gleams with polished marble. Thick rugs cushion my bare feet.
But the locked doors tell the truth of it.
I test each window, finding them not just locked but warded with shimmering spells that tingle against my fingertips. The magic signature is familiar—my father’s protective work—but something underneath feels wrong. A darker thread woven through his wards. The same corruption I’ve felt before.
Faelan’s influence runs deeper than I thought.
On the dressing table lies everything needed for tomorrow’s ceremony. The formal marriage contract sits beside a velvet box containing ancestral Silverthorne jewelry. My fingers brush the ceremonial gown hanging nearby—silver-blue silk with platinum threading that catches light like water.
I close my eyes, reaching for Callum through whatever fragile thread still connects us. The moment I focus, pain explodes through my chest—raw, jagged agony that steals my breath. I gasp, doubling over as I feel his rage and desperation crashing through the thin thread that connects us.
Callum ...
I try to send the thought across dimensions, but the pain intensifies, burning like acid through my veins. I feel his presence—distant, howling, wounded—but cannot reach him. The bond screams between us, a live wire cut and sparking with dangerous energy. We can feel each other’s pain but nothing more, creating a terrible feedback loop of shared agony.
I sink onto the bed, clutching the silk robe around me. My mind races through possibilities, scenarios, escape plans—and finds nothing. The timing crashes over me like a wave, the brutal calculation of it all.
Tomorrow I’ll stand before a Marriage Tribunal and be bound to Prince Korren while my true mate tears himself apart tryingto reach me. The pack has no time to mount a rescue, no way to breach realm barriers, no diplomatic leverage to stop this.
I curl onto my side, the raw wound of our severed connection screaming across dimensions. I face the truth: I am completely, utterly trapped.
Hours pass in the darkened chamber. When I can’t stand it anymore, I deliberately turn my focus toward the pain itself. Instead of fighting it, I reach for it, using it as an anchor—a lifeline to Callum across the dimensional barrier.
At first, there’s only white-hot agony, a jagged tear through my soul. But as I breathe through it, something shifts. The pain doesn’t lessen, but it ... transforms.
Behind the agony, I feel something else—a current of pure, unrelenting determination. Callum isn’t surrendering. I close my eyes, focusing harder, and sense more—not just emotions, but impressions. The pack are mobilizing. Strategy sessions. Resources being gathered.
They’re planning something.
I sit up suddenly, wiping tears from my face. His refusal to accept our separation pulses through me—not just grief, but action. Fighting. Planning.
I press my palm against my chest where the connection burns brightest. Through the haze of pain, I can almost feel the echo of his thoughts: I’m coming for you.
The pack isn’t alone. Evren allied himself with us—dragon court connections that reach beyond fae politics. If anyone can navigate this mess between realms...
It’s thin. But it’s something.
I slide from the bed, bare feet silent on polished stone as I move to the nearest window. The dimensional barriers aren’t absolute—I’ve studied enough cross-realm magic to know their weaknesses. If Callum is fighting on his side, I need to fight on mine.
I trace my fingers along the window’s edge, feeling my father’s wards tingle against my skin. The magic signature is familiar enough that I can sense its structure—its strengths and vulnerabilities. I begin a mental catalog of potential weak points.
Moving methodically around the chamber, I examine each exit, each ward, each potential tactical advantage. The marriage ceremony isn’t inevitable—it’s a battlefield. And I’ve never been a passive victim.
