The noble bowed again, hastily, and retreated.
Maris’s heart skittered, her breath catching in her throat.
She tried to focus on her food, cutting small bites with trembling hands, but the weight of Kael’s attention burned against her skin. It was as if he saw through her.
As the night bled on, the hall turned wilder, music struck up from musicians with hollow eyes and silver-fretted lutes, and some of the nobles began to dance, their movements both graceful and predatory, circling one another like wolves in courtly disguise.
Maris sat frozen, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, while Kael spoke to his advisors. But even when he turned to discuss border raids or alliances, he still glanced at her every few moments, making sure she remained unharmed, unbothered.
No one dared touch her.
Every time a stranger’s gaze lingered too long, Kael’s eyes would flash in warning, and they would look away.
Mine.
That word clanged through her head, heavier with every heartbeat.
He had not said it again since the hall, but he didn’t have to.
Hours later, as the revelers began to fade, Kael rose to his feet, the room falling silent in an instant.
“The mortal is weary,” he declared, though Maris had never spoken the words herself. “See her back to her chambers.”
Valea materialized from the crowd, cool and precise, gesturing for Maris to follow.
Maris stood shakily, her knees stiff from fear and cold, and dared one last glance at Kael.
His gaze met hers, lingering, hungry, gentle, violent, a contradiction that tore straight through her. He nodded once, dismissing her, turning back to the court as if she no longer existed.
Maris let Valea guide her away, her mind spinning with more questions than ever, heart still pounding from the weight of the King’s eyes. She followed Valea through the twisting halls of Calyrix, trying to steady her breath.
The further they walked from the feast, the more the sounds of laughter and music dulled, replaced by a heavy, watchful silence. Torchlight painted the stones in stripes of red and gold, flickering across the iron-barred windows like a prison.
She could feel the exhaustion gnawing deep at her bones.
Valea paused outside the familiar carved door, giving Maris a look that was neither cruel nor kind, only assessing.
“You fared much better than I expected.”
Maris didn’t know if that was praise or a warning, so she simply nodded, fighting to keep her face blank.
The door opened on the same grand chamber, still echoing with her scent, still too large, too rich, too cold. She stepped over the threshold, numb, and the lock clicked behind her as Valea left. She leaned against the wall, letting the robe’s fabric brush against her arms, trying to calm the shaking in her hands.
Mine.
Kael’s voice still haunted her ears, that single word claiming more than just her safety. It felt like a chain around her throat. Why her?
Why had he dragged her here, made her stand before that monstrous court, and forced them all to see her as his?
Her thoughts circled and circled until she felt sick.
She stumbled to the bed and collapsed across the silken covers, still dressed in the fine black gown with its seed-pearled neckline. Her eyes fluttered shut, but sleep came only in broken fragments.
She dreamed she was back in the great hall, but this time she lay on the banquet table, spread out like a roasted bird, black wine dripping across her pale skin. The courtiers circled her, knives gleaming, eyes fever-bright, laughing as they debated which part of her to carve first.
Kael stood among them, silent and watching, silver eyes reflecting every cut, every bite.
When he finally reached for her, she almost wept in relief, thinking he would save her but instead he lifted a goblet, filled with her blood, and drank.
