He exhaled, trying to quiet the thunder in his skull.
He found Riven and Corin waiting outside the hall, weapons resting on a nearby pillar.
Riven, massive as a boulder, dark braid coiled down his back, raised a brow at Kael’s approach.
“She lasted longer than I wagered,” he rumbled, voice like distant thunder.
Corin, all whipcord grace offered a cruel grin.
“But she’ll break eventually. They all do.”
Kael’s expression turned to steel, he haulted his steps.
“You will train her,” he commanded, voice sharp enough to cut bone. “Don't break her.”
Riven and Corin exchanged a wary glance.
“You ordered us to test her,” Corin reminded, lightly.
“And you will continue to test her,” Kael said, “but I will not have you destroying her spirit. She is not replaceable.”
“A human, highness, is always replaceable. ” Riven muttered, disbelief etched in the line of his mouth. Kael’s jaw flexed.
“She is more than that. That is all you need to know.”
The men exchanged a cautious look, but nodded. Neither was foolish enough to argue once Kael’s voice fell to that quiet, lethal register.
The men bowed slightly, acknowledging the edge of denouement in their King’s tone.
He dismissed them with a curt wave, moving deeper into the fortress until he reached his own wing. The heart of Calyrix’s — black marble walls etched with silver filigree depicting the gods’ curses and blessings in swirling script.
Servants were already waiting — silent, masked, trained from birth to serve without question. They stripped him of his war leathers, working in efficient silence, their eyes never lifting to meet his.
He stepped into a great stone tub steaming with water scented faintly of night jasmine and bloodroot. The heat eased the ache of too many days spent leading drills, hunting rogue nightbound on the borders, and battling his own desire.
She had dared to shout at me.
The thought made his hands curl around the rim of the tub, knuckles white. What he wished he could have done in that moment — to press her against the stones, to taste the fury on her tongue, to remind her exactly who commanded this kingdom — it set something monstrous alight in his blood.
But he had not. He had walked away, letting her stand there defiant and wild and unbearably beautiful. A savage fondness creeping in.
You do not even know what you are playing with.He reminded himself.
Sleep came late, restless, thick with half-forgotten dreams.
In his mind, she stood before him again, but this time, her black nightdress fell away in rags under his clawed hands, her pale skin bared to candlelight, the silver starbursts of her eyes wide and unguarded. She did not fight him in the dream — she welcomed him, parted her lips to his, let him taste every inch of her.
He dreamed of sinking his fangs into the curve of her neck, of taking her so thoroughly she would never think to defy him again. The dream was so vivid he could smell the copper-salt of her blood, hear her broken moans.
He awoke gasping, sweat-drenched, his entire body hard with a need he had no right to feel.
Kael could not rest after that.
In silence, he called up the deeper shadows, the night woven magic that laced through his veins like second blood. It obeyed him instantly, wrapping him in darkness. The castle fell away around him, until he was nothing but a moving piece of night itself. He drifted through walls, through locked doors, until he reached her suite. There she was curled on the edge of the bed too big for her, deep silk hugging her skin. Her dark hair spilled across the pillow, moonlight tracing her pale throat, her breathing deep and even.
Kael stood over her, silent, watching.
What are you, Maris of Eryndor?
