The strongest chains are forged not of steel, but of necessity.
The magical ribbon connecting the little witch to me throbbed like a damned heartbeat as we were led through the Nexus corridors. A steady reminder that my autonomy had been compromised by magical compulsion. Annoying as fuck, but not enough to prove a detriment.
The witch walked beside me in silence, but I could practically hear her thinking. She had that look... like she was memorizing everything as we walked.
Curious.
“Your quarters have been adjusted,” the guard announced as we reached the residential wing. “Binding protocols require proximity accommodations.”
The witch stopped walking. “Excuse me?”
“Magical tethers don’t permit greater distances. You are housed in adjacent holding rooms.”
“Holding cells, you mean?” Her voice carried that sharp edge I’d begun to anticipate.
The guard seemed to bite his tongue, likely unsure quite what to say.
“Evenfor the famed Ripper?” She looked my way, the dusting of freckles across her nose wrinkling as her face scrunched into a scowl.
The guard’s smile was mostly teeth. “Hunters. Witches. It’s all the same lock from the outside.”
“Welcome to my world, hunter,” she sneered. She looked like she wanted to say something more, but the practical reality was sinking in. Adjacent rooms. Shared space. Constant proximity.
I cut in with my standard authority over the lower ranks. “That won’t be necessary. Standard quarters will suffice.”
“I’m afraid not, Sir,” the guard replied, though he had the sense to look uncomfortable contradicting a Veyne. “Magistrate’s orders. Binding magic takes precedence over personal wishes.”
We had arrived at the one place I couldn’t command as I saw fit. My father.
We were led to a section I’d never seen before, two rooms connected by a common sitting area barely large enough for a table and two chairs. The witch said nothing, but I could see the panic in her eyes. The way her shoulders had stopped rising and falling. The way she held her breath realizing she’d be sharing space with her future killer. She didn’t protest aloud, though. Instead, she stepped away, her disdain more obvious than perhaps she would have liked. Pain flashed across her face before she controlled it.
“The more you fight it, the closer it will bring us,” I reminded her again, keeping my voice level despite the way her pain response sparked my curiosity. She seemed to barely register thepoisoned waters in the first trial. Interesting. “It’s basic magical theory. Resistance strengthens compulsion.”
“I’m not fighting it,” she argued, taking a step away.
I followed, leaning so close to her pretty face, I could almost hear the beat of her heart. “Must you lie, witch?”
The guard cleared his throat.
My head snapped toward him. “I’ve promised to kill her. How and when I choose to do that will be my design. I can assure you, it will not be without an audience, as I’m sure my father would prefer. You are dismissed. The little witch will live to see tomorrow.”
I stepped into the common area as the guard marched toward the exit. The space was barely habitable for one person, let alone two. “I refuse to share sleeping quarters. Either stop fighting so we can get some distance, or there will be no rest tonight for either of us.”
Her eyes flashed with the kind of fire that should have been dangerous but somehow wasn’t. “And here I thought you didn’t sleep.”
I held a neutral face, refusing to give where she demanded control. “I rest with my eyes closed. Now stop resisting so I can step into the other room.”
“I told you, I’m not resisting.” She kept her eyes on me but slowed her breathing.
I took a step back and then another, watching as she did the same. “Good. We understand each other.”
“Do we?” She tilted her head, studying me, those wild red curls falling down her shoulders. “Because five minutes ago you were telling me to stay close, and now you’re acting like I have some kind of contagious disease.”
“Five minutes ago we were in a life-or-death situation. This is different.”
“Different how?”
I opened my mouth to explain, then realized I didn’t have an answer that wouldn’t admit weakness. The truth was proximity during combat felt safe. Controllable. This—sitting across from each other in forced domesticity—felt like walking into an ambush.
