Caelum leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear again. His voice was rougher now, control fraying at the edges. “You let him kiss you. You let him taste you. While my marks were still fresh on your skin from this morning.”
Lyra’s breath came faster. “You don’t own me.”
His laugh was soft, cold, and edged with something almost feral. “I do now.”
He bit her again, lower this time, just above her collarbone, sucking hard enough to draw another bruise. Pain and heat twisted together. Her body betrayed her with a shiver, nipples peaking painfully against his palm.
“You had no right,” she gasped, voice trembling with rage and something she refused to name.
“Slut,”he whispered against her ear, the word low, intimate, and venomous. “Letting him put his mouth on what’s mine. Did you enjoy it? Did you think about me while his tongue was in your mouth?”
Lyra jerked back, eyes wide with shock and fresh humiliation. Heat flooded her face.
Caelum stepped back slightly, but his hand remained on her breast, thumb brushing the abused nipple in slow, degrading circles.
“I will taste your mouth when I feel like it,” he said, voice calm but laced with contempt. “Not while I can still taste that pathetic boy on you. Not while your lips still carry the stain of his desperation. You’ll come to me clean next time—or I’ll make sure you remember exactly how filthy you let yourself become.”
She reached up with shaking fingers and tried to button her collar. The button slipped free the instant she let go. She tried again. The fabric parted on its own, the collar falling open to display the large, fresh hickey and the flushed skin beneath it. Every time she fastened a button, the magic released it again with calm certainty.
Caelum watched her futile attempts without expression, though his eyes burned.
“Your schedule continues as assigned,” he said.
Dismissal. Final.
Lyra turned and left, fury and humiliation burning through her chest like acid. She fled straight to her quarters. As luck would have it she met Adrian right outside her door, waiting for her. His eyes immediately went to the large, bruising mark on her delicate neck. A flicker of disgust crossed his face.
“We’ll… talk later,” he said. Immediately turning on his heel and leaving.
* * *
Back in her room she was fuming.
She stood before the small mirror, fingers trembling as she tried once more to button the collar. It opened again. She tried makeup—thick layers to conceal the dark bruise. The mark showed through as if the cosmetic had never touched it. She wrapped a scarf around her neck. The fabric loosened and slipped down the moment she turned away, refusing to stay in place.
The mark remained exposed. Throbbing. Claimed.
She paced the room, anger rolling through her in hot waves. How dare he. How dare he mark her like property and then laugh in her face when she protested. The memory of his teeth sinking in, the cruel pinch on her nipple, the whisperedslut—all of it made her skin crawl with rage and unwanted heat. She touched the bruise lightly and her body responded against her will, a low throb between her thighs that only deepened her shame.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
Lyra froze.
The door opened on its own. A server entered carrying a covered tray, set it on the small table near the window, and left without a word. On the tray lay a note in Caelum’s precise hand.
You are not required in North Tower for your regular session tonight. Eat.
She stared at the note, then lifted the cover.
The evening meal was exquisite—far better than anything the communal hall ever offered. A small porcelain bowl of rich, fragrant soup with delicate herbs floating on top. Perfectly roasted quail glazed with honey and spices, skin crisp and golden. Soft, warm bread still steaming, drizzled with melted butter. A side of tender vegetables glistening with oil and salt. Fresh berries dusted with sugar, their juices already staining the small plate. A silver pot of dark tea that smelled of bergamot and something floral.
Even when he was cruel, he took great care to feed her well.
Lyra stood there for a long moment, staring at the food. She wasn’t going to touch it. She refused to accept anything from him after what he had done.
But the aroma drifted up—warm, savory, comforting. Her stomach betrayed her with a quiet growl. She hadn’t eaten properly since midday. The scent was too good to ignore.
Reluctantly, she sat down and began to eat.
