Water droplets cascaded down her bronze skin as she wrapped herself in a towel. Her mind was racing, spinning with the weight of what Godwynn had revealed. Kill her father. Possibly kill Lewan. The words echoed in her skull like a death knell.
Coming back to the room, she found a simple day dress laid out on the bed—deep burgundy with silver embroidery, the colors of Nyberius. A constant reminder of who owned her now. Her fingers trembled as she dressed, her body still aching from this morning. Every movement reminded her of what she'd allowed to happen. What she'd enjoyed happening.
Focus, she commanded herself. You need to think.
Godwynn emerged from his adjoining chamber, fully dressed in his dark leathers and armor, looking every bit the warrior prince. His silver hair was pulled back in his war braids, and those devastating black eyes found hers immediately. Something flickered in them—concern? Possessiveness? She couldn't tell.
"Come," he said, his voice softer than she expected. "You'll break your fast with me."
"I'm not hungry," she replied, her tone clipped.
His jaw tightened. "That wasn't a request, Amora."
She wanted to fight him, wanted to scream and rage and claw at his perfect face. But she remembered the feral beast he'd become last night when she'd defied him. She needed to be smarter. She needed to survive long enough to find a way out.
"As you wish, your Majesty," she said, lowering her eyes in false submission.
The dining hall was mercifully empty except for them. Servants brought platters of food—fresh bread, honeyed fruits, roasted meats. The aroma should have made her mouth water, but her stomach was twisted in knots.
Godwynn narrowed his eyes as he watched her pick at her food, his own appetite seemingly unaffected. "You need to eat more than that."
"I was serious when I said I wasn't hungry."
"And I told you it wasn't a request." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to that dangerous octave. "You belong to me now, Amora. Your body is mine to care for. I will not have you wasting away out of some misplaced sense of rebellion."
Your body is mine. The words should have filled her with revulsion. Instead, they sent unwanted heat pooling in her belly. What was wrong with her?
"I want to see my brother," she said suddenly, changing the subject and meeting his gaze with all the courage she could muster.
Godwynn's expression darkened. "No." He leaned back, stabbing a piece of meat with his fork before placing it in his mouth.
"Please. I just need to know he's alive. That he's... that he's not being tortured."
Wiping his mouth and tossing his napkin on his plate, "He's alive," Godwynn said flatly. "That's all you need to know."
"It's not enough!" Her voice rose despite herself, frustration and anger pouring out. "He's my brother! My family! You've taken everything from me—my home, my innocence, my future—can you not grant me this one thing?"
The muscle in his jaw ticked. For a long moment, he said nothing, just stared at her with those unreadable black eyes. Finally, he stood.
"Fine. You may see him. But I will accompany you, and you are not to touch him. Am I clear?"
Relief flooded through her. "Yes. Thank you, your Majesty."
"Don't thank me yet, little pet." His smile was dark. "You may not like what you find."
Her breath faltered.
The dungeons of Nyberius were exactly as she'd imagined—cold, damp, and reeking of despair. The black stone walls seemed to absorb what little light the torches provided, casting everything in deep shadow. Godwynn's hand was firm on her lower back, guiding her deeper into the belly of the castle.
They passed cells filled with wretched creatures—humans mostly, some Dark Elves who'd committed crimes against the crown. All of them looked up as they passed, their eyes hungry and desperate.
Finally, they reached the end of the corridor. A single cell, larger than the others, but no less grim.
And there, chained to the wall, was Lewan.
"By the gods," Amora breathed, her hand flying to her mouth.
Her brother looked nothing like the proud warrior prince she knew. His golden hair was matted with blood and dirt. Dark bruises covered his face and torso. His once-powerful frame looked withered, weakened. But his eyes—those fierce autumn eyes—were still burning with defiance when they met hers.
"Amora," he rasped, his voice hoarse. "Sister..."
"Lewan!" She lunged forward, but Godwynn's arm shot out, barring her path.
"You may speak to him. That is all."
She whirled on him, fury blazing in her eyes. "You said he wasn't being tortured!"
"I said he was alive," Godwynn corrected coldly. "Which he is. Barely, but alive nonetheless."
Lewan let out a weak laugh that turned into a cough. "Still as charming as ever, I see, Godwynn. Tell me, does terrorizing helpless women and prisoners make you feel powerful?"
Godwynn's expression didn't change, but Amora felt the rage radiating off him through their bond. "Careful, Prince. You're only alive because my father hasn't decided your fate yet. Don't give me a reason to expedite that decision."
"Stop it, both of you," Amora pleaded, turning back to her brother. "Lewan, are you... how badly are you hurt?"
"I'll live," he said, though the pain in his voice suggested otherwise. "More importantly, are you alright? Did they..." His eyes darted to Godwynn, hatred burning in them. "Did he hurt you?"
The question hung in the air like a blade. Amora's cheeks burned. What could she say? That yes, he'd hurt her, terrified her, nearly ravaged her in a feral rage? But also that he'd stopped himself, that he'd shown her pleasure beyond imagining, that even now her body craved his touch?
"I'm... I'm alive," she finally said. "That's what matters."
Lewan's expression crumbled. "Gods, Amora. I'm so sorry. I should have protected you. I should have—"
"There was nothing you could have done," she said softly. "This was Father's doing, not yours."
"Your father," Godwynn interjected, "brought this upon himself. He thought he could sneak you away like a coward in the night. He underestimated us."
"Hmph. You call using an informant, and then ambushing a small escort, us underestimating you?" Lewan spat. "You're a coward, Godwynn. You and your wretched father both."
The dungeon went silent. It was as if every creature had suddenly stopped breathing. Amora felt Godwynn's rage spike through their bond, felt it like fire in her own veins. Before she could speak, Godwynn had crossed the distance to Lewan's cell, his hand shooting through the bars to grip her brother's throat.
"Say that again," he growled, his voice barely human. "I dare you."
"Godwynn, please!" Amora grabbed his arm, trying to pull him back. "Please, don't hurt him! Please!"
For a moment, she thought he wouldn't listen. Through their bond, she could feel the beast inside him howling for blood. But then, slowly, his fingers loosened. He released Lewan, who collapsed against his chains, gasping.
"We're leaving," Godwynn said, his voice tight with barely controlled fury. He grabbed Amora's wrist and began dragging her toward the exit.
"Wait!" Lewan called out. "Amora, listen to me! Father is coming! He's—"
"SILENCE!" Godwynn roared, and the entire dungeon seemed to shake with the force of it.
But Amora had heard enough. Her father was coming. Which meant there might be a chance—slim, desperate—to escape this nightmare.
Godwynn didn't speak as he hauled her back through the castle. His grip on her wrist was bruising, and she had to half-run to keep pace with his long strides. Servants and guards scattered out of their path, clearly sensing the prince's foul mood.
He kicked open the door to her chambers and shoved her inside, slamming it behind them.
"That," he said, his voice dangerously low, "was a mistake."
"He's my brother," Amora shot back, finding her courage now that they were alone. "What did you expect? That I would just abandon him?"
"I expected you to show some restraint!" He advanced on her, and she backed away until her legs hit the bed. "Do you have any idea what my father would do if he knew I let you see him? If he knew I showed you any weakness?"
"Is that what I am to you?" she asked, hating the way her voice cracked. "A weakness?"
His eyes flashed, and for a moment, she saw something vulnerable in them. But then the mask slammed back down.
"You are my wife," he said, his tone cold and measured. "My bonded mate. My responsibility. And you will learn your place, little pet, or I will teach it to you."
"I'm not your property," she whispered, but even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. The bond between them pulsed with undeniable truth. She was his, in every way that mattered.
"No?" He crowded closer, his large frame overwhelming her smaller one. "Then tell me, princess—whose mark do you wear between your thighs? Whose seed might already be taking root in your womb?"
Her breath caught. She hadn't even thought of that possibility. "I... I don't..."
"You don't know?" His laugh was bitter. "Then allow me to enlighten you." He grabbed her throat, bringing her closer so that she was inches from his face. "Elven fertility is potent when two souls are bound. The chances that you are not already carrying my heir are exceptionally slim."
The room spun. Pregnant. She might be pregnant with his child. With the child of her enemy.
"No," she breathed. "No, no, no..."
"Yes," he said, and there was something almost triumphant in his voice. "And when my father discovers it—and he will—you will be even more valuable. More protected. More trapped."
Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "You're a monster."
"I know." His other hand came up to cup her face, the touch almost gentle despite his grip on her throat. "But I'm your monster now, Amora. For better or worse, till death claims us both." His hand tightened slightly around her throat.
And then he was kissing her, hard and demanding, and gods help her, she was kissing him back. Her hands fisted in his leather armor, pulling him closer even as her mind screamed at her to push him away. Her blood boiled with passion and anger, the two emotions tangling until she couldn't tell them apart.
He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against hers. "I don't want to hurt you," he said quietly. "But I will do what I must to protect what's mine. Do you understand?"
She understood all too well. She was caught between two impossible forces—her loyalty to her family and the undeniable pull toward this dangerous, complicated man who held her fate in his hands.
"I understand," she whispered, the words catching in her throat.
"Good." He stepped back, adjusting his leathers, and the moment of vulnerability was gone. "You will remain in your chambers for the rest of the day. I have business to attend to. Arda will bring you supper."
"What kind of business?"
His smile was sharp as a blade. "The kind that ensures your father's death comes swiftly when he arrives to collect you."
And with that, he left her alone with her horror and her treacherous heart.