⚠️ Content Warning:
This scene contains abduction, physical violence, threats, and psychological intimidation, which may be distressing to some readers. It also explores dark obsessive behavior and implied off-screen torture. Reader discretion is advised.
As Caelan lay on the bed, the soft rustle of blankets surrounding her, Lucian nestled close against her side. His small fingers gripped the fabric of her shirt, and his head rested just below her collarbone, where he could hear the steady thump of her heart.
A quiet moment passed.
Then, in a small voice muffled by her shoulder, he asked,
"What were you doing that made you come so late to get me?"
Caelan paused for a moment, then let out a low, thoughtful hum. One hand came up to rub gentle circles along his back.
"Nothing too important," she said softly. "Just a bit of pest control."
Lucian shifted to look up at her, brows furrowed in sleepy confusion.
"Pest control?"
Caelan smiled at the curious expression on his face.
"Mm. Taking care of a few bugs before they cause any real trouble."
She didn't elaborate — and she didn't need to.
Lucian nodded like he understood, even if he didn't quite.
"I want to help next time."
His voice was quiet, but earnest, and something in it made Caelan's chest ache a little.
She reached over and ruffled his hair, fingers light and fond.
"You already are, little chick," she murmured.
"You're helping just by being here."
Lucian smiled and tucked himself closer, the warmth of her words sinking into his skin like sunlight.
◇◇◇◇
[Earlier]
Caelan stood silently in the narrow corridor behind the hidden wall, eyes narrowed as she watched through the small crack in the stone.
Victor Dair was slouched on a velvet couch, his face flushed and lips loose with arrogance. He laughed at his own crude jokes, talking to no one in particular as he poured himself yet another glass of wine.
She waited.
Waited until a maid entered to collect the emptied platter, bowed, and exited — the door closing gently behind her.
Only then did Caelan move.
The hidden panel slid open without a sound. In a single fluid motion, she slipped into the room like a shadow. Victor, too drunk to notice, had just reached for the wine again when her hand clamped over his mouth from behind. Before he could cry out, her arm locked around his chest, dragging him backward.
He kicked. Fought. Slurred out muffled curses. But he was uncoordinated — sluggish and stumbling over his own feet. A useless struggle.
She hauled him backward, step by step, back through the hidden corridor where no one would hear him.
Moments later, Victor Dair was unceremoniously thrown into a small, dimly lit cell. The cold stone walls and heavy iron bars resembled the palace dungeons — but this place was different.
Quieter.
No guards. No echoes of chains or shouts. Just silence.
A silence that stretched.
A silence meant to unnerve.
Victor Dair's voice cracked through the silence, shrill and venom-laced.
"How dare a mongrel like you drag me in here like some filthy criminal!" he spat, staggering to his feet and jabbing a shaking finger in her direction. His words slurred, his breath stank of wine, and his footing wavered — but the hatred in his eyes burned steady.
Caelan stood still in the dim light, arms crossed, eyes cast downward as if examining something insignificant on the ground.
"You know what a mongrel is?" she asked quietly, not looking at him.
Victor sneered, swaying.
"Of course I do, you filthy peasant. You and that arrogant bastard of a prince—"
He didn't get to finish.
Caelan moved in a blink.
Her boot connected with the side of his jaw, a loud crack echoing off the cell walls as his head snapped sideways and he crumpled back to the floor with a strangled grunt. Blood pooled at the corner of his mouth.
"Don't you dare let his name touch your foul tongue," she growled, her voice low and dangerous. She stepped over his body, grabbing his collar and yanking his face up to meet her eyes.
Eyes glowed faintly red in the shadows — not with heat, but with fury.
"I'm the loyal hound, remember?" she whispered coldly. "The one no one watches. The one who bite anyone coming near his owner."
She let him go, letting his head drop with a dull thud to the stone.
"I know what you've been whispering to the lords. I know what you've been promising them. But what I wonder—" she crouched beside him, voice calm and soft, "—is how long they'll stand by you when you vanish without a trace."
Victor wheezed, dazed and rattled. He tried to speak, but only a broken noise came out.
Caelan stood slowly, brushing imaginary dust from her gloves.
"You talk big for someone locked underground like a rat."
Victor Dair's scream echoed through the small cell.
"How dare a bastard like you hit me like some filthy criminal!" he snarled, struggling to his feet and stumbling toward her with wine-glazed fury. "You think you can treat a lord this way?! I'll have your head on a—"
CRACK.
Caelan's fist collided with his face before he finished. He staggered, mouth bloody, eyes wide with stunned disbelief. But he barely had time to react before her knee slammed into his stomach, knocking the breath from his lungs and sending him to the floor, gasping.
"Still talking," she muttered, crouching slowly beside him, watching as he writhed on the cold stone floor. Her voice was almost gentle, too calm to be sane. "You should've kept your mouth shut."
"You… psychotic bastard—" he wheezed.
Another strike. Her boot crashed into his ribs.
He cried out, curling inwards. But she knelt down beside him, grabbed his chin roughly, and forced his bloodied face up to meet hers.
"You know what the funny thing is?" she whispered, her breath steady, her glowing red eyes inches from his. "You can scream. Loud as you want."
Her lips curled into a cold smile.
"But no one's going to hear you. No matter how hard you cry. No matter how loud you beg." She let go of his face, letting it thud back against the floor.
"Down here, your voice is nothing."
She stood slowly, adjusting her gloves.
"I made sure of that."
Victor whimpered, spitting blood and coughing violently, but she only stared down at him — unmoved, burning with quiet rage.
"Next time," she said, voice low, "don't say his name. Or I'll take your tongue and feed it to the dogs."
Victor screamed as Caelan dragged him across the stone floor, his heels scraping uselessly, nails clawing at the walls. But he was too drunk, too slow, and far too weak to stop her.
The chains rattled as she shackled his wrists above his head, the metal biting into his skin. He thrashed, cursed, kicked at her with whatever strength he could muster.
Caelan didn't flinch.
She worked in silence — precise, practiced. This wasn't her first time. Once the last lock clicked into place, she stepped back and watched him struggle like a wild animal caught in a trap.
Victor spat, voice hoarse, "You'll regret this! The king will hear of this! You filthy—!"
She turned without a word and walked away, her steps echoing down the narrow corridor.
Then the heavy door shut.
The bolt slammed into place.
Darkness fell.
And with it — silence.
From beyond the thick stone, nothing could be heard. Not even screams.
Caelan vanished into the shadows like she had never been there at all.
[ Now – Present Time ]
The candlelight flickered gently in the bedroom.
Lucian nestled closer to Caelan's side, his breath slow and warm against her neck. She traced soft, idle circles along his back with her fingers, her voice low and soothing as she whispered the ending of a fairytale — one of the gentle, old ones, where brave knights always won and monsters were never real.
Her eyes, still glowing faintly from earlier, were soft now. Warm. Distant.
"...and the silver rabbit leapt over the last cloud," she whispered, brushing a kiss to the crown of his head, "and he found the moon waiting just for him."
Lucian let out a contented sigh, drifting to sleep without fear, completely unaware of the man chained and bleeding in a cold cell beneath their feet.
Caelan's smile lingered as she watched him.
Gentle. Motherly even.
She closed her eyes and let sleep take her in, knowing her plan was now in motion.