The battle was over.
Bodies littered the road, blood soaking the dirt where the bandits had fallen. The surviving soldiers dragged corpses into piles, stripped weapons from the dead, and tended to their wounded.
The air stank of iron and smoke.
But all Victoria could feel was Damien's hand locked around her chain, dragging her away from the carnage.
He said nothing as he pulled her through the wreckage of battle, past men who lowered their gazes, past horses that shied from his aura. His stride was relentless, his grip so tight the iron links bit into her skin.
He stopped only when they reached the edge of the river, far enough that no soldier dared follow.
He released her at last, the chain clattering between them.
Victoria stumbled, catching herself on her knees. She looked up at him, breathless, every muscle trembling from both the fight and the mana she had unleashed.
His eyes blazed—not with fury, but with something more dangerous.
He crouched, gauntleted hand gripping her chin, forcing her to meet his stare.
"You almost died."
Her lips parted. "I—"
"You almost died," he repeated, softer this time, as though testing the weight of the words. His thumb brushed unconsciously against her skin, a gesture far too gentle for the blood still drying on his armor.
Her chest tightened, confusion warring with defiance. "So what? Wouldn't that make things easier for you? No chains to carry. No light to fear."
Damien's expression twisted, and for a moment, the tyrant cracked.
"Don't you understand?" His voice broke low, sharp with something raw. "You are the one thing I cannot lose."
The world seemed to stop.
Victoria's breath caught in her throat.
He leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching hers, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for her. "Eight years, Victoria. Eight years I searched, conquered, burned…and all the while, I was empty. Hollow. A crown means nothing. A throne means nothing. Only you."
Her heart hammered violently, a storm of emotions surging inside her—anger, grief, longing, fear.
His fingers slipped from her chin, trailing lightly down to her shackled wrists. He lifted them, the iron glinting, the bruises stark against her pale skin. His jaw tightened.
"I hate these," he muttered, almost to himself. "I hate what they do to you. But you leave me no choice."
Her voice cracked with disbelief. "You call this love? Chains? Threats? Pain?"
"Yes," Damien said without hesitation, his gaze piercing hers. "Because love is not letting go. Love is holding tighter, no matter how hard you fight to run. If I have to chain you to me until you understand…then I will."
Tears stung her eyes, hot and furious. "You're a monster."
He flinched—but instead of anger, something softer flickered across his face. Pain.
"I know," he whispered. "But even monsters can love."
Victoria shook her head, her whole body trembling. "What you feel isn't love. It's obsession. You want to own me, Damien, not love me."
His hand slid to her cheek, cupping it with startling gentleness. "What if it's both?"
Her breath hitched. The warmth of his touch, the sincerity in his voice—it was the Damien she remembered, the boy who once shielded her, who once smiled at her like she was the only light in his world.
But the chains on her wrists burned like fire, reminding her of what he was now.
She tore her face away, her voice breaking. "Then I'll never return it."
Silence fell. His eyes closed, his chest heaving once before he straightened to his full height. The mask of the tyrant slid back into place, but cracks lingered.
"You will," he said softly, almost tenderly. "You may hate me now. You may curse me. But in time, Victoria, you'll see. You're mine, and nothing—not chains, not kingdoms, not even your goddess—will change that."
He turned, his cloak sweeping the dirt, and began walking back toward the camp.
The chain jerked taut.
She stared at his back, fury and grief and something far too dangerous churning inside her chest.
Because no matter how much she wanted to hate him…she couldn't forget the boy he once was.
And that, more than the chains, was the cruelest prison of all.
That night, as the army settled into uneasy rest, Victoria sat by the stake once more, the iron biting into her bruised wrists. The soldiers avoided her eyes, whispering among themselves of the "woman of light" they had seen on the battlefield.
But she barely heard them.
Her mind was trapped on Damien's words. On his touch. On the ache in his voice when he had said I cannot lose you.
She hated him. She feared him.
And yet…somewhere deep, hidden and dangerous, she still remembered the boy who had once been her dearest friend.
She closed her eyes, clutching the faint glow of the goddess's gift deep within her chest, whispering a vow that trembled like a flame in the wind.
"I will never belong to him. Not to his love. Not to his chains. I will be free."
The light stirred softly, as though the goddess herself listened.
And in the shadows of his tent, Damien sat awake, staring at his hands, the memory of her voice cutting him deeper than any blade.