The river smelled of rain and iron. Mist clung to the air, wrapping around my bare shoulders as the villagers pushed me forward. My wrists were bound with silk, red as blood, the color of a bride. The drums pounded in the distance—slow, deliberate, like the heartbeat of a god.
I stumbled on the wet stones, my knees scraping, but no one reached to help me. Not even my father. Not even my mother, whose eyes were swollen with grief but whose lips stayed silent. They had chosen me. Their only daughter, offered like an animal at slaughter.
The bride of the Water God.
The whispers behind me pricked my skin.
"She should be honored."
"She's too proud. Look at her chin, still lifted."
"She won't last the night."
I wanted to scream at them. To tell them that I wasn't honored, that I wasn't some willing gift. But the rope around my arms and the terror tightening my throat silenced me.
The river loomed ahead—black, endless, alive. The surface rippled though there was no wind. My breath caught. He was here.
A priest lifted his arms, chanting words older than the village itself. The silk around my wrists tightened as two men shoved me forward. My knees hit the damp earth, and I stared at the water that would either swallow me whole or summon him.
"Offer yourself, Elowen," the priest commanded, his voice trembling despite his ritual calm. "Give your body, your blood, your life, and may the Water God show mercy."
Mercy. From a god known for drowning entire villages in storms? I wanted to laugh, but my throat was too dry.
The water shifted. The mist thickened. The drums stopped.
And then he rose.
At first, I thought the river itself had taken shape—the swell of water, the shimmer of moonlight against skin too pale, too flawless to be human. His hair spilled down his back like strands of midnight silk, glistening as though woven from the river itself. His eyes—cold, merciless, gray as a storm—fixed on me.
The world fell silent. Even the priest stopped chanting.
The Water God had come.
My body betrayed me. My knees shook, my chest tightened, but my gaze wouldn't drop. For all the fear clawing at me, I couldn't look away. He was beautiful. Terrifyingly, impossibly beautiful. Like the edge of a blade—deadly and irresistible.
He walked onto the shore, and every step rippled with power. The villagers bowed, foreheads pressed to the ground. Only I remained upright, my chin trembling but high. If I was going to die, I would not beg.
His gaze slid over the crowd, then locked on me. A faint curl tugged at his lips, cruel and amused.
"This is the sacrifice?" His voice was smooth as water, yet it carried the weight of thunder. "This… mortal girl?"
The priest stammered, forehead pressed into the mud. "Y-yes, my lord. She is pure, untouched, and offered willingly."
A low chuckle. He crouched before me, one hand reaching to tilt my chin up. His touch was cold, sending a shock through my veins.
"Willingly?" His eyes searched mine, storm clouds swirling in their depths. "Tell me, little mortal. Did you walk to my river with joy in your heart?"
I swallowed hard. My lips parted before I could stop them. "No."
Gasps broke out behind me. Someone whispered my name like a curse.
His smile sharpened. "No," he echoed softly, as though savoring the word. "How refreshing."
I should have been terrified. I was terrified. And yet… a shiver of something else slid down my spine.
He leaned closer, his breath cool against my ear. "You will not die tonight, Elowen. No, I think I'll keep you."
The crowd stirred, confusion and fear rippling through them. The priest's voice broke. "My lord, the sacrifice—"
"Is mine." His words cut sharper than any blade. He rose, his hand still gripping my chin. "This girl belongs to me now. Body, soul, every breath she takes."
The silk chains dissolved into water, falling uselessly at my sides. I should have felt free. Instead, I felt the weight of something far heavier wrap around me—his claim.
He snapped his fingers. The river surged forward, swallowing my legs, pulling me in. I gasped, struggling, but his arm wrapped around my waist, cold and unyielding.
"Struggle, little bride," he murmured against my ear. "It will only make it sweeter when you break."
The villagers' cries faded as the water closed over my head. My lungs burned. My vision blurred. Then there was only darkness.
When I opened my eyes again, I was no longer in the river.
I stood in a hall carved of crystal and water, light refracting in a thousand shimmering colors. It was breathtaking—beautiful and suffocating. The palace of the Water God.
And he was watching me, lounging lazily on a throne of obsidian and pearl, his storm-gray eyes drinking me in.
"My bride," he said, voice low and dangerous, "welcome home."
The air in the palace pressed heavy against my chest, thick with dampness and something sharper power. It coiled around me, invisible chains that pulled me closer to him even as every instinct screamed to run.
My knees nearly buckled, but I forced myself upright. I would not collapse before him, not when every part of me was already trembling.
His lips curved, slow and merciless. "Still standing. Impressive. Most mortals faint the moment they see me."
"I won't give you that satisfaction," I whispered, my voice hoarse from river water.
He laughed, the sound low and rich, echoing against the crystal walls. "Defiant, even now. I should crush that spirit of yours… but where would the fun be?"
I hated how his laughter curled in my stomach like heat, how his presence stole the air from my lungs and replaced it with something dangerously close to desire.
He rose from the throne, and the entire hall seemed to tremble. His movements were deliberate, unhurried, like a predator circling prey that could never escape. When he reached me, his hand came up again, fingers trailing along my jaw as though he had every right to touch me.
I flinched. "Don't."
The smile vanished. His grip tightened, forcing my head up until our eyes locked. His storm-gray gaze bore into mine, merciless and unyielding.
"You dare command me?" His voice dropped, softer than a whisper, sharper than a blade.
My heart hammered. I should have begged forgiveness. Instead, words tumbled out, reckless and raw. "I'm not your possession. You can take me, lock me here, even kill me. But you will never own me."
For a heartbeat, silence. His thumb brushed my lower lip, dangerously slow. My breath caught.
Then his eyes darkened, and a cruel smile spread across his face. "We'll see."
He leaned closer, his breath cold against my cheek. "I will break that fire, little mortal. Not with pain, but with pleasure. Until you beg me to claim you. Until you curse your defiance and whisper my name as though it were your only prayer."
Heat rushed through me, shame and fury burning my skin. I hated him. I hated how my body betrayed me, how the weight of his words left me shivering.
I turned my face away, but his hand slid down, fingers tracing the curve of my throat, resting against the frantic beat of my pulse.
"Your heart races," he murmured. "Fear? Or something else?"
I bit down on my lip, refusing to answer.
He chuckled, the sound dark and satisfied. "You'll answer me in time. All brides do."
I opened my mouth to spit back a retort, but the hall doors swung open. A servant entered—a creature of water and shadow, bowing low. "My lord. The storm grows restless above."
His eyes never left mine as he waved the servant away. Only when we were alone again did he release me, though the ghost of his touch still burned along my skin.
"You will be shown your chambers," he said, his tone cool and commanding once more. "Rest while you can. Tomorrow, the binding begins."
"The binding?" My voice cracked despite my attempt at strength.
He tilted his head, lips curling. "A ritual that ties your soul to mine. When it is done, you will never leave this place. You will never leave me."
The weight of his promise sank into me like ice. My stomach twisted, my throat tight.
He stepped back, shadows curling around him like a cloak. "Do not waste your breath on escape, Elowen. The river obeys me. The storms obey me. Soon, even your heart will obey me."
His words echoed long after he vanished into the mist.
I stood alone in the vast, glittering hall, my chest heaving, my wrists aching where silk had once bound them. The villagers had sent me here to die, but instead, I had been claimed. Not freed. Not saved.
Claimed.
And as much as I despised him, as much as I swore I would resist him… a treacherous part of me wondered if I already belonged.