The hall of judgment shimmered like a drowning man's nightmare. Water ran through pillars of black stone, forming rivers that glowed faintly with trapped souls. Every seat in the towering amphitheater was filled—gods, spirits, nobles of the deep, all gathered to witness the unveiling of the Water God's new bride.
Elowen's wrists trembled in her lap, hidden beneath folds of silk. Her gown was white, sheer in places, woven with pearls that pressed into her skin like tiny shackles. Two guards led her into the center of the chamber, before the obsidian throne where Damien waited.
He sat like a carved idol, one arm draped across the throne, his bare chest gleaming faintly under the light. Cold. Detached. But his gaze tracked her every step, searing her skin though he did not move.
"Elowen of the Vale," the herald announced, his voice echoing. "Chosen sacrifice, bride of the Water God."
A low murmur rolled through the court—amusement, disdain, hunger.
Elowen lifted her chin. Fear beat inside her like wings against a cage, but she refused to bow her head. Not to them. Not even to him.
"Is this your bride, my lord?" a voice purred from the seats. A goddess rose—a tall, willowy figure draped in seafoam silk, her beauty sharp enough to wound. Her lips curled into a smirk. "A mortal lamb dressed as a queen? How fragile. She will break before the tide takes her."
The court laughed, ripples of cruel amusement that made Elowen's stomach twist. She knew she should remain silent, endure—but the words tore from her throat before she could stop them.
"Better a lamb with fire in her heart than a goddess with venom on her tongue."
Gasps filled the chamber. The goddess's eyes widened, then narrowed into slits of rage.
"You dare—"
"I dare," Elowen snapped, surprising even herself. Her pulse thundered, her knees shook beneath her gown, but she forced her voice steady. "You laugh because you believe me weak. Yet none of you were chosen. He chose me."
The chamber fell into stunned silence.
All eyes shifted to Damien.
For a heartbeat, he remained utterly still, his expression unreadable. Then—he moved.
Damien rose from the throne with a predator's grace, each step a wave of tension crashing over the court. He descended the dais and stopped before Elowen, so close she could feel the icy heat radiating from his skin. His hand lifted, brushing the curve of her jaw, tilting her face up to his.
"Mine," he said, the single word rolling like thunder through the hall.
The goddess bristled. "She insults the divine order! You cannot—"
The sound that left Damien's throat was soft, amused, and lethal. In one motion, his power surged. Water burst from the pool, coiling into serpents of black tide that lashed toward the goddess. She screamed as the water constricted, forcing her to her knees.
"You question me?" Damien's voice was cold steel. "You question what is mine?" His gaze cut through the court, daring anyone else to speak. "Let me make this clear—" He bent, his lips brushing Elowen's ear, his whisper meant for her but echoing for all. "Touch her, doubt her, breathe against her wrongfully, and I will drown you all."
The hall trembled. Even the pillars seemed to bow.
The goddess choked out her submission. The serpents of water released her, slamming back into the pool with a hiss. Silence clung to the air, heavy and suffocating.
Damien straightened, eyes blazing with a storm that looked only at Elowen. His fingers still lingered on her face, possessive, unyielding.
"She is not sacrifice. She is not offering," Damien declared, voice ringing like a verdict. "She is my bride. And she is mine until the seas are ash."
The court lowered their heads, some in fear, some in reverence. But Elowen's heart raced for another reason.
Not because he had claimed her.
But because, in that moment, she realized she had claimed something in him too.
But the scene doesn't end here.
As the goddess crawled back to her seat, another figure rose—a young god with silver hair and eyes like frozen starlight. His voice was calm, but it sliced through the silence.
"My lord Damien, forgive me," he said, bowing mockingly low. "But is it wise to stake your claim so violently… over a mortal? The court whispers already. They wonder if the great Water God is… compromised."
A ripple of tension swept through the hall. Heads lifted, whispers surged.
Damien did not move. Only his fingers flexed against Elowen's skin.
Compromised.
The word dripped like poison into the water.
Elowen braced herself, expecting another violent display. But Damien surprised them all. He smiled—a slow, dangerous curl of his lips that made the air grow colder.
"Compromised?" he repeated softly. "No. She is not my weakness. She is my weapon."
The young god faltered, his smirk fading.
Damien turned to the court, his voice sharp as a blade. "This bride is not here to beg for your approval. She is here to remind you all that my will is law. Her defiance is mine. Her fire is mine. Through her, I burn brighter than before."
Gasps. Uneasy shifting. The statement was not love, not tenderness—but possession wrapped in fire.
And yet Elowen felt something tighten inside her chest. For all his cruelty, for all his coldness, Damien had lifted her above them all.
When he released her, she could still feel the imprint of his hand, seared into her skin.
As they left the chamber, whispers rose like waves behind them. Some pitied her, others hated her, but all of them feared her.
And that, she realized, was Damien's gift.
He had turned her into something untouchable.
The moment the heavy doors of the court closed behind them, silence swallowed the air. The echo of whispers and gasps still clung to Elowen's ears, but here in the long marble corridor, it was only her and Damien.
Her pulse thundered. She could still feel the phantom weight of his hand against her jaw, the echo of his whisper before the entire court.
Mine.
She had expected him to release her once the spectacle was over. Instead, his hand remained possessively at her lower back as he led her away, his grip light but commanding, as though she might vanish if he let go.
When they reached the shadowed alcove of a side hall, Damien stopped abruptly. Elowen turned to face him, but his expression was unreadable—an ocean of storms behind ice.
"You should not have spoken," he said at last, his voice soft, controlled, but edged with steel.
Elowen swallowed, anger pushing past her fear. "And what would you have had me do? Bow? Tremble? Let them tear me apart with their laughter?"
His eyes narrowed. "Yes. You are mine. It is not for you to fight battles I already own."
Her jaw clenched. "You say I am yours as though I am nothing more than a chain around your wrist. But when I stood silent, they would have seen me as weak—and by extension, they would have seen you as weak for choosing me."
The words slipped out sharper than she intended, but she didn't take them back. She couldn't.
Damien stilled, his gaze cutting into her like a blade. For a long, suffocating moment, she thought he might strike her down, drown her in his fury. Instead, he stepped closer, so near she felt his breath against her lips.
"Careful," he whispered, his tone lethal and intoxicating all at once. "You are fire, but fire consumes quickly. Do not mistake my indulgence for mercy."
Her breath caught, but she refused to look away. "And do not mistake my defiance for weakness."
Something flickered in his eyes—something raw, fleeting, almost human. He reached up, his fingers brushing the side of her throat, lingering against the frantic beat of her pulse.
"Do you know what I saw in that hall?" he murmured. "They looked at you, and for the first time, they feared you. They envied you. And it pleased me more than I expected."
Elowen's lips parted, words lost in the storm of his confession.
"You think me cold. A god carved of ice," Damien continued, his voice low, dangerous, but unsteady in a way that unsettled her more than his cruelty. "But you—" His jaw tightened. He released her suddenly, stepping back as though the contact burned. "You make me reckless."
The admission hung between them, heavy, unspoken.
Elowen pressed a hand to her chest, steadying her breath. She wanted to demand what he meant, to pry at the crack he had just revealed. But the wall slammed back into place, his expression shuttered once more.
Damien turned, his robe swirling like waves caught in a storm. "Return to your chamber. Tomorrow, you will be taught the rites of this palace. You will learn what it means to be bride to a god. Do not test me again."
He walked away, his footsteps silent against the marble, yet his presence lingered, suffocating and magnetic.
Her breath shuddered as she watched him vanish into the shadows of his palace, leaving her with the taste of salt and danger heavy on her lips.
And for the first time, Elowen feared not the god's wrath—but her own treacherous heart.
Elowen watched him go, her heart torn between fear and a dangerous curiosity. For all his coldness, for all his threats, she had seen it—just for an instant.
A fracture.
And she swore to herself she would find it again.