The palace was not quiet the next morning.
At dawn, conch shells echoed through the marble corridors, summoning servants, guards, and priestesses. Elowen woke in her chambers to find a pair of attendants waiting with garments of silver-threaded silk and a basin filled with glowing water.
"The rites begin at sunrise," one murmured, lowering her gaze as though Elowen were already a queen, already untouchable.
Elowen's pulse spiked. She wanted to ask what the rites were, but her pride chained her tongue. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her fear.
They dressed her in a gown that shimmered like liquid moonlight and marked her skin with spirals of blue ink that pulsed faintly, as if alive. Every mark felt like a tether—a reminder that she was no longer her own.
When they led her into the training hall, her steps faltered.
The chamber was vast, its walls carved with depictions of brides before her—women kneeling at altars, women bowing beneath the weight of crowns, women holding blades tipped with flame. At the center stood the Water God himself, dark robes rippling as though woven from the sea itself. His presence swallowed the room whole.
"You're late," he said, though she knew she wasn't.
"I wasn't aware I was expected to run," she shot back.
His lips curved, that infuriating smirk. "Perhaps I'll have you run later."
Her cheeks heated, but she forced herself still as he descended the steps toward her. The air bent around him, alive with salt and storm.
"The rites of a bride are not gentle," he said, circling her like a predator. "They are meant to shape you into something worthy. Body. Mind. Spirit."
"And if I refuse?" she asked.
He paused behind her, so close she felt the whisper of his breath at her ear. "Then I'll train you myself. And I promise you, Elowen…my methods are crueler."
Her heart stuttered, but she refused to move, refused to let him see her flinch.
The first trial was combat.
A priestess handed her a blade, light as glass but strong as steel, the hilt carved with runes that burned her palms. She had no time to study it before a guard stepped forward, weapon drawn.
Elowen barely managed to block the first strike. The clash rang in her bones, jolting her arms. The guard pressed harder, relentless, forcing her back step by step.
"Pathetic," the Water God drawled from his throne at the edge of the hall. "I expected more fight from the girl who dared defy me."
Something hot coiled in her chest. She shoved back, teeth gritted, and this time when the guard swung, she ducked low, letting instinct guide her. The blade slipped past his guard, nicking his arm. The sight of blood made her gasp.
The Water God's slow clap filled the chamber.
"There she is," he said, voice rich with amusement. "The fire I want."
Elowen glared at him, chest heaving. "I wasn't fighting for you."
"Liar."
The second rite was stranger, more intimate.
They led her to a pool where the water shimmered silver under torchlight. The priestesses began to chant, their voices weaving into the air. Elowen was told to kneel, to submerge her hands, to let the current mark her as chosen.
But the water didn't just mark her. It wrapped around her wrists like living chains, pulling tight until she gasped. Symbols flared against her skin, searing.
The Water God stepped closer, kneeling at the pool's edge, watching every twitch of her body with hungry eyes.
"It binds you to me," he murmured, too softly for anyone else to hear. "Every pulse of your heart, every breath—you are tied to mine."
She swallowed hard, her defiance fraying as the water burned deeper. "You can chain my body," she whispered, "but you'll never chain my will."
His grin was dark, victorious. "We'll see."
By the time the rites ended, Elowen was trembling, her gown clinging to her skin, her arms streaked with glowing marks. The court whispered about her strength, about how no mortal bride had endured so fiercely.
But in her heart, Elowen knew this was only the beginning.
And when the Water God dismissed the court with a flick of his hand, his eyes lingered on her in a way that promised the next trial would not be in front of an audience.
The court scattered like waves retreating from the shore, their murmurs fading into the cavernous hallways. The heavy doors shut with a thunderous echo, sealing Elowen inside with him.
The silence was sharp, broken only by the dripping of water from the ceiling. She stood tall despite her trembling body, the ritual's marks still glowing faintly across her arms and collarbone.
The Water God remained seated for a long moment, watching her the way a predator might watch prey that refused to run. Then he rose, every step measured, deliberate, until he was before her.
"You endured," he said at last, his voice smooth, almost approving. His hand brushed the glowing spiral etched along her shoulder, sending a shiver down her spine. "But endurance is not enough."
Elowen slapped his hand away. "I am not yours to touch."
His jaw tightened, but instead of anger, a dangerous smile curved his lips. "Not mine?" He leaned closer, his eyes burning with that impossible, storm-dark blue. "Look at your skin, Elowen. Those marks are mine. This fire in your chest, this fight you cling to—it belongs to me now."
"I belong to no one," she hissed.
The words hung in the air between them, bold, reckless, a strike meant to wound.
He caught her chin in his hand, tilting her face up, forcing her to meet his gaze. His touch was firm, unyielding, but not cruel—not yet. "Say it again," he murmured, low and dangerous.
Her pulse hammered in her throat. For a heartbeat, she almost did. Almost threw the words back in his face. But something in his eyes—something ancient, something that promised both ruin and rapture—froze the defiance on her tongue.
Instead, she whispered, "You can command the seas, but you'll never command me."
The Water God's smirk deepened, as though her resistance only fed him. "You think rebellion will save you? No, little bride. It will only make you mine more completely. The sea does not yield. Neither do I."
His thumb traced the edge of her jaw before he finally released her, stepping back with a slow, deliberate grace that made the air feel heavier in his absence.
"You begin training tomorrow," he said. "Not with guards. With me. You will learn the ways of my realm, the strength of the tides, the discipline of power. If you succeed, you may stand beside me. If you fail…" He let the silence drag, cruel and deliberate, before finishing, "…the sea will decide what to do with you."
Elowen lifted her chin, though her body still ached from the rites. "Then I'll succeed. Not for you. For myself."
He laughed, a dark, rich sound that filled the hall. "Oh, Elowen. You still don't understand. Everything you do here is for me."
And with that, he vanished into the shadows of the hall, leaving her standing alone—burning with fury, with fear, with a strange, traitorous heat she couldn't name.
The morning began with steel.
Elowen was woken before the first light by the toll of a deep bell that reverberated through the palace walls. Servants brought no gowns this time—only a plain tunic, belted at the waist, and boots that felt too heavy.
When they led her to the training grounds, she expected to see rows of guards waiting. Instead, the Water God stood alone at the center of a vast arena carved from black stone, lit by torches that burned with blue flame.
His robe was gone. In its place he wore dark armor that clung to him like a second skin, the muscles of his chest and arms exposed. The sight stole her breath for a beat, but she clenched her fists, refusing to show weakness.
"You're late," he said again, though she wasn't.
"You enjoy repeating yourself," she replied coolly.
The smirk that touched his lips was sharp, dangerous. "And you enjoy testing me. Good. You'll need that spirit."
He lifted his hand, and the air trembled. From the shadows stepped two figures: a towering man with eyes as pale as ice, carrying a halberd, and a lithe woman draped in priestess robes, her fingers glowing with soft light.
"This is Kael," the Water God said, gesturing to the warrior. "Captain of my guard. He will break your body until you learn its limits."
Kael inclined his head slightly, but his gaze was flat, cold, assessing.
"And this is Seris," he continued, nodding toward the priestess. "She will mend what he breaks."
Seris's smile was kind, almost too kind, her eyes glimmering with curiosity as they swept over Elowen. "The mortal bride," she said softly. "You burn brighter than the others."
Others.
The word cut like a blade. Elowen didn't ask how many had stood where she stood now. She didn't want to know.
"You'll train under their eyes," the Water God said, stepping closer until his shadow swallowed hers. "But make no mistake, Elowen. Every blow, every wound, every lesson—belongs to me."
Before she could answer, Kael moved.
The captain swung his halberd in a wide arc that whistled through the air. Elowen barely dodged, the blade missing her shoulder by an inch. She stumbled, her boots too heavy, her body sluggish from the rites.
"Pathetic," Kael muttered. "A mortal child."
Anger flared in her chest. She lunged, grabbing a training sword from the rack at the arena's edge. It was heavier than the blade from yesterday, the hilt rough against her palms, but she lifted it anyway.
Their weapons clashed, sparks scattering. Kael's strength was monstrous, every strike nearly sending her to her knees. Sweat slicked her skin, her arms trembling, but she refused to fall.
The Water God watched from the dais above, his expression unreadable.
At last, Kael's halberd knocked her sword from her grasp, sending it skidding across the stone. His blade pressed to her throat.
"Dead," he said simply.
Her chest heaved, fury warring with despair.
"Again," the Water God ordered.
They did. And again, and again. Each time she lasted longer, moved sharper, her instincts catching faster. Each time Kael struck her down.
By the time her knees gave out, blood dripped from a cut across her brow, and her arms screamed from strain.
Seris knelt beside her, her hands glowing as she whispered incantations that sealed wounds and eased pain. "You're strong," she murmured, her voice low enough that only Elowen could hear. "But strength alone won't save you. You'll need cunning, too."
Elowen's gaze flicked to the Water God. He was still watching, still unreadable, but there was a heat in his eyes now, something simmering beneath the ice.
When she rose again, sword in hand, she met Kael's next strike with not just strength but calculation. Instead of blocking directly, she twisted aside, letting his weight carry him forward. Her blade nicked his armor before he corrected.
The sound of the Water God's laughter rolled across the arena like thunder.
"Finally," he said. "The fire I wanted."
Elowen's chest burned, not with pride but with something wilder, something she refused to name.
She glanced at him, defiance sharp in her eyes. "I wasn't fighting for you."
His smirk curved darker. "Liar."
Kael's next strike was harder, faster, deliberate. She barely parried in time. Her arms shook violently, her breath ragged.
But when she fell again, the Water God descended from the dais himself.
"Enough," he commanded, and Kael immediately withdrew.
The Water God crouched before her, tilting her chin up with two fingers. His touch was firm, cool, possessive.
"You did not break," he murmured. "That pleases me."
Elowen yanked her chin free, fury blazing. "I will never exist to please you."
For a heartbeat, silence. Then his smirk returned, wicked and devastating. "Every word you spit at me, every glance of defiance—it pleases me more than obedience ever could. Remember that, little bride. It's not submission I want. It's you."
Her breath caught, traitorous, and she hated herself for it.
He rose, offering no hand to help her up. "Training continues at dawn tomorrow. Fail, and you'll wish the sea had swallowed you whole."
As he turned away, Seris whispered near Elowen's ear, "Careful. The sea may drown…but it also tempts."
Elowen stared at his retreating form, her heart torn between hatred, fear, and something darker. She wasn't sure which one would destroy her first.