The climb to the ridge was harder than Elena expected. The trees thinned, but the ground pitched upward, the air sharpened, and each breath left her lips like smoke in the moonlight. Soren walked ahead—quiet, steady, his pace eerily calibrated to hers. Not rushed. Not relaxed. Controlled in a way that made her nerves itch.
He didn't look back. He didn't need to. His awareness tracked her the way a second shadow would—silent, constant, impossible to outrun.
When her foot slipped on loose gravel, she caught herself, but Soren turned toward her in one smooth, reflexive motion. His cloak swung, armor catching the moonlight in clean, cold lines. It was the first time she truly saw the strength beneath it—the breadth of his shoulders, the carved shape of his arms, leather straps pulled tight over muscle.
He looked like a man built to end battles, not start them.
Heat flickered under her skin. Ridiculous. She was a scientist. Anatomy was interesting. That was all.
Soren's gaze slid over her. He saw the staring. He did not hide his reaction.
A smirk tugged briefly at one corner of his mouth—quiet, arrogant, perfectly aware of its effect. It vanished as quickly as it came, but the damage was done; her spine reacted like someone had dragged a fingertip along it.
He turned back up the ridge as though he had just confirmed a hypothesis.
At the crest, the world opened.
Carved into the mountainside stood a fortress of stone and shadow—towers rising like claws, battlements lined with torches that refused to flicker despite the slicing wind. It looked ancient.
Elena let out a small breath. "That's your home?"
"Varyn Citadel." His tone made the name sound like a verdict.
They descended toward the gates. Guards stiffened the moment they saw Soren, posture snapping into form the way muscles respond to pain. Their expression only faltered when they spotted her—a woman in strange clothes, a conference badge glinting faintly beneath torchlight.
One guard stepped forward. "Your Highness, who—"
"She is under my protection," Soren said, cutting him cleanly off.
The guard swallowed. Bowed. "Yes, Prince Soren."
Inside the walls, the citadel felt alive—like the whole structure breathed. Soldiers moved with purpose; servants passed with bowed heads; smiths hammered metal in rhythmic, heartbeat-like strikes. Every person who crossed Soren's path slowed, eyes dipping toward him with a mix of respect and something sharper.
Elena stayed close. Because she had no other choice. Because the air itself felt charged with danger she couldn't yet name.
Soren led her beneath an archway into a quieter courtyard. Torchlight cast warm, unsteady reflections on the stone.
"You will not wander alone," he said. "Not until I understand what you are."
Elena stiffened. "What I am? I'm a person, not a phenomenon."
His gaze dipped—briefly but unmistakably—to her badge.
She yanked it against her chest on instinct.
Soren looked up again, slow and deliberate. A man who examined reactions the way surgeons examine wounds.
"What are you hiding?" he asked.
"Nothing."
His smirk returned, deeper this time. Knowing. He didn't call her a liar. He didn't have to.
"Mmm," he murmured. "If you insist."
He stepped closer. The courtyard felt suddenly smaller. The air heavier. She sensed the heat of him, the quiet power coiled beneath his armor, the clean scent of steel and pine.
"You arrived from nowhere," he said. "Your clothing. Your speech. Even the way you breathe." His eyes held hers, dark and unwavering. "Every part of you tells me you are not from Caer Varyn. Or any land near it."
Elena's pulse stumbled. "You're exaggerating."
"No." His gaze didn't blink. "I am observing."
He moved one step closer. She had to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes.
And that was when she felt it fully: The difference in their height. His physical power. Her utter lack of leverage.
"You carry secrets," Soren said quietly. "I will learn them."
"You can't just—"
"I can," he murmured, smooth and sure. "But I won't. Not tonight."
Her heartbeat didn't ask permission to accelerate. He felt it anyway. She knew he did.
He didn't touch her. He didn't need to. His attention was a hand on her skin.
Finally, he stepped back—just enough to breathe again. "You will stay in the keep. A room will be prepared."
"For how long?" she asked.
"For as long as I decide."
Arrogant. Unapologetic.
Absolutely, infuriatingly Soren.
A cold breeze moved through the courtyard. Torches flickered. Metal rang in the distance—a smith working, not an alarm. Life continued around them without caring that her world had just tilted again.
Elena folded her arms. "And what am I supposed to do until you 'decide' anything?"
He studied her with that same searching, clinical intent he'd had since the forest—sharp, perceptive, impossible to dodge.
"Adapt," he said. "Watch. Learn."A beat."And stop lying to me. You're not good at it."
Her jaw tightened. "You barely know me."
His gaze dropped once more to her badge, then lifted to meet her eyes.
"That," he said softly, "is what makes you interesting."
The smirk returned—dangerous in its precision.
And for the first time since arriving in this world, Elena wondered which was worse:
The threats waiting outside the citadel—
—or the man standing in front of her.