Elowen was given chambers overlooking the inner courtyard—too close to the throne, too well-guarded to be a kindness.
Guards stood outside her door day and night. Demons watched from the corners of the ceiling like living shadows.
She did not try to escape.
Kael visited that night.
He did not knock.
"You are not to touch anything old," he said, surveying the room as if expecting it to combust. "You are not to wander. You are not to speak to the dragons."
"I don't know how to do that," Elowen said.
He stepped closer. Too close.
"You do not get to choose what you are," he said softly. "I will decide that."
Something in her snapped—not outward, but inward. The warmth surged, wild and furious, then vanished again like a breath held too long.
Kael felt it.
His jaw tightened.
"Listen to me carefully, little human," he said, voice low and dangerous. "Whatever you are—whatever wakes inside you—belongs to me now."
Elowen lifted her chin.
"Then," she said, "you should be afraid."
Kael smiled.
And the castle locked its doors.