ELARA'S POV
I woke up screaming.
My hands clawed at silk sheets as memory crashed back—Father's execution, the forced wedding, Kaedan's arms around me as the drug pulled me under.
Where was I?
The room was huge and unfamiliar. Massive windows showed snow-covered mountains. A fireplace crackled with warmth. Everything was luxurious and wrong.
A beautiful prison.
The door opened and a young woman entered with a breakfast tray. Kind brown eyes, gentle movements.
Your Highness, I'm Mira. The General assigned me as your personal maid.
I grabbed the nearest thing, a heavy book, and threw it at her head. Get OUT!
Mira dodged easily, like she'd expected it. Please, I'm not here to hurt you. I just brought food.
I don't want food! I want to go home! My voice cracked. I want my father. I want—
Everything I'd been holding back crashed through me. Sobs choked off my words. I buried my face in my hands as grief tore me apart.
Father was dead. My kingdom was gone. Cassia had betrayed me.
And I was married to the man who'd killed everything I loved.
Mira set down the tray and slowly approached. I'm so sorry for what happened to you.
Then help me escape.
I can't. The fortress is surrounded by soldiers and mountains. There's nowhere to go.
So I'm just supposed to accept this?
Mira's silence was answer enough.
I forced myself to breathe. Crying wouldn't help. I needed to think—find weaknesses, opportunities, anything.
Where is the General now?
In his study. He works most mornings. Mira hesitated. He gave strict orders that no one is to touch you or enter your rooms without permission.
So he wasn't planning to force himself on me. Small comfort.
He requests your presence at dinner tonight, Mira continued. Seven o'clock.
And if I refuse?
He said you'd refuse. Mira actually smiled slightly. He also said he'd wait. That you'd come eventually.
The arrogance of it sparked my anger. Good. Anger was better than despair.
After Mira left, I explored my cage. The bedroom, a bathing room, a wardrobe full of my own dresses, looted from my palace.
I tried every door and window. All locked.
Except one.
A door hidden behind a curtain opened into the most beautiful library I'd ever seen.
Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, packed with thousands of books. Some from Ashencourt. Others from kingdoms I'd only read about. All arranged carefully.
Why would a brutal general have a library like this?
I pulled a book at random—poetry from a conquered kingdom. The pages were worn, margins filled with notes in neat handwriting.
The General's handwriting.
Can't sleep either?
I spun around, heart jumping.
Kaedan stood in the doorway. He'd changed from his armor into simple black clothes. His silver-white hair was slightly messy, like he'd been running his hands through it.
He looked younger this way. Less like a general. More like a man.
Still devastatingly handsome in that cold, sharp way that made my breath catch.
I hated that I noticed.
This is your library? I clutched the book like a weapon.
Yes. He walked toward me, and I forced myself not to back away. You have access whenever you want. Knowledge is the one thing I won't deny you.
How generous. You take everything else but leave me books.
Would you prefer I took those too?
I'd prefer you'd left my kingdom alone!
Something flickered in his eyes—there and gone too fast to identify. He reached past me for a book, and I caught his scent. Steel and snow and something warmer.
I stepped back quickly.
His lips curved slightly. Afraid, Princess?
Of you? Never.
Liar. But he didn't sound angry. Almost... amused. Your heart is racing. I can see your pulse. His eyes dropped to my throat. Lingered there.
Heat flooded my cheeks. That's anger, not fear.
Is it? He set the book down, studying me with those unsettling silver eyes. What should I do with a wife who hates me, I wonder?
Let me go.
No. He moved closer. I held my ground even though every instinct screamed to run. You're the most interesting thing that's happened to me in years, Princess. I'm not letting you go.
I'm not a thing for your entertainment!
No. You're my wife. He reached out slowly—giving me time to move away. When I didn't, his fingers caught a strand of my hair. And I protect what's mine.
I slapped his hand away. Don't touch me!
His eyes flashed—not anger. Something hotter. You can hate me all you want. Fight me at every turn. It won't change what you are.
And what's that?
Mine. The word was almost a growl.
We stood there, too close, tension crackling between us like lightning before a storm.
Then he stepped back, breaking the moment.
Dinner. Seven o'clock. Don't be late, wife.
After he left, I sagged against the bookshelf, shaking.
What was wrong with me? Why did his proximity make my heart race? Why did some traitorous part of me notice how his eyes darkened when he looked at me?
He killed my father. I should only feel hate.
But when he'd touched my hair, when he'd called me hi
No. I couldn't think about that.
That evening, I almost didn't go to dinner. Pride warred with practicality. But I needed information about this fortress, about possible escape routes.
And I refused to let him think he'd broken me.
The dining room was smaller than I expected. Intimate. A long table with two places set—one at the head, one beside it.
Kaedan stood when I entered. A gentlemanly gesture from a man who was anything but.
Princess. I'm glad you came.
I'm here because I choose to be, not because you commanded it.
Of course. His tone suggested he didn't believe me at all. He pulled out the chair beside him—not across from him. Beside. Sit.
I'd rather stand.
That wasn't a request. His voice dropped to cold steel.
Our eyes locked. Battle of wills.
Finally, I sat. Small victory, I chose to sit. He didn't force me.
His almost-smile said he knew exactly what I was telling myself.
Dinner was brought, rich food that smelled delicious. My traitorous stomach growled.
We ate in tense silence. Finally, Kaedan spoke.
You should have just said yes at the altar. Would've been easier.
I don't do easy.
No. His eyes gleamed with something dark. I'm beginning to understand that. Good. I hate boring things.
I set down my fork with more force than necessary. Is that what I am to you? Entertainment?
You're my wife.
A title forced on me!
Titles are often forced, Princess. That doesn't make them less real. He leaned back, studying me. Tell me—would you have preferred I let the Emperor have you? His methods of extracting information are far less pleasant than mine.
The Vault. He was talking about the Vault.
I don't know anything about it, I lied.
Your eyes say otherwise. He leaned forward suddenly, elbows on the table. Here's the situation. The Emperor wants the Vault of Binding. Ancient magic your father protected. If I don't deliver you for questioning, he'll come take you himself.
Then let him come.
You don't know what you're saying. For the first time, something like concern flickered across his face. The Emperor's interrogators break people, Elara. Body and mind. They'll torture you until there's nothing left but screaming.
The use of my name—not Princess, but Elara—made something flutter in my chest.
And you're different? I challenged.
Yes. He held my gaze. I'm giving you a choice. Tell me what you know about the Vault. I'll find it myself, give the Emperor enough to satisfy him, and keep you here. Safe.
Safe? I'm a prisoner!
A living prisoner. That's more than most get. He paused. Or refuse. I hand you over to the Emperor. His interrogators will tear the information from your mind anyway, but you won't survive the process.
My hands clenched in my lap. That's not a choice. That's a threat.
It's reality. His voice gentled slightly. I'm trying to protect you, Princess. Let me.
Why? I demanded. Why do you care if I live or die?
He was silent for a long moment. Then: I haven't decided yet. But I find I do care. Against all logic and reason.
Something in his tone made my breath catch.
I don't trust you, I said.
Smart. You shouldn't. He stood and came around the table. I tensed, but he only refilled my wine glass. But you should trust yourself. Your instincts kept you alive this long. What do they tell you now?
That you're dangerous. That you're my enemy. That I should hate you completely.
That I'm terrified of how you make me feel.
They tell me you're a monster, I said aloud.
True. He didn't seem bothered by it. But I'm a monster offering you survival. That's better than the alternative.
I grabbed the wine glass and threw the contents in his face.
Red liquid dripped down his sharp features. His silver eyes widened—not with anger. With surprise. Then something hotter.
In one fluid movement, he set down the glass, leaned down, and braced his hands on either side of my chair, caging me in.
We were face to face, inches apart. I could feel the heat radiating from him. Could see the wine drops on his lips.
Do you feel better now? His voice was dangerously soft.
My heart hammered. Not even a little bit.
Good. His eyes dropped to my mouth. Lingered there. Anger looks beautiful on you, Princess.
I should have been terrified. Should have pushed him away.
Instead, I was frozen, caught between hate and something far more dangerous.
You're a monster, I whispered.
Yes. He leaned closer—so close his breath stirred my hair. But you're starting to wonder what kind of monster, aren't you?
No.
Liar. His hand came up, almost touching my face but not quite. Your pulse is racing again. Is that anger? Or something else?
I shoved against his chest. He moved back immediately, but slowly, like he was giving me the victory.
Don't touch me, I said breathlessly.
I didn't. His smile was sharp. But you wanted me to. Just for a second, you wondered what it would feel like.
You're delusional!
Am I? He straightened, adjusting his wine-stained shirt. We'll see, Princess. We have time. All the time in the world.
He walked toward the door, paused. Seven o'clock tomorrow. We'll discuss this again. And Elara?
I hated how my name sounded in his voice.
Eventually, you'll stop fighting. Not because I break you. Because you'll realize I'm the only ally you have in this world. When that happens, we'll be dangerous together.
After he left, I sat trembling.
Not from fear.
From the terrifying realization that some part of me wanted to know what he meant.