The heat beneath my skin bloomed into a thick, throbbing pain. The mark on my collarbone demanded submission, gnawing at my flesh with invisible teeth. I gripped the edge of the wooden table, watching my knuckles turn white.
Ten minutes passed. Twenty.
The impulse of the bond shifted from insistent to furious. Cale was calling. Cale was commanding. And I sat there, staring at the guttering candle, relishing my own courage—a courage that felt more like agony.
When I finally pushed open the heavy oak door to his chambers, the air inside felt like lead. The scent of bitter tobacco and old leather hit my face. Cale sat in an armchair by the hearth, his silhouette drowning in thick shadows, the firelight licking his heavy boots.
"You are late."
His voice was too quiet—the low growl of a predator before snapping its prey's spine.
I stopped at the threshold, keeping my eyes downcast but refusing to bow.
"The hall clock might be off."
Cale rose slowly. Every step he took across the stone flags echoed through me as a shudder. He didn't walk; he closed the distance like a predator on the hunt.
"The clock?"
He stopped a step away. I could feel the heat radiating from him.
"Look at me."
I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palms. My neck was stiff, my will screaming for me to surrender, but I forced my chin up. His eyes burned with a cold, golden fire. At the bottom of his pupils swirled a darkness ready to swallow me whole.
"I am waiting for an explanation, Alina. Why were you still in your room when the bond told you to be here?"
"I was busy."
Cale narrowed his eyes. His upper lip twitched almost imperceptibly.
"Busy? With your pathetic little rebellion?"
"I am not a thing to be pulled by a string."
"You are mistaken."
He lunged. I didn't even have time to scream—his fingers closed around my throat, and the world tilted. My back slammed into the icy wall. The impact knocked the wind out of my lungs, and the cold stone seeped through my clothes, making my skin crawl.
"Repeat what you said."
His grip made it impossible to breathe. I gasped for air, looking into a face that had become a mask of frozen rage.
"You... just..." I wheezed, trying to pry his hand off.
"Did you think I would play at democracy with you?" Cale pressed closer, pinning me against the stones. "Did you think that because I allowed you to breathe in this castle, you earned the right to say 'no'?"
I tried to spit in his face, but I only had the strength to twitch. At that moment, he bared his teeth.
"Is physical proximity not enough for you? Do you want to feel my hold on your mind?"
The mark on my collarbone flared with white fire.
The blow came from within. It wasn't just pain—it was molten metal poured directly into my veins. My knees buckled, but Cale held me by the throat, preventing me from falling. My consciousness exploded into sparks. Every cell in my body convulsed, trying to hide from the searing heat.
"Enough..." I moaned, feeling the first bitter tears roll down my cheeks.
"Not enough."
He intensified the flow. My own scream caught in my constricted throat. Only one thought hammered in my head: make it stop, please, make it stop. All my dignity, all the pride I had gathered throughout the evening, crumbled to dust under this magical pressure.
"What are you here?" his whisper brushed my lips. He smelled of smoke and danger.
"A servant..." I gasped, losing consciousness from the pain.
"No. Think higher. You are my property."
Cale loosened his grip on my throat but immediately caught my chin, forcing me to look at him through a veil of tears. My arms hung limply at my sides. My body still twitched from the residual shocks of the bond.
"Look at your hands, Alina. They're shaking."
I didn't answer. I stared at a button on his doublet, hating myself for this weakness.
"Look into my eyes."
I obeyed. There was no pity in his gaze—only the satisfaction of a hunter who had cornered his prey.
"This castle will become your world. This room, your altar. Every movement, every breath belongs to me. You can lock your doors, you can stay silent, you can hate me until you see blood. But you will come when I call."
He leaned in even closer, our breaths mingling.
"You will never be free. Remember that word. 'Never'."
He let go of me so abruptly I nearly collapsed to the floor. Cale returned to the table as if nothing had happened and gestured toward a tray of wine.
"Serve me."
I stood pressed against the wall, feeling the crimson bruises blooming on my neck. My throat was raw, and the magical trace of the bond still ached deep in my chest.
"I'm waiting," he snapped without looking back.
My fingers brushed the decanter. They were trembling so violently the glass rattled against the rim of the goblet. Wine spilled onto the tablecloth in a dark red puddle that looked like blood.
"Clumsy thing," Cale spat, taking the goblet from my hands. His fingers touched mine intentionally, and I flinched, recoiling.
He took a sip, never taking his heavy, triumphant gaze off me. Outside, the wind wailed through the cracks of the old castle, but here, in the silence of his chambers, I could only hear the thumping of my own heart—the frantic, trapped beat of a creature that had just realized the depth of its cage.
"Change," he ordered. "Your dress is ruined by wine. And my hands."
I lowered my head. My lips moved, uttering the only word that mattered in this house now.
"Yes, master."
Cale grunted, and the sound was more terrifying than any blow. The rebellion was crushed before it could even begin. And the worst part was—I knew that tomorrow, when the bond pulled the strings again, I would come even faster.
Because pain was the only language he agreed to speak with me. And in that language, I had no words left for protest.
I walked toward the wardrobe, feeling his cold, appraising gaze on my back. My freedom had ended there, at the stone wall, under his heavy palm. Now, only service remained. And this silence, in which every breath felt stolen.
"Don't make me wait again," came the voice from behind me.
I closed my eyes, trying not to sob aloud.
"Never."