The hall fell silent as the dragon guards and Draven took their seats. Seated upon his throne in human form, Draven watched Elanor with a cold, piercing gaze, tracking her every movement. Thor and the other sentries observed from the periphery, their attention fixed.
The music swelled with a slow, haunting melody; the stone floor vibrated, and the flames in the braziers danced in rhythmic harmony. Elanor took a deep breath. Instinctively, she touched Sergie's ring and heard his faint whisper: "Focus, Elanor. Your dance is not merely a spectacle... it is your weapon of control, attention, and influence. Enchant them with your light and your flowers."
Elanor nodded slightly and closed her eyes. She began to move, her steps aligning with the rhythm. With her first stride, small halos of light appeared on the stone floor; glowing dust particles scattered as if they had gained a life of their own.
As the chains on her wrists jingled softly, Elanor's dance became hypnotic. Every emphasis of her steps shifted the atmosphere of the hall, the rings of light rising and swirling around her.
Then, a small miracle occurred: tiny, vibrant flowers began to sprout from the cracks in the stone floor beneath her feet. At first one by one, then spreading slowly to the corners of the hall. Red, purple, and white blossoms transformed the cold, gloomy air of the stone chamber, bringing with them a faint scent of nature.
The dragon guards' eyes widened; some turned their heads in shock, others held their breath. Draven leaned forward slightly on his throne, his azure eyes glowing, though he remained silent.
Elanor's pace quickened; her spins, leaps, and graceful footwork merged into a captivating rhythm. Her energy, fused with light and flowers, cast a subtle spell over every corner of the room. The dragons could hardly believe that a chained human slave could be so commanding.
Thor leaned in from his corner, his eyes filled with awe. But Draven's gaze remained fixed, his mind racing with internal monologue: "This... human... chained... yet... how can her light and power be so compelling? A hypnotic dance... and these flowers... it's as if she is challenging me. This little fairy... strange yet potent. I must watch her closely."
As Elanor completed her final movements, the hall fell into a profound silence. Both the guards and Draven seemed to hold their breath for a moment, lingering in the wake of her performance. Elanor bowed gracefully, the clink of her chains echoing as she withdrew.
Draven rose silently and approached the center of the room. He reached her and placed a hand gently against her cheek. Elanor's heart hammered against her ribs; the warmth and proximity were both terrifying and enchanting. His hand was hot, radiating power.
Just as he seemed close enough to brush her lips, Draven pulled back abruptly. A cruel, thin smirk played on his lips. "Is this all you are capable of, Fairy? Do you think your red hair and blue eyes make you special? You are a nothing, my little toy," he said, his voice laced with a dirty smile.
His eyes were brilliant blue, filled with mystery. In a sudden blur of motion, he shifted into his dragon form. His wings unfurled, and he ascended through the opening toward the sky. Elanor watched, breathless. His form was magnificent, imposing, and... haunting; rather than simple admiration, she was struck by the sheer weight of his power.
Standing amidst the flowers, her chains swaying slightly, Elanor caught her breath. She had completed her first performance; she had shown her light. She was alone in the room, but she was now one step stronger, one step more cautious... and one step closer to being the Fairy she needed to be.
Back in the solitude of her room, Sergie's voice still echoed in her ears:
"Elanor… be careful. Protect yourself and be patient. Every step must be calculated; every movement carries meaning. Learn to watch Draven; wait for your moment."
Elanor took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The exhaustion of the day and the weight of this new world pressed down on her. Even the slight weight of her chains offered a strange sense of groundedness. She lay down and drifted into a deep sleep.
Unbeknownst to her, Draven entered the room in his human form, his footsteps silent. Elanor did not hear him; in the depths of her sleep, she was unaware of the shadows shifting in the corner. Draven paced the room slowly, his presence heavy yet quiet. He watched her, his thoughts weighing heavily. Elanor turned in her sleep, a flicker of peace on her face, completely oblivious to his gaze.
The morning sun filtered through the thin cracks in the stone walls. When Elanor opened her eyes, she found herself on the cool stone floor. Her chains still bound her wrists, but she was no longer alone. Draven stood by the door, watching her with a mocking smile.
"Good morning, little fairy," he said, his voice a mix of mildness and sharp irony. "I believe a morning refreshment is in order. Will you assist me?"
He unlocked her chains and motioned for her to follow. Another door in the room led to a breathtaking natural pool nestled among the rocks. It was massive and enchanting, featuring a cliff-like opening similar to the one in her room.
Elanor pulled her hair back and gently applied water to Draven's back and arms. Every touch was a rhythm, every movement a dance. Draven narrowed his eyes, saying mockingly: "Must I really do this with you, Fairy? But... I suppose I can endure it."
Elanor held her breath, trying to stifle the rapid beating of her heart. The warm water of the stone pool clung to Draven's skin, splashing and cascading over his muscular frame like a masterpiece.
For a moment, Draven leaned in close to her face; her cheeks glistened with moisture and the morning light. Elanor tried to remain stoic, but her heart raced and her face burned. Just as Draven seemed about to kiss her, he pulled away again, shifted into his dragon form, and soared out of the room.
As water droplets sparkled in Elanor's eyes, Draven's draconic silhouette created a majestic image against the light. Standing by the pool, her hands still wet, Elanor knew she had to be ready to solve the mystery of Draven if she was to survive this dangerous world.
Draven, lost in thought beneath the shadow of his own wings, found his attraction to Elanor even more complex in his dragon form. How can a human affect me this much? he wondered. I am a dragon; she is a slave. Yet my heart... no, not just my heart... my very core feels as if it is losing control.
He realized that as a King, his authority was paramount, yet Elanor's presence was upending his logic. He decided he would take his time to understand this pull, watching her movements while maintaining his boundaries. In this world, the union of power and attraction made Elanor a threat.
The door to her room opened quietly. Elanor sat up in surprise as servants entered, bearing trays, candlesticks, and plates. Draven appeared in the doorway, his eyes locked onto hers.
"I shall dine with you today, little fairy," he said, his voice commanding but carrying an unusual hint of softness.
As the meal was set, Draven approached and reached for her chains. The cold metal rings were removed one by one. Free for the first time, Elanor looked at her bare wrists as Draven sat down.
"Begin," was all he said.
Driven by a hunger she hadn't realized was so deep, Elanor began to eat ravenously. Draven watched her in silence, his hidden surprise evident. It was a moment that felt startlingly human. When she finally noticed her own desperation, she lowered her head in shame, her hands trembling as she set down her knife.
"I... I am sorry," she whispered.
Draven's voice was low. "When was the last time... they fed you?"
"The night before last," Elanor replied softly, her eyes downcast.
Something flickered in Draven's eyes—a realization that pierced through his usual indifference. A sharp anger rose within him toward his own guards. How dare they not feed what belongs to me... he thought, clenching his jaw.
When the meal ended, Draven stood. "Prepare yourself. You will dance tonight," he said, his voice a strange bridge between an order and a request.
As Elanor was led away by servants carrying fine silks and shimmering ornaments, Draven stepped into the corridor. He shot a lethal look at the guard standing nearby.
"From now on," he said, his voice trembling with suppressed rage, "she is to be fed regularly. Every day. Without fail."
The guard bowed in affirmation. Draven walked away, his fists clenched, frustrated with himself. Have you fallen this far, Draven? Your voice trembles for a slave... your strength will be questioned. Pull yourself together.
But despite his internal warnings, the restlessness in his soul would not be silenced.
Would you like me to continue the story from the evening of the dance or focus on Elanor's preparations?