They did not speak as they left the throne hall.
Hell itself seemed to hold its breath.
Elara could still feel the Devil King's presence lingering under her skin—like fingers that had pressed too hard and left bruises no one else could see. The leash he spoke of hadn't vanished when the pressure lifted.
It had sunk deeper.
Kael walked beside her, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched, yet rigid with restraint. His flames were banked low, barely visible—but the tension rolling off him was suffocating.
She felt it through the bond.
Anger.
Fear.
And something darker—something coiling inward.
The moment they crossed into the upper spire, Kael stopped.
"This is where you stay," he said.
The chamber sealed itself the instant they entered. Wards flared to life, layered and intricate, ancient enough that even Elara felt their weight press against her bones.
A sanctuary.
A prison.
She turned slowly. "You moved me."
"Yes."
"You didn't ask."
"No."
The hunger stirred, responding to the isolation immediately—sharp, insistent. Elara pressed a hand to her chest, breathing carefully.
Kael noticed.
He always noticed.
"I won't let him use you again," he said. "Not like that."
She laughed softly, without humor. "By doing it yourself?"
His head snapped up.
"This is different."
"How?" she asked. "Because you say it's for my safety?"
He stepped closer, voice low. "Because I won't hurt you."
The hunger pulsed in response—confused, aching, pulling toward him like gravity.
"Then why does it feel like you're closing a fist around me?"
Kael said nothing.
Later—when the hunger could no longer be ignored—it came quietly. No screaming. No collapse. Just a hollow ache that made standing feel distant, unreal.
Elara sat on the edge of the bed, fingers trembling.
"Kael," she whispered. "I need—"
He was already there.
Kneeling before her, close but not touching, as if even proximity was a test of control.
"Slow," he said. "You don't pull. You let me guide it."
Her throat tightened. "And if I don't?"
His eyes darkened. "Then it stops."
She hated how part of her softened at that.
"I need you," she admitted.
Kael exhaled sharply and offered his wrist—but only just close enough.
When she touched him, relief poured into her in measured waves. Controlled. Deliberate. The hunger quieted, but it did not disappear.
Kael's jaw clenched as he endured it, eyes never leaving her face.
"That's enough," he said.
She obeyed.
The ache returned instantly.
Kael withdrew, standing too fast, turning away like distance was the only thing keeping him sane.
After that, the world shrank.
Requests were denied. Visitors refused. Messages never reached her.
When Elara asked how long this would last, Kael said only, "Until you're stable."
She didn't miss the word he didn't use.
Free.
That night, alone in the sealed chamber, the bond pulsing steadily between them, Elara realized something terrifying.
The Devil King had chained her hunger.
Kael had simply decided to hold the key.