"I should've stayed in that prison," Aelira whispered, her chest tight with frustration.
Kaeltherion's crimson eyes fixed on her, calm but colder now.
"I want revenge," he said, his voice steady and unshaken.
Aelira's fingers flexed, trembling with a mixture of anger and fear.
"And I will not allow anything to hinder it," he continued. "Not even you."
"Then don't use me," she replied, stepping back slightly, defiance flashing in her gaze. "Don't drag me into your war."
Kaeltherion remained still, silent, his eyes never leaving hers.
"I won't stand there and watch you destroy my people," she said firmly. "If it comes to that… I'll kill myself before you ever get the chance to use me against them."
For the first time, something shifted in him. A pulse ran through the connection between them, sharp and sudden, and a faint ache touched his chest.
He studied her for a long moment, then stepped closer. "Your life is not yours to throw away," he said calmly.
"I—" she tried, but he cut her off.
"No. Not anymore."
Her defiance flared, but she did not move back.
Before she could step away, Kaeltherion appeared in front of her, lifting her chin with one hand.
"Do not do anything reckless," he said, low and controlled.
Her heart skipped. "I… I'm not—"
"You will not get the opportunity to harm yourself," he said, each word deliberate. "Do not test me."
Aelira's hands clenched at her sides, but she remained rooted in place.
"You may think you have a choice, but you do not," he continued. "I will not let anything happen to you. Not now. Not ever."
She swallowed hard, realizing his calm dominance could not be shaken.
Her frustration finally broke. She pushed him, trying to escape.
But he didn't budge. Not an inch.
"You—let me go!" she shouted. "Once the spell is broken… I'm free! And since I released you, forget your revenge!"
Kaeltherion's jaw tightened, crimson eyes narrowing fractionally. "I will not abandon what I've planned," he said quietly.
Her anger flared. "You won't get to use me as a pawn! I'd rather die than let you hurt them!"
He studied her, unyielding. She realized no amount of struggle could move him.
Frustrated and exhausted, Aelira squatted, burying her face in her hands.
Tears slipped freely.
Kaeltherion froze.
A single tear slid from his own eye.
Quickly, he brushed it away, letting out a low, heavy sigh.
"Do not cry again," he warned, calm yet commanding.
Aelira lifted her head, startled. His presence felt different—softened by a trace of something unspoken.
Her sobs continued, and he finally spoke again.
"I will not do anything for now, not until they provoke me. But you must promise… you will not think of leaving, or of harming yourself."
Aelira hesitated, but finally nodded. "I… I promise."
Kaeltherion's gaze lingered a moment, then he stepped back, letting the silence settle—but the tension remained, thick and charged.
She wiped her tears quickly and stood, questioning him: "Really?"
He nodded, and with one hand, drew her gently against his body.
Aelira froze, cheeks burning at the sudden intimacy.
"There's… a punishment," he murmured, low and teasing, brushing near her ear. "For anyone who enters the king's chamber without being summoned."
Her eyes widened.
"Punishment?"
Kaeltherion leaned closer, whispering something she could not share.
Her eyes widened further, her breath catching.
Aelira sank into the warm bath, letting the water soothe her aching body, but even here, anger simmered beneath her skin.
Kaeltherion. That infuriating, unyielding king.
She scrubbed, soaked, and let her mind drift, replaying every word, every gesture from earlier—the command, the whisper, the way he had drawn her close.
"I can't believe him," she muttered under her breath. "Does he think he can control me?"
The water ran warm around her, but it did nothing to calm the storm of frustration inside her.
And then, as her fingers traced the edge of the tub, her thoughts wandered…
To the events that had led her here.
Her curiosity. Her recklessness.
She had left her chamber, silent and unseen, wanting to explore, to see if there was a way to escape the demon realm.
She had slipped down the corridors, careful to avoid the guards and maids, moving toward Kaeltherion's chamber, unaware of the danger.
But then… she had stumbled upon their conversation.
Kaeltherion and Eryndor, plotting, speaking of vengeance, speaking of power. Words that made her blood run cold.
Frozen against the wall, she had listened, every secret seared into her mind.
Her curiosity, her desire to act, had been noticed.
And that had earned her her punishment.
Not chains, not imprisonment.
But service.
She had massaged him, dressed him, served food and wine, anticipating every subtle need, every small demand.
Her muscles ached, her bones screamed, yet she endured it, knowing that the king's gaze never left her.
The memory made her chest tighten—anger, frustration, and something she refused to name mixed into a storm inside her.
Her hands clenched into fists, and she sank lower into the water, letting the warmth do nothing to soothe the turmoil in her mind.
She would endure. She had no choice.
But the fire of defiance still burned inside her.
Aelira sank into the warm bath, letting the water soothe her aching body, but even here, anger simmered beneath her skin.
Kaeltherion. That infuriating, unyielding king.
She scrubbed and soaked, letting her mind replay every word, every gesture from earlier—the command, the whisper, the way he had drawn her close.
"I can't believe him," she muttered under her breath. "Does he think he can control me?"
The water ran warm around her, but it did nothing to calm the storm of frustration inside her.
And then, as her fingers traced the edge of the tub, her thoughts wandered…
To the events that had led her here.
Her curiosity. Her recklessness.
She had left her chamber, silent and unseen, wanting to explore, to see if there was a way to escape the demon realm.
She had slipped down the corridors, careful to avoid the guards and maids, moving toward Kaeltherion's chamber, unaware of the danger.
But then… she had stumbled upon their conversation.
Kaeltherion and Eryndor, plotting, speaking of vengeance, speaking of power. Words that made her blood run cold.
Frozen against the wall, she had listened, every secret seared into her mind.
Her curiosity, her desire to act, had been noticed.
And that had earned her her punishment.
Not chains, not imprisonment.
But service.
She had massaged him, dressed him, served food and wine, anticipating every subtle need, every small demand.
Her muscles ached, her bones screamed, yet she endured it, knowing that the king's gaze never left her.
The memory made her chest tighten—anger, frustration, and something she refused to name mixed into a storm inside her.
Her hands clenched into fists, and she sank lower into the water, letting the warmth do nothing to soothe the turmoil in her mind.
She would endure. She had no choice.
But the fire of defiance still burned inside her.
Once the bath was over, the maids waited, quiet and efficient.
"Sit," one instructed gently, guiding her to a cushioned chair.
Aelira obeyed reluctantly, muscles stiff, mind still simmering.
They brushed her hair, dressed her in a cool silk nightgown, adjusted her pillows and covers—all with quiet precision.
She let out a long sigh, sinking into the mattress, her body aching, her mind restless.
She wanted answers. Small human answers.
"What… what is his family like?" she asked quietly.
The maids froze. Fear flashed in their eyes.
"We… we cannot speak of such things," one whispered, voice trembling. "The king… does not tolerate questions about his family."
Aelira's chest tightened. She realized how little she truly knew about the king—his past, his lineage, the people closest to him.
Even in their quiet service, the maids reminded her: some secrets were not hers to uncover… not yet.
Once the room was silent, she sat cross-legged on the carpet, candlelight flickering softly.
Her hands hovered in front of her, fingers trembling as she focused, drawing upon the magic of her fairy heritage.
A soft glow began to form between her palms, shimmering like morning dew, faint but persistent.
A small orb hovered, trembling, then steadied as she concentrated.
Her chest felt lighter, her mind sharper. She whispered softly to herself, "I will not be broken. Not completely. Not ever."
And then her gaze drifted downward—and froze.
Something was… wrong with her wings.
Her brow furrowed as she leaned closer, eyes widening in alarm.
Her pulse quickened.
She had never noticed this before.
And in that quiet, candlelit room, a cold sense of unease settled over her.
Something had changed.
Something was very wrong.