Chapter 7
Chapter seven
The silence stretched between them, heavy with expectation.
Briar's pulse hammered in her throat as she stared at him, at the casual cruelty in his posture.
He sat perfectly still, deceptively relaxed but ready to move.
The clothes on her back suddenly felt thin and inadequate, threadbare protection against whatever came next.
Her fingers found the hem of her shirt, clutching the fabric until her knuckles went white.
This was it, then. The moment where defiance stopped being brave and started being stupid. Where she learned exactly how much power she'd signed away with three days and a desperate bargain.
"I won't."
"You will." He moved to his throne, each step deliberate and unhurried. The living wood reshaped itself to cradle him as he settled into it with casual grace. "Unless you'd prefer an audience? I could summon Thaine back."
Her stomach turned. "You wouldn't."
"Wouldn't I?" He tilted his head, studying her. "You've been passed between males all night. What's one more set of eyes?"
"That's not—they were helping me!"
"They were touching what's mine." The temperature dropped on the last word. "Their scent is all over you. Their magic clinging to your skin. I won't tolerate it in my halls."
She clutched the bundle of fabric tighter. "Please."
"There is that word again. You say it so sweetly." He leaned back, eyes never leaving hers, green and deep and dangerous. "But it changes nothing. You will do as I say, I will not repeat myself a third time."
"I can't. Not with you watching."
"Is that so?" He rose from the throne with fluid grace, the movement so smooth it seemed like the world rearranged itself around him rather than him actually standing.
He approached slowly, each step deliberate. His bare feet made no sound on the living floor, but she could feel each footfall reverberating through the wood. "Then it seems I'll have to assist you."
When she realized what he meant, she retreated until her back hit the wall. Nowhere left to run. The throne room that had seemed vast now felt like a cage.
“Stay back,” she demanded, holding the bundle between them as though it might protect her from his intentions.
He stopped just out of reach, but she could feel the cold radiating from him. "You had your chance to do this yourself. Now we do it my way."
"Eliam—"
"Shh." He raised one hand, and vines crept from the walls. Not to restrain, but to trap. They formed a living barrier around them, creating an intimate space that carried the thick aroma of damp moss and midnight blooms. "No more words. You've said quite enough tonight."
He moved closer, and her breath caught. This wasn't the detached examination from across the room. This was nearness that made her skin prickle with awareness and her heart skip staccato against her ribs.
"Hands down," he said softly as he plucked the bundle from her fingers. They trembled as she forced them to her sides.
"Good," he murmured as his fingers found the first button of her shirt. The touch was light, barely there, but it burned through the fabric. "See how much easier it is when you behave and do as you're told?"
She turned her face away, but he caught her chin with his free hand. "No. You'll watch. You'll see who you belong to now."
His fingers were deft, practiced. Each button came free with intentional slowness, and with each one, her breathing grew more unsteady. The shirt parted, revealing skin flushed with humiliation and something else beneath it all that she refused to acknowledge.
"Arion’s magic is all over you," he said, tracing a finger along her collarbone without quite touching.
She could feel the almost-contact sparking like an electromagnetic pull between his skin and hers.
"Right here. And here." His finger moved to her shoulder, still not touching, but she shivered as if he had. "Did you like it when he touched you?"
His eyes rose to meet hers.
"He was helping—"
"That wasn't the question." His hands moved to push the shirt from her shoulders. It fell to the floor between them. "Did. You. Like it?"
"No."
"Liar." The word was soft, almost affectionate.
His hands moved to her jeans, fingers finding the button with unerring accuracy.
The metal was warm from her body heat, a stark contrast to his cool touch.
"Your body says otherwise. Just here..." He leaned in, his breath warm against her skin before his mouth pressed against the hollow of her throat where her pulse raced.
The touch sent heat through her entire body, spreading outward in waves. Her hands clenched harder at her sides, nails biting deeper into her palms.
She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't process the way her traitorous body wanted to both flee and lean into the contact. The thorn marking her wrist pulsed in rhythm with her racing heartbeat, and that strange warmth in her chest fluttered, recognizing something in his touch.
The button came free. The sound of it, the sudden looseness of fabric at her waist, snapped her back to reality. His mouth was still against her throat, and she was letting him—
The zipper followed, each tooth releasing with deliberate slowness.
"Breathe," he commanded, his lips fluttering against her skin. It was then she realized she'd been holding her breath. It came out in a shaky exhale that she felt him smile against. "Better. Now step out of them."
He pulled back then, giving her just enough space to comply. She did, movements wooden and mechanical. The denim pooled at her feet, and she kicked it aside. Standing before him in only undergarments, she'd never felt more exposed.
"Almost done," he said, circling her slowly. She could feel his gaze like a physical touch, cataloguing every inch of visible skin. "Just a little more, and then you can cover yourself with something worthy of your position."
"My position as what?"
He stopped behind her, and she felt his warm breath against her neck. "As mine."
His fingers found the clasp at her back. One quick movement and it came free. She caught the fabric against her chest, but he tsked softly.
"Let it go."
"No… please, I can't."
"You can." His hands covered hers, not forcing, just resting there. His skin was cool against her overheated flesh. "Let go, little thief. Let me see what I've claimed."
Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the inevitability of it all. Or maybe it was the way his voice had gone soft, almost coaxing, but her hands fell away and with them her last remaining shred of dignity.
"Beautiful," he breathed, and something in his tone made her stomach twist. It wasn’t mocking or cruel, but something else entirely.
He moved around to face her again, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
"No." His finger traced her jaw, the first real skin-to-skin contact, and it burned like a brand. "Open them."
She obeyed only to find his gaze fixed on her face, not traveling lower as she'd expected. His expression was intense, focused, as if memorizing every detail.
"The rest," he said quietly. "Then you're done."
Her hands shook as she complied, stepping out of the last barrier between them. She stood naked before him, skin flushed with heat despite the cold chill of the room.
"Now," he said, reaching for the dress. "Let me dress you properly."
The moss green fabric whispered over her skin as he pulled it over her head, his hands guiding her arms through sleeves that seemed to shape themselves to her body.
The material was unlike anything she'd ever worn.
It flowed like liquid across her skin, warm as blood, adjusting to every curve and hollow of her figure with unnatural precision.
The bodice molded to her ribs, neither tight nor loose but perfectly fitted, as if it had grown there.
The skirts fell in layers that seemed to shift between opaque and translucent depending on how the light caught them.
When she moved, the fabric moved with her, anticipating rather than following, creating glimpses of skin that appeared and vanished before the eye could fully register them.
The neckline dipped low, displaying the hollow of her throat where his mouth had been, and the sleeves clung to her arms before flowing loose at the wrists, leaving her marked arm visible through fabric sheer as spider silk.
"Perfect," he said, stepping back to observe his handiwork. "Now you look like what you are."
"What am I?" She hated how her voice trembled.
“I already told you.” The smile that curled across his face was both possessive and satisfied. "Mine. Completely and utterly mine."
His hands settled on her waist and she gasped at the contact. Through the strange fabric, his touch felt amplified, electric.
"Every inch of you," he continued, voice dropping lower. "Every breath, every heartbeat, every thought. Mine to shape. Mine to command. Mine to keep."
She felt rage burning hot at her core, anger and humiliation mixing into something volatile.
She should have lashed out, should have pushed him away, wanted to with every fiber of her being.
Instead, that strange warmth in her chest pulsed, and for one terrifying moment, she also wanted to lean into his touch instead.
"Say it," he said, leaning in close. “Say that you’re mine.”
She fought the compulsion, grit her teeth against the command, until her jaw ached and finally, "I'm yours." The words came out broken, defeated.
"Again."
"I'm yours."
His hands tightened on her waist, pulling her closer until barely a breath separated them. "Forever?"
"Forever."
"Good girl." He released her so suddenly she might have fallen if not for the wall behind her. "Now you're properly dressed for your new home."
"The mark," he said suddenly. "Show me."
"You've seen it."
"Not properly. Not since it's settled." He gestured imperiously. "Come here."
"No."