Chapter 51
The silk ropes burned Ashterion’s wrists, the cruel twist of their restraints digging deeper with every breath. His body lay stretched across the bed, his muscles aching from both the physical strain and the tightness of the bindings.
His gaze flicked toward Xyliria, standing at the edge of the room, the glint of her eyes catching the dim light.
Ryleth was closer. Too close. Ashterion could feel the press of his presence in the air, thick and suffocating.
The scent of bergamot and blood clung to Ryleth like a second skin. He moved with predatory grace, circling the bed with the patience of someone who had all the time in the world to inflict his particular brand of torment.
“It’s been too long, little sovereign,” Ryleth purred. The name made Ashterion’s skin crawl. “I’ve missed our... sessions.”
Ashterion kept his expression blank, his breathing measured. He had learned long ago that reactions only fed Ryleth’s appetite for cruelty. The male thrived on fear, on the subtle tells that betrayed pain or discomfort.
“Nothing to say?” Ryleth’s fingers trailed along Ashterion’s bare chest, nails scraping hard enough to leave thin red lines in their wake.
From across the room, Xyliria laughed, the sound crystalline. “He’s been sulking ever since our little meeting with Varyth and his pet,” she said, settling into an ornate chair. “Perhaps you can remind him of his place, Ryleth.”
Ryleth’s smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed too sharp in the candlelight. “Oh, I intend to.” His hand moved lower, fingers digging into the tender flesh below Ashterion’s ribs. “Xyliria tells me you’ve been... questioning her methods.”
Ashterion’s jaw tightened fractionally—the only outward sign he allowed himself. “I question nothing.”
Ryleth’s fingers pressed deeper, targeting old wounds.
“Then why did you stop the little display with the human?” His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned closer, his breath hot against Ashterion’s ear. “Why did you say enough when no one asked for your opinion?”
Ashterion kept his breathing steady, even as Ryleth’s hand moved to his throat, applying just enough pressure to remind him how easily his windpipe could be crushed. “The girl was about to pass out. Dead captives serve no purpose.”
Ryleth’s breath was hot against Ashterion’s ear. “Always so practical.” His fingers traced the line of Ashterion’s jaw, forcing his face to turn. “Or perhaps there’s another reason?”
Ashterion met his gaze with practiced indifference. “There is no other reason.”
Ryleth’s mouth curved into a cruel smile. Without warning, his teeth sank into the tender skin along Ashterion’s jaw, just below his ear. Not deep enough to tear, but hard enough to leave marks.
Ashterion’s breath hitched involuntarily, his body going rigid against the restraints.
“There we are,” Ryleth murmured against his skin. “Let’s try again.”
Xyliria’s silk skirts rustled as she approached. “He’s been distracted lately. Distant.” Her hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Ashterion’s face with mock tenderness. “Ever since the human displayed that shadow fire.”
“Shadow fire,” Ryleth echoed, his tone contemplative. “How fascinating. I thought that magic died centuries ago.”
“As did we all.” Xyliria’s voice held an edge of irritation.
Ryleth’s grip tightened on Ashterion’s throat, not enough to cut off air completely but enough to make each breath a deliberate effort. “And yet our dear Ashterion seems remarkably unsurprised by its reappearance.”
“I’m surprised by very little these days,” Ashterion replied, carefully level despite the pressure on his windpipe.
“Hmm.” Ryleth’s other hand traced patterns across Ashterion’s chest, following old scars with intimate familiarity. “Tell me, what do you know about shadow fire that we don’t?”
“I’ve told you everything I know. Shadow fire shouldn’t exist in a human.”
“Shouldn’t,” Ryleth repeated, his voice lilting with amusement. “And yet it does. Which means either our understanding is flawed, or someone has been very, very clever.”
Xyliria leaned forward, her dark eyes gleaming with malicious interest. “Tell him about your little private meeting, husband.”
Ashterion’s muscles tensed against the restraints. He should have known she would find out. Xyliria had eyes everywhere in this palace.
“Ah,” Ryleth’s smile turned predatory. “Secret meetings with the human. How... illuminating.”
“I was interrogating her,” Ashterion replied, forcing his body to relax. “Trying to understand where the power came from.”
Ryleth’s fingers danced across his chest, each touch calculated to find the spots that would cause the most discomfort. “And what did you learn from this... assessment?”
“Nothing of value,” Ashterion replied. “She’s untrained. Volatile. The power manifests without control or purpose.”
Xyliria circled to the other side of the bed, her silken skirts whispering against the stone floor. “And yet you felt the need to clean her up first? To feed her? Such... hospitality.”
“I needed her coherent for questioning.”
“A convenient explanation,” Ryleth murmured, his fingers sliding lower, tracing the ridges of Ashterion’s abdomen. “Though I wonder why you didn’t simply compel the answers from her. Your shadows could have... extracted the truth with far less effort.”
“The human’s mind is protected. Whether by Varyth’s magic or her own, I couldn’t say.”
“Or perhaps you simply didn’t try.” Xyliria’s laugh was like glass breaking. “You’ve always had a weakness for broken things, husband.”
“She’s not broken.” The words escaped before he could catch them.
The room stilled. Ryleth’s hand paused its torment, and Xyliria’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.
“Not broken,” she repeated, each syllable dripping with suspicion. “How interesting that you would care about her condition at all.”
Ashterion kept his face blank. “I meant only that her will remains intact. Which makes her a potential threat if not properly contained.”
Ryleth leaned closer, his weight shifting onto Ashterion’s chest, making each breath a struggle. “A threat? One little human with unstable magic?”
The pressure increased, but Ashterion remained motionless, even as his ribs protested under Ryleth’s weight. “Untrained power is often the most dangerous kind.”
“True enough,” Ryleth agreed, though his tone suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Perhaps...” His fingers trailed up Ashterion’s jaw. “Perhaps what the human needs is a proper teacher. Someone who understands the true nature of pain and control.”
Xyliria’s interest visibly piqued, her posture shifting as she leaned forward. “What are you suggesting?”
Ryleth’s smile spread slowly across his face.
“Allow me to break her for you, my lady. I could extract every secret, every drop of power from her pretty little body.” His fingers tightened against Ashterion’s throat.
“I would make her scream until her voice gives out, until she begs for death. And then I’d make her serve you willingly. ”
Ashterion’s heart slammed against his ribs, dread flooding his veins. The mere thought of Ryleth’s hands on the female—of his particular brand of cruelty unleashed on her—made his shadows writhe beneath his skin, desperate to lash out.
“Break her?” Xyliria’s lips curved into a delighted smile. “That would be... entertaining.”
“No.” The word escaped before Ashterion could stop it, raw and immediate.
Ryleth’s head snapped toward him, eyes flashing with cold fury. “No? Did I hear that correctly, little sovereign?”
Ashterion’s mind raced, shadows coiling beneath his skin as panic threatened to overwhelm him. But he couldn’t show it. Couldn’t reveal the sudden, visceral dread that had seized his heart.
“Let me do it. The human has seen my power. She fears me already.” He forced himself to meet Xyliria’s eyes, to keep his expression controlled. “I can break her for you.”
Ryleth’s fingers dug painfully into Ashterion’s throat. “Explain.”
Ashterion found his gaze. “I’ve been your subject for centuries. Learned your methods. Your techniques.” He tilted his head toward Ryleth. “You’ve been a thorough teacher.”
Ryleth chuckled, the sound scraping against Ashterion’s nerves. “You think you’ve learned enough to break someone like her?”
“I know I have,” Ashterion replied, forcing confidence into his voice while his mind raced. “She’s already responding to me. The fear is there, beneath her defiance.”
Xyliria studied him, her head tilting slightly in consideration. “You wish to prove yourself.”
It wasn’t a question, but Ashterion answered anyway. “Yes. Let me demonstrate what I’ve learned.”
“And if you fail?”
Ashterion met her challenge unflinchingly. “I won’t.”
Ryleth’s weight shifted as he leaned back, his fingers finally releasing Ashterion’s throat. “You always were ambitious, little sovereign.” His eyes glittered with malicious amusement. “Though I must admit, I’m surprised by your... eagerness.”
Xyliria’s laughter filled the room. “My husband wants to play torturer.” She moved closer, her crimson skirts brushing against the edge of the bed. “How delightful.”
Her eyes met Ashterion’s, and the calculation in them made his shadows curl tighter beneath his skin.
“Very well,” she said, trailing a finger down his chest. “You may have your chance with the human. Break her, and I’ll be impressed.
” Her nail dug into his skin, drawing a thin line of blood.
“But if you fail to break her, you’ll spend a month with Ryleth.
And then, you will watch him break the human—observe how it’s truly done. ”
Ashterion’s blood turned to ice. A month. With Ryleth. The longest he’d ever endured was two weeks, and he’d nearly lost his fucking mind. And the thought of watching him work his cruelty on the female... Ashterion clenched his jaw against the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him.
“I understand,” he said, betraying nothing of the turmoil churning inside him.
Xyliria’s smile widened. “Wonderful. You may begin tomorrow.”
Ryleth’s fingers traced the line of blood Xyliria had drawn, smearing it across Ashterion’s skin. “Such ambition,” he murmured. “I do hope you fail. It’s been far too long since I’ve had you properly under my care.”
Ashterion said nothing. He’d bought himself time—time to figure out what to do with her, how to protect her without revealing his intentions.
“Now,” Xyliria said, her voice dropping to something honey-sweet and venomous, “I believe I’ve indulged this conversation long enough.
” She stepped away from the bed, smoothing her crimson skirts with practiced elegance.
“The border scouts reported movement near the eastern pass. I should attend to it personally.”
The eastern pass meant the Luceren reinforcements were attempting to mobilise. It also meant Xyliria would be gone for at least a day, possibly two. He might have more freedom to manoeuvre, to find a way to protect the human without revealing his hand.
She leaned down, her perfume suffocating as she pressed her lips to his. “I’ll leave you with Ryleth,” she murmured against his skin. “He’s earned his time with you, after all. Consider it... motivation for your task tomorrow.”
Ashterion’s heart slammed against his ribs as Xyliria’s footsteps faded, the door clicking shut behind her with a finality that echoed through the chamber. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the rustle of silk as Ryleth shifted his weight.
“Alone at last,” Ryleth purred. “How nostalgic.”
Ashterion closed his eyes, forcing his breathing to remain steady as Ryleth’s weight settled more fully against him. The male’s pale fingers traced lazy patterns across his chest, following old scars with intimate familiarity.
“How long has it been, little sovereign?” Ryleth’s voice was a whisper against Ashterion’s skin.
“Too long.” The silk ropes bit deeper into Ashterion’s wrists as his hands involuntarily clenched into fists.
“Too long indeed,” Ryleth murmured, leaning down to brush his lips against Ashterion’s throat. “You’ve forgotten what we share, I think.”
Ashterion didn’t respond. He let his mind drift away from the weight pressing against him, from the fingers tracing patterns of old pain across his skin.
He had perfected this technique centuries ago—the careful separation of consciousness from his body, a retreat into the furthest corners of his mind where even Ryleth couldn’t follow.
The first touch of pain registered distantly, like thunder from a storm miles away.