Chapter 6
T he ice beneath my palms reformed with deliberate slowness, each crystalline step materializing just as my fingers found purchase, as if Sereis wanted me to feel every agonizing inch of my ascent from the abyss.
My transformed body possessed strength I'd never imagined—muscles that didn't burn despite the vertical climb, lungs that processed the thin, magical air without strain—but none of that mattered when my spirit felt crushed beneath the weight of what I'd almost lost.
What I'd almost thrown away with my defiance.
Each handhold sent frost patterns spiraling up my arms, the silver lines beneath my skin flaring in response to the magic-saturated ice.
My body should have been freezing, but the bond's protection kept me warm even as shame made me shiver.
Below me, the wound in reality still gaped, a reminder of how close I'd come to obliteration.
Above me, Sereis waited in silence that felt louder than any scream.
I pulled myself up another step, then another, my breasts brushing against the ice wall with each movement.
The contact sent unwanted sparks through oversensitized nerves, my body interpreting even this punishment as a form of twisted foreplay.
The dress I'd been wearing was shredded, torn by the whipping wind of the abyss, leaving me to make this climb of shame almost completely exposed.
My nipples hardened from more than cold, and wetness gathered between my thighs despite—or perhaps because of—the humiliation.
When my fingers finally found the edge of the platform, I hauled myself up with arms that trembled not from exertion but from the glacial fury radiating from the figure standing perfectly still at the garden's edge.
Sereis hadn't moved since pulling me back from death.
He stood with his back to me, every line of his body speaking of barely contained rage.
I stayed on my hands and knees for a moment, unable to stand, unable to meet his eyes even though he wasn't looking at me.
The silence in the Deep Ice Gardens was absolute—even the reality tears that normally whispered their siren songs had gone quiet, as if the fundamental forces of this place recognized a predator more dangerous than any void.
"Stand."
The word hit through the bond with the force of a physical blow. My body obeyed before my mind could process the command, legs straightening despite their trembling, spine snapping upright as if pulled by invisible strings. The compulsion wasn't gentle—it was absolute, bypassing my will entirely.
Still, he didn't turn. Didn't need to. I felt his awareness of me like frost creeping across glass, beautiful and destructive in equal measure.
"Walk."
Another command, this one accompanied by a gesture that indicated I should move ahead of him.
I stepped forward on unsteady legs, hyperaware of my nakedness, of the way the garden's ethereal light caught on the wetness between my thighs.
His footsteps followed mine, measured and deliberate, never quite catching up but never falling behind.
The perfect distance to watch. To judge. To let his anger build with each step.
We moved through the dimensional folds of the Frost Veil, but this wasn't the swift, elegant travel he'd used before.
This was different—a protracted journey designed to make me feel every moment of his displeasure.
The passages seemed to stretch longer than they should, each corridor extending itself to accommodate his desire for this particular punishment.
Time itself bent to his will, making minutes feel like hours.
His gaze burned into my back like frozen fire.
Through the bond, I felt the echoes of his visceral terror when he'd seen me falling—that moment of absolute helplessness when even his vast power couldn't guarantee my safety.
But that terror had crystallized into something harder now, sharper.
Rage at my defiance. Fury at my carelessness with something he considered precious beyond measure.
My body responded to his dominance even through his anger—especially through his anger.
Each step made me more aware of the slickness between my thighs, the way my nipples peaked in the chilly air, the pulse of need that the bond amplified with every breath.
He wasn't touching me, wasn't speaking to me, but his control wrapped around me like chains made of winter itself.
The passages grew more familiar as we moved deeper into the palace proper.
Ice elementals appeared at intersections only to immediately avert their eyes and disappear down alternate corridors.
They recognized what was happening, what was about to happen.
The Dragon Lord's new Little had transgressed, and there would be consequences.
My cheeks burned with fresh humiliation, but that shame only fed the arousal building in my core. Some twisted part of me that the bond had awakened craved this—craved his disappointment, his correction, his absolute authority over my pleasure and pain.
T he Nursery's soft lighting wrapped around us like silk scarves, all those plush cushions and gentle colors now feeling like mockery against the arctic fury Sereis carried with him.
Moonlight filtered through the frost-glass windows, casting everything in blues and silvers that should have been soothing but instead made the space feel like the inside of an ice crystal—beautiful and sharp enough to cut.
"Stand there." Sereis gestured to the center of the room, where the soft white rug spread like fresh snow. His voice carried no warmth, just absolute authority that made my knees weak for reasons that had nothing to do with fear. "Do not move."
I positioned myself where he indicated, hyperaware of how the moonlight caught on my naked skin, turning the silver frost patterns into living things that seemed to pulse with my heartbeat. Or maybe with his. Through the bond, I couldn't tell where I ended and his anger began.
He started to pace.
The silence stretched like pulled glass, ready to shatter at the slightest pressure.
Each circuit he made around me sent fresh waves of his scent—winter pine and ozone and something darker, more dangerous.
The same scent that had made me wet when he'd first claimed me, now edged with fury that somehow made it more intoxicating.
My nipples peaked harder with each pass, my thighs pressing together in a futile attempt to ease the ache building between them.
One minute. Two. Five. The pacing continued, deliberate and measured, each footfall on the soft carpet somehow echoing like thunder.
My legs trembled from standing perfectly still, from fighting the urge to turn and track his movement, from the effort of not dropping to my knees and begging forgiveness with my mouth.
The silence was killing me. More than his anger, more than the promise of punishment, the silence scraped against my nerves like fingernails on glass. My merchant's training demanded information, context, something to work with besides this unbearable waiting.
"The traders," I blurted out, the words exploding from me like steam from a geyser. "Have you learned anything?"
The pacing stopped.
I held my breath, wondering if I'd just made everything infinitely worse.
But when Sereis moved into my field of vision, something in his expression had shifted—not softer, but more complex.
The furious Daddy gave way momentarily to the calculating Dragon Lord, and that glimpse of his other self made my core clench with want.
"There are three of them." His voice carried a different kind of satisfaction now, the tone of a predator who'd already sprung his trap. "They claim to represent various merchant houses interested in establishing trade routes through the Frost Reach. Their papers are convincing forgeries."
He moved closer, close enough that I could see the silver striations in his storm-gray eyes. "I have granted them guest rights and provided ample quantities of my private stock of winter-wine and frost-leaf."
Despite everything, I felt my lips twitch toward a smile. Winter-wine was notorious—it tasted like liquid starlight but hit humans like a sledgehammer made of poor decisions. And frost-leaf, when smoked, loosened tongues better than any truth serum.
"Intoxication breeds carelessness," he continued, and now there was definitely satisfaction coloring his tone.
A flicker of something that might have been approval for my strategic thinking crossed his features before his expression hardened again.
"My Ice Elementals are currently observing their interactions, recording every unguarded word.
They believe themselves safe in their guest quarters, unaware that the very walls have eyes. "
The competence of it, the careful planning, the patient trap—it made my mouth water.
This was the Dragon Lord who'd survived three thousand years of political machinations.
Who could play games of power that spanned centuries.
Who was probably three moves ahead of enemies who didn't even know they were on the board yet.
Then he stepped directly into my space, and all thoughts of strategy evaporated.
His scent overwhelmed me—not just winter pine and ozone now, but something rawer, more primal.
Musk. Man. Power. The heat of him contradicted his ice nature, or maybe the extremes were the point.
I could feel the barely leashed power radiating from his form, dragon strength contained in almost-human flesh.
My body responded without permission, nipples hardening to painful points, wetness flooding between my thighs.
"Do not presume to distract me with strategy, little one." Each word carried weight, pressing against me through the bond. "My competence is not in question."