Chapter 15 #2
My father had instituted these protocols centuries ago to guarantee political control, to force the breaking of the Life-Wielder by ensuring she had no sanctuary. It was designed to strip her of autonomy. Now, staring at the words, they felt like a trap designed for me.
How was I supposed to share a bath with her without losing my mind? How was I supposed to perform a physical bond check—laying my hands on her core—without remembering the feel of her skin in the rain?
A scraping sound, loud and deliberate, came from the high balcony overlooking the study.
Friedrik’s voice boomed, sharp and dry, cutting through my spiraling thoughts.
“Oh dear. Did the little Life-Wielder call her lover?
Did she break one of your precious rules, my Malevolent Lordship?
Honestly, the level of surveillance you employ would make your tyrannical ancestor, old Lord Malachi, blush. It's dreadfully insecure.”
I didn't turn around. I gripped the edge of my desk. "You are trespassing, Friedrik. Again.”
"I live here, you brood-mare," the gargoyle scoffed, hopping down onto the railing. "I go where I please. And right now, I please to watch you unravel. It's fascinating. Eight generations I've watched, and you are by far the most repressed."
I glanced back to the dossier on my desk: Ophelia Ashworth. Kind, soft, prone to misplaced compassion.
"Silas," I commanded, my voice a low, precise instrument that cut the silence.
Silas, who had been waiting in the outer chamber, entered instantly. He moved like a shadow, trained to be invisible until summoned. "My Lord."
"The Scry Stone," I stated, not looking up. My voice was terrifyingly calm, but the air in the room dropped ten degrees. "She used it. In her room."
Silas remained neutral, though I detected a flicker of hesitation in his aura. "My Lord, the bond will naturally sever her external influences. Her focus will shift as your synchronisation deepens."
"Her focus is defiance!" I roared, the chilling stillness shattering instantly.
I stood up, slamming my hand onto the desk, pacing the length of the room like a caged tiger.
"Her defiance is a weapon, and she is using the memory of her pathetic suitor as fuel.
She thinks she can have one foot in this house and one foot in her old life. She is mistaken."
I stopped in front of Silas, looming over him. My control fractured. A high, ringing sound filled my ears—the sound of the Void laughing.
"Find the recipient of the communion," I rasped, the words feeling jagged in my throat. "Trace the resonance, find the cipher. Shatter the connection permanently; destroy the stone if you find it. And take the fox."
Silas’s eyes widened slightly, the first break in his mask. “My Lord? The familiar is… essential to her stability during the transition. Removing it could—”
“I do not care about her stability, Silas! I care about her obedience!”
The shadows in the room didn't just lengthen; they lunged, coiling around the legs of the chairs, lapping at Silas’s boots like a starving tide. I felt the madness—the cold, chaotic static of too much power and too much jealousy—clawing at the back of my mind.
I stepped closer, my voice distorting, dropping to a register that wasn't entirely Dyadic.
“Do not hesitate when I give you an order. You serve the House of Alistair, not the whimpering girl in the upper wing. If I find that fox near her when I have forbidden it, I will not punish the animal. I will punish you. Do not make me lose myself, Silas. Take. It. Away.”
Friedrik’s booming laugh echoed from the balcony, shaking the dust from the velvet drapes.
“External variables! He calls the object of his obsession an external variable! Tell the poor aide to find some actual fun, Cain! You’re terrified she prefers the boy’s sentimentality to your cold, empty magnificence!
Just admit it, it’s jealousy, your evilness.
It’s green, ugly, might I add human jealousy. ”
"It will be done, my lord," Silas said quickly, talking over the gargoyle, his face pale as he backed away from the encroaching shadows. He paused, a beat too long, his voice trembling slightly. "And the rites for the morning? Should I maintain the usual setting for the shared supper?"
I felt a faint, suppressed anxiety from Silas. The aide worried about the logistics of introducing a gentle Aenite into my rigidly controlled life after the violence of the carriage ride. He worried I would break her too fast.
I closed my eyes for a second, wrestling the shadows back into submission.
"Yes. The usual setting," I said, a cold edge to my voice.
"And ensure there is a selection of exotic flora.
The Vespertine Lilies have bloomed in the conservatory.
Those black-petaled monstrosities are the only things that thrive in my presence. "
I smiled, a mirthless expression that felt tight on my face.
"I want her to understand the fragility of the life she so foolishly treasures.
Tomorrow, she will be given a demonstration of what happens when Life meets the Death-Touch in my house.
She thinks she can play me? I will show her that I can wither her. "
I dismissed Silas with a sharp command.
I rose and walked to the wall of enchanted glass that looked out over the black, silent gardens. My reflection was dark and seamless, the perfect Void. But beneath the surface, the storm was raging.
I closed my eyes, allowing the terrifying self-analysis to consume me.
The truth was unbearable: I was desperate to see her again. Not just to control her, but to feel the raw, forbidden heat she ignited. I wanted to see her fight me. I wanted to see her eyes flash with that emerald fire. I wanted to be the only thing in her world.
“She will be the death of us all, Cain,” Rhana’s voice was laced with severe disappointment. “I feel the contamination. But mostly, I feel the hunger. You are starving for her, and that desire is the first step of the Prophecy."
She paced restlessly in the reflection. "You are fracturing, Cain.
You nearly snapped your aide in half just now.
You must find a proper outlet to slow the madness.
Find a body—any body that is not hers—and sate the urge.
Drown this fever in meaningless flesh, or the Void will consume us both just to reach her. "
I ignored the cat. I remembered the way her lips parted during the accidental contact in the ballroom, the soft, lost moan I imagined escaping her throat.
I felt my hands clench, a surge of dark arousal washing over the guilt.
My blood thrummed with a desire I hadn't known existed, a desire to crush her defiance beneath my weight, to possess her utterly and completely, making her forget the name Valerius.
Making her forget her mother. Making her forget herself.
I turned back to the window, pressing my forehead against the cold glass.
I had a plan. But for the first time in my life, I was not entirely certain of my own motivations. I was doing this for my sanity, for my survival. But somewhere deep in the dark recesses of my soul, a terrifying, unfamiliar emotion was stirring.
It was jealousy. And it was a much more dangerous thing than all the collective agony in the world. I was doing this because I was obsessed, and Ophelia was now mine.
Suddenly, a sound tore through the heavy silence of the estate.
It was a scream. High, ragged, and filled with absolute heartbreak.
It echoed from the upper wing, vibrating through the stone walls, carrying the undeniable frequency of Ophelia’s pain. It was followed by the slamming of a heavy door, and then… silence.
I stood perfectly still, my heart hammering a traitorous rhythm against my ribs. Silas had done his duty. The fox was gone. The isolation was complete.
The sound of her misery should have been a victory. It was the sound of a variable being removed. But as the echo faded, replaced by the suffocating quiet of the manor, I felt a phantom tightness in my own chest, as if the scream had clawed its way out of my own throat.
I exhaled slowly, watching my breath fog the cold glass.
She is a problem, I thought, allowing the smallest shard of my true, desperate intent to surface. But problems are meant to be solved. And destruction is the cleanest solution.
I would watch her. I would study her compassion like an alchemist dissecting a lethal poison. I would use her own kindness to break her, ensuring that the prophecy that promised my death by love would never come true. I would make her hate me so thoroughly that loving me would be impossible.
And if, in the process, I destroyed myself... well, I was already a monster. What was one more scar?