Chapter 6 #2
I shifted beneath the water, covering myself with one arm as I extended the other to accept it, remembering Elion’s words.
I had to stay one step ahead—let him come closer on my terms, then guide him where I wanted.
I exhaled slowly through my nose, steadying my voice.
“You honor me with your gift—and your concern, but I find it difficult to appreciate your generosity while exposed like this.”
I met his eyes, my tone composed.
“Surely a man of your station values decorum. Your reputation is one of discernment, not impulse. Would you grant me the courtesy of making myself presentable for your presence, My Lord?”
For a moment, I wondered if he would refuse. His mouth curved, amused rather than offended, and he rose, standing above me.
“Of course,” he said at last. “You are right. Appearances matter… we will have all the time in the world, Miss Greenwillow. I am a frequent visitor of the Ludaryn.”
He paused at the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder.
“I hold certain interests here. Stakes, you might say.” His fingers brushed the metal at his lip. “One of the Saber Warriors in particular. Sevrak Thane. Perhaps you’ve heard the name?”
“I have.”
Elion had called him hollow—cruel, unstable. It didn’t surprise me that Decimus preferred him.
“Good,” he said. “He is rising quickly. Just behind Thanor, in fact.” Disdain flickered openly across his features.
“You should stay away from that one. Though that creature won’t hold his position forever.
For some reason… his Bondwards have an unfortunate habit of disappearing.
Or dying. Hardly surprising. Monsters make poor partners.
” He brushed an invisible speck of dust from his armor.
“I will see you soon, Miss Greenwillow. Take care of yourself.”
The door closed behind him. Only then did I realize I was shaking.
I held back my tears. The water rippled faintly as it slipped between my fingers. My breath came shallow and uneven until I forced it to slow. He had left. He hadn’t touched me. It wasn’t like my nightmare.
I drew myself upright, water sliding from my shoulders, and straightened my spine.
Next time we met, I would be the one in control.
Physical strength was never mine. Words were.
And as long as I could wield them, no man would break me.
The conviction took root as the water cooled around me and the steam thinned.
After a time, Livia returned, now fully dressed. She helped me dry and change into a simple white linen dress like her own.
She walked beside me, hands folded, steps light. My hands weren’t bound. That more than anything unsettled me. It felt like freedom, but it was an illusion. Houseguards stood at every door, their gazes following me deeper into the Ludaryn. I was caged—allowed movement only within its walls.
The corridors widened and the rough stone beneath my feet gave way to polished marble. We ascended a pair of stairways, rising higher and higher until I completely lost my way. Torches gave way to tall windows that flooded the tiled floors with daylight.
I stopped to look outside. White marble buildings stretched across the Imperial Quarter toward the Temple of Lunarion in the distance. The Ludaryn stood apart from the rest of Caelora, enclosed behind towering walls of its own. Livia was right. There was no climbing them.
At the heart of the upper floor lay a vast water pool, fed by carved channels that murmured softly as they flowed. The surface was clear, with lilies drifting lazily atop it.
Servants moved everywhere, quiet and efficient. Some carried linens and trays, others scrolls and instruments. No one lingered or made eye contact. This was a place where chaos had been trained out of them.
“So this is… the Ludaryn.”
Livia nodded. “The upper halls, yes. This is where Marcus resides. He has a villa deeper in the Imperial Quarter as well, but he almost never stays there.”
I glanced around, noting only studies, guards, and servants. “Where are the Bondwards kept?”
“The Bondwards have their own wing on the first floor, above the inner courtyard. You’ll be free to move there. And given your own chamber.”
“And the warriors and their sabers?”
“They reside below, in the holding cells. The sabers live in enclosures in the courtyard.”
“Below?” I echoed.
She nodded. “Beneath the main floor. You’d have to descend the main stairs to the courtyard, then turn right to reach the lower levels.” She hesitated. “They’re not permitted in the Bondward Wing or the upper halls. Not without guards.”
“Are they ever given any freedom?”
“No. Marcus deems them too violent. Fights break out all the time. And if they were, from experience I’ve found they pursue whatever catches their attention.” Her voice dropped. “Or whoever.”
I absorbed her words in silence as we passed another door, another guard standing watch.
“Except the champion, of course. Vayren Thanor,” she added.
I turned toward her, something faint stirring in my stomach.
“He has his own chambers. Above the others, on the same floor as the Bondward Wing. It speaks to his position as champion.” She frowned. “He’s… different. Marcus permits him more. He’s not like the rest of them.”
“Different how?”
She seemed to struggle to find the right words. “Less human, perhaps. He doesn’t look at the servants the way the others do. The others leer. They make us feel unsafe… he unnerves me more, though.” She turned toward me, uneasy. “Because when he looks at you, it’s as though he feels nothing at all.”
I hummed. I searched my memory for the emptiness she described and found it wanting.
He had seemed cold, indifferent even—but not empty.
Beneath it, something far more dangerous had stirred.
If he truly felt nothing, he would’ve been less intimidating to me.
I could navigate indifference. But what I’d noticed was calculated control.
I couldn’t tell whether that made him safer—or far more dangerous.
We stopped before a pair of tall doors reinforced with iron bands, polished to a faint shine, fitted with heavy golden doorknobs. The guards stepped forward.
“This is Marcus Valaryn’s office,” Livia said.
She knocked and a voice on the other side bade me to enter. Too late to turn back now.
I opened the doors, drew my shoulders back, and stepped inside.
Marcus Valaryn rose from behind his desk, his posture formal but unforced, as though authority came naturally, not by display. Not a strand of his neatly parted hair, graying at the temples, was out of place. If the Praetor’s actions had unsettled him, none of it showed.
Like the man himself, the room was orderly and built to impress without excess. Shelves lined the walls, filled with ledgers, scrolls, and carefully catalogued relics of the Ludaryn’s past. No clutter, no indulgence, only precision.
“Valentina Greenwillow. Allow me to properly introduce myself in an official capacity. I am Marcus Valaryn, Lanista of the Ludaryn.”
I bowed instinctively, tension coiled in my chest.
“Before anything else,” he continued, “you have my apologies. For the Praetor’s conduct. And for the manner in which you were brought here.” His jaw tensed, a crack in his careful composure. “It is not how I would have chosen to begin our relationship.”
I cleared my throat. “My uncle—do you know if he’s alright?”
“When I learned what had been done to you, I dispatched my houseguards to find Elion at once. Other Bondwards are guiding them. We expect to find him soon.”
Hope flared so suddenly it nearly unbalanced me.
Marcus poured a cup of water, brought it to me, then clasped my shoulder and guided me into a chair.
I drank greedily as he continued. “There is a complication.” His tone darkened.
“It appears the Praetor holds leverage over one of my Bondwards. He or she revealed the location of the shrine and the secrets of the wild. That concerns me greatly. It is against tradition, and if the Empire prides itself on anything, it is order and rules.”
My hands clenched around the cup. Yes, rules—caging everyone except those who deserved it most.
“Despite the esteem I hold with the Imperator,” he continued, “I am still bound by the Praetor’s authority.
His interest in you places you in a delicate position.
But understand this. While you remain in the Ludaryn, your wellbeing is my responsibility.
Once Elion is found, I will ensure he is kept informed of your progress—and of your continued safety within these walls.
Your uncle was the most honorable Bondward this place has ever known, and I am proud to call him my friend. ”
Something in his voice reminded me painfully of Elion. The word friend struck harder than expected. I had none. Elion and I were always working—always preparing for what was to come.
“I hope that in time you will find you can confide in me as well, not just as your Lanista, but as your friend,” he added.
“Thank you,” I said, choosing my words carefully.
“I know the circumstances are... unusual. But I am not yet of official age to be a Bondward, nor was my arrival here sanctioned by tradition.” I let the implication hang between us before asking, “Would it not be better if I returned home until then?”
“That is fair. You are not yet a Bondward in any official capacity. I know you are only twenty-one, but I have no choice.” He gritted his teeth. “For now, you will learn the Ludaryn, its history, its customs, and its people.”
Heat flared in my chest. Tradition and custom had mattered little when the Praetor dragged me from the wild. Now they were suddenly sacred enough for me to study. I bit the inside of my cheek until the anger ebbed. Marcus wasn’t the one I was furious with.
He gestured toward the door. “I will assign Livia as your personal servant. Every Bondward has one. I understand you lived close together before all this. Familiarity breeds steadiness.”