Chapter 12
Evening fell over the Ludaryn with deliberate slowness, as though the structure itself resisted the coming dark.
Shadows stretched across the stone of my chamber.
By the time the sconces were lit in the Atrium, their flames steady and watchful, I had spent the remainder of the day doing little else but plan how to survive being Thanor’s Bondward.
I sighed, dressing in silence since Livia was absent.
The silk dress that was laid out for me was fine and dark, a deep charcoal so close to black it drank the light.
It slid over my skin with a cool, whispering weight, draping in careful folds as it gathered at my waist with narrow bands of worked metal. It was a dress meant for mourning.
Gold-threaded patterns traced the hem and sleeves.
A sheer fall of silk slipped from one shoulder, exposing my skin.
The bodice pressed tight, my breath turning shallow as it lifted my breasts higher than comfort allowed.
I exhaled through my nose, settling into the constriction and refusing to fidget beneath it.
Pacing my chamber, twilight bled through the narrow window in slow, fading bands.
My anger at Marcus’s orders had softened into something else.
Longing. I missed Elion. Even though he’d left me unprepared for what I’d witnessed yesterday.
Still, I found myself reaching for his steady voice.
For the quiet way he always seemed to know what to do.
I had worn his presence like armor for as long as I could remember, never questioning that it would always be there.
Now, standing alone in the dimming light, that certainty was gone, and the absence of it pressed in from all sides.
The thought soured quickly, curdling into something perilously close to self-pity. I shut it down. Whatever came next—this forced bond, this unwanted proximity to a man I neither trusted nor liked—was simply another path laid before me. And paths, even treacherous ones, could be walked.
Elion had risen here not through force, but through control. Through restraint. He’d bent when needed, as Cassius had said, and in doing so had earned something far better than power alone.
Respect. I could do the same. I would have to.
Though that respect wouldn’t come easily. Not from Thanor. I stilled, considering.
Maybe I should be gentler—glove my words, smooth the sharper edges. Maybe if I sweetened my tone, he would at least tolerate my presence. But the thought left a bitter taste on my tongue.
No. A man like him wouldn’t respect a woman who diminished herself to rise.
He would sense it for what it was and despise it.
I unclenched my hands and let them fall to my sides.
I would have to choose my battles. Learn when to hold my ground and when to let things pass.
It would go against every instinct I had—but instinct would get me killed here.
A sharp knock broke the quiet, firm and impatient. Before I could answer, the door swung open.
“Jorius—” Livia hissed from the corridor, clearly attempting and failing to restrain him as he breezed into my chambers.
“I knocked,” he answered cheerfully, already halfway inside. “That’s practically permission.”
Livia scurried after him, her face flushed with irritation. “You can’t simply barge in,” she snapped under her breath. “She could have been undressed. Or—”
“Oh please,” he cut in, waving a dismissive hand. “If Tina were flaunting herself in the nude, it would be a waste for anyone not to witness it.” He grinned. “You shouldn’t be angry with me for wanting to appreciate such a sight.”
I rolled my eyes as Livia’s muttered curses followed him into the room.
He made himself comfortable, dropping onto the edge of my bed as though it belonged to him.
“I’ve had the most delightful evening so far,” he announced, stretching his arms behind him.
“One of the other Bondwards—I won’t reveal who it is—turns out has a rather irregular way of mourning. ”
From the doorway came a sharp and scandalized huff, Livia’s disbelief made audible.
I merely stared at him. “Cassius is being laid on a pyre tonight.”
“Yes. And?”
“And you’re boasting. How can you carry on like this at a time of mourning?”
He tilted his head. “I mourn in my own way. By celebrating life and worshipping the splendor of men and women alike while I still can.” A grin followed. “Seems wasteful not to.”
I turned away, folding my arms.
“Now don’t hate me for it. Or could it be… maybe you’re jealous?”
“Ugh. You’re never serious, are you?”
“That tone,” he said. “This isn’t about my excellent evening, is it?”
I hesitated, then sighed. “Marcus has decided I will replace Cassius. Against my wishes.”
His grin vanished as Livia’s hand found his shoulder.
“I’m going to close the door, Tina. Tell us everything,” she said.
Jorius settled back onto the bed, one brow lifting. “Well. Paired with Vayren. I don’t really know what to tell you.” He sighed. “You’re a remarkably lucky woman. You’ve been here such a short time and already you’ve become the champion’s Bondward.”
I snorted. “If by lucky you mean statistically doomed.”
His mouth twitched.
“I may well set a record. The shortest tenure of any Bondward before being paired and promptly slain. He’ll snap my neck like a rabbit if I misstep—and likely cook me for dinner afterward.”
I flinched as the words left me. A brief, brutal end. Forgotten just as quickly. Like Nexra.
“And if by some miracle he isn’t the one who kills me, someone else will. We all know how his Bondwards end up.”
His smile faded. “That won’t happen. Not if I have anything to say about it. I have eyes everywhere in the Ludaryn, and outside. Servants who like me. Guards who owe me favors. People beyond these walls that I trust. If anyone so much as considers ending you, I’ll know it.”
“And I’ll help as well,” Livia added quickly. “In every way I can. You and Jorius are the first ones who have ever seen me as more than a body meant to be ordered about. I’m lucky to be assigned to you, Tina.”
My eyes watered. “I don’t know how I would survive this place without you. Either of you. Thank you. Truly.”
The words felt too small for what I meant, but they were all I had.
“I will ensure your food, your wine, your water—everything—comes only from my hand,” she said. “I will taste it, smell it. I won’t let anyone else near it.”
Jorius’s mouth curved, mischief returning like a reflex. “Well,” he said, “now that we’re all so devoted to one another, I do think we could grow even closer, if you’re both amenable—”
The slap landed sharp and simultaneous, Livia and I of similar minds.
“Ow,” he protested, rubbing his cheeks before grinning. “Worth asking.”
He sobered, rising from the bed and straightening his black tunic. “Alright. Come on. We should go to the courtyard. The funeral is about to begin.”
He turned toward the door. And for once, there was no humor in his step.
Pausing at the threshold, he glanced back at us. His servant appeared, already holding a dark cloak ready for him. With practiced motion she settled it over his shoulders before lowering her eyes.
I watched him for a moment. He was handsome, and there was something about him that made this place feel less unforgiving.
If only my body—my piercing—responded to him the way it did to a certain champion.
I adjusted my cloak. Maybe in time it would.
Attraction could grow. Still, I knew almost nothing about him.
He moved through this place too easily, spoke of eyes everywhere as though it were nothing. Who was he, really?
Livia hovered near me, smoothing the front of the simple black linen dress she wore with nervous fingers as we moved through the corridors.
The torches burned low with steady flames, as if even the fire had been instructed to behave.
Even the servants’ footsteps were quieter, and every voice was hushed.
Jorius walked ahead of us, uncharacteristically silent.
We descended the stairs to the courtyard, the air cooling with each step.
A faint scent of oil and incense hung in the air.
Ahead, the guard unlocked the heavy steel before us, and the door swung wide, granting us entry.
As the torchlight spilled outward into the night, Cassius’s funeral awaited. And whatever came after.
My slippered feet sank into the sand and I took in the sight before me.
The warriors were arranged in ordered lines at the far right their armor polished and formal, their presence severe in the low glow of the torches.
They wore no weapons; in their place, black cloaks were fastened at their shoulders.
Rhenik and Sevrak stood side by side at the front, faces unreadable. The sabers behind them remained in their enclosures, their attention fixed on the pyre as if they too were mourning. Behind the bars, Kharos watched, his paw fully healed, and relief moved through me at the sight.
At the center of the courtyard rose a grand pyre. Beside it stood Thanor, clad in his warrior’s gear. That same armor had caught the sun in the Maw. It had flashed as he moved to slaughter the man before him, and a shudder ran through me.
He was already watching me and my pulse quickened. His expression remained indifferent as he took in my dress. Livia slipped away toward the wall, joining the other servants. They’d been allowed inside, for once, and I was glad for it. Her presence along the wall comforted me.
A sense of forewarning ran through me beneath Thanor’s cold stare. My piercing responded. One of these days I’d become so annoyed with it I’d try to rip it off.