Chapter 4
Iron and water
LORIEN
The water around my chambers hums with the tension of the ocean’s wrath, currents swirling like predators waiting for their master’s command.
I rest against my chair, one leg draped lazily over the other, as the guards drag the human back into my domain.
The scrape of the cage against obsidian grates in my ears, a symphony of humiliation I compose with every motion of my hand.
The human is barely conscious again, his head rolling to the side as the golden bars rattle.
His soaked clothes cling to his body, the fabric torn and clotted with salt, hinting at the struggles that should have killed him.
Yet here he is, defiant even in his fragility, his mortal warmth an affront to my cold, eternal kingdom.
“Get him out,” I command, my voice low but resonant, carried by the currents like a wave crashing against rock.
The guards hesitate, exchanging glances. “Your Majesty—”
“Do it,” I snap, the sharpness of my words cutting through the chamber like a blade. My gaze doesn’t leave the human, even as the soldiers haul him out of the cage, his limp body dragged forward until he’s dumped unceremoniously at my feet.
He collapses, too weak to even kneel. Or perhaps he knows no manners. He groans, the sound guttural and raw, and I feel a wicked curl of satisfaction twist through me. It’s not pain that fuels the noise. It’s something deeper, a primal response that stirs a hunger I haven’t felt in centuries.
“Put him on his knees,” I sigh, flicking my wrist.
This time, the guards don’t hesitate. They move fast and grab his shoulders with bruising force, forcing him upright. His knees scrape against the stone floor, leaving faint streaks of blood as they shove him into position.
“Strip him,” I order.
The guards falter, their eyes widening in surprise.
“Did I stutter? Why does everyone forget what happens when they try my patience?” My claws dig into the arm of my chair, the screech of bone against stone making them flinch. “I want to see what’s washed ashore in my kingdom like flotsam.”
They obey this time, fumbling as they tug at the sodden fabric clinging to his body.
Buttons pop, seams tear, and inch by inch, his skin is revealed, pale and flushed from the cold.
Scars mar his torso; faint lines that tell stories I don’t care to hear.
His chest rises and falls with uneven breaths, the muscles beneath his skin tensing as if he can feel my gaze tracing every inch of him.
When they’re done, I rise from my chair, my steps deliberate as I approach. The human’s head tilts up, his eyes fluttering open to meet mine. That deep ocean blue again, defiant even in his vulnerability. A smirk tugs at the corner of my lips.
“You reek of mortality,” I murmur, crouching before him. My claws trail along his jaw, not enough to break the skin but enough to remind him how easily I could. “Of weakness. Yet you survived what should have killed you. Why?”
He doesn’t answer, his lips parting as if to speak before closing again. The silence is still infuriating. Still intriguing. My grip tightens on his chin, forcing his head back until his throat is exposed, his pulse thrumming beneath pale skin.
“Do you even know what you are?” I hiss, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Or have you been too blind, too stupid, to realize the depths you’ve fallen to?”
His breath hitches, and for a moment, I catch a flicker of fear dart through his eyes. But it’s followed by something darker, something that mirrors the storm raging in my veins. The storm I’m sending through the ocean as my temper rages inside me.
“Collar him,” I say, rising to my full height. My voice echoes through the chamber like the tolling of a bell. “I want him under my control, his existence a reminder of who holds power here.”
The human lifts his head and I do not like it.
He’s summoning the strength to speak, his voice hoarse yet cutting through the oppressive silence like shattered glass.
“Your power? It’s an illusion, like a tempest that dies the moment it hits land.”
He sways on his knees, his defiance almost pathetic—almost—but it ignites a fresh wave of fury inside me. His words, though quiet, are a challenge. He looks at me as though I am nothing more than the storm I command: vast, yes, but ultimately passing.
For a moment, I simply stare at him, the chamber around me falling silent save for the faint lap of the tide against the walls. Then I move faster than he can track, my hand snapping out to grip his throat. The collision of my claws against his flesh echoes sharply, and his eyes widen in shock.
“You mistake audacity for strength, mortal,” I hiss, my face mere inches from his. “You think words can wound me? That you can spit venom and it will somehow topple a god?”
His lips curl, a faint smirk tugging at the edges. “What’s a god without anyone to worship them?”
My hand tightens, his pulse hammering against my palm. It would take so little effort to crush him here and now. To snuff out the flicker of his rebellion.
To extinguish the fire in those deep blue eyes.
But there would be little fun in it.
“Shackle him,” I snarl, stepping back and waving a hand.
The guards approach, dragging iron shackles from the shadows. The links clatter against the stone floor, their weight a promise of what is to come. The human doesn’t flinch, but I see the way his shoulders tense, the way his breathing grows shallow.
They wrap the iron around his wrists first, the rough metal biting into his skin.
Blood wells beneath the links as the cuffs are secured, the scent sharp and metallic in the salt-heavy air.
His ankles are next, the process deliberate and slow, as if the guards want him to feel every moment of his subjugation.
Finally, the collar.
It’s brought forward by a third guard, who carries it with trembling hands. The iron is blackened, etched with runes that glow faintly as I extend my power towards it. A binding spell, ancient and unyielding, woven into every line and curve of the metal.
The guard hesitates, his gaze flicking nervously to me.
“Do it,” I command, my voice a low growl.
The collar is forced around the human’s neck, its runes flaring to life the moment it clicks into place. He tries to jerk away, weak and desperate, but the guards pin him easily, forcing him to his knees as the iron collar is raised.
The moment it touches his skin, the magic roars to life.
The runes flare violently, bathing the room in a searing, malevolent light.
The glow isn’t beautiful. It’s jagged, wild, a force that tears rather than binds gently, and the male thrashes, punching and kicking with all he has left and it makes no difference.
He’s already lost this fight, but watching him struggle is satisfying. It’s a pleasure to watch reality hit him, and yet he won’t surrender to it, still fighting until the collar snaps shut around his pretty little neck with a deafening click.
He cries out, a sound that rakes through my chamber like a blade. His body convulses now that the collar is locked into place. The air around him crackles, the runes pouring their power into him, invading his flesh, his bones, his very essence.
He jerks again, harder this time, his back arching as though some unseen hand is trying to rip him apart from the inside.
His breath comes in ragged gasps, half-screams choked into silence as the runes pulse brighter, hotter.
The smell of burning flesh fills the chamber, acrid and bitter.
Smoke rises from his neck where the iron scorches his skin, branding him as mine.
His hands claw at the collar, but it’s futile.
There’s no removing it, no undoing the spell.
The runes pulse one last time, a cruel, final burst of light, before dimming to a low, menacing glow that throbs with my power.
They leave behind blackened marks etched into his skin like a signature, a potent reminder that he is mine now, in every possible way.
The chamber falls silent again.
He slumps forward, his head hanging, his breaths uneven and rasping. His body trembles, his muscles quivering with the aftershocks of the spell. I step closer, my boots echoing against the stone floor.
It could be pain.
It could be anger.
I can’t tell, and I’m not sure I care.
A slow smirk curves my lips as I crouch before him, close enough to see the dark sheen of sweat on his skin, the way his shoulders shake with the effort of staying upright.
I reach out, my fingers brushing along the edge of the collar, where his skin is raw and blistered.
The marks will turn to blues, blacks and silver in a few days, so he’ll forever be marked as mine even if he finds a way to get that collar off.
Even Helena’s magic can’t undo what’s just been done, and the ripple of satisfaction is as immense as the warmth spreading from my fingertip.
He flinches at the contact, his head snapping up with a defiance that should have been crushed.
Good.
I lean in, letting my voice drop to a whisper that only he can hear. “You’ll learn to kneel properly. And you’ll learn to beg. But for now…” My fingers trail down to his jaw, tilting his face upwards. “For now, I want you clean. Guards.”
He shudders and I wonder if it’s the cold or the cruelty in my voice that elicits such a stunning reaction.
Still, there’s one way to find out.
“Take him to the water. Wash the filth from him. Make sure every inch of him is scrubbed raw, if you must.”
The guards exchange uneasy glances, but don’t dare question me.
They seize the human by his arms, dragging him upright despite the way his legs buckle beneath him.
He groans, his voice hoarse, but they don’t relent.
He’s hauled across the chamber, his bare feet scraping against the rough stone as they pull him towards the far wall, where an ancient basin carved from black marble sits.