Chapter 35
Elira
The boat had stopped.
I didn’t know where we were—only that we were docking.
The wood groaned beneath us. Chains clanked above. Voices shouted in the distance.
I sat huddled on the edge of the narrow bed, knees tucked to my chest, the cabin swaying in slow, nauseating rolls.
Thorne stood by the door. Watching. Silent.
My fingers kept brushing the amulet at my chest. It was the only thing they hadn’t taken—the only piece of myself I still had.
Phoenix still had the book. But this… this I could touch. It helped. A little.
Because I was here now.
Wherever here was.
And whatever came next... I would have no choice but to endure it.
To do whatever Vael demanded.
“You know,” I said quietly, “the old you would never let this happen.”
My voice trembled, but I didn’t stop.
“You used to get this look—like you’d burn the world down before you let anyone touch me.”
I swallowed.
“But now? You just sit there. Like you’re nothing. Like you’re not even in there anymore.”
I shook my head, blinking hard. “And you leave me to him.”
“Do you even know what he’s going to do to me?” I asked, my voice raw. “Do you, Thorne?”
I stepped forward, the weight of the ship pressing in like a second skin.
“Because I know.” My voice cracked.
“I know how he hurts people. He lives for it. Twists it into something sacred. And me?”
I laughed, bitter and hollow. “He’s probably been planning this for years.”
Thorne didn’t flinch. “Your sob story is irrelevant.” His voice was flat. Robotic.
I stared at him. “You said that to me once.” My words dropped like a stone. “It was a lie then, too.”
Vael stepped inside, his smile wide and wrong. “We’re here, precious!” he sang, happiness dripping off him like oil. “I cannot wait for you to see what I’ve made for us.”
He stepped up to me and took my hand.
I snapped it away. “Don’t touch me.”
Vael sighed, all theatrical disappointment, then seized my wrist in a grip like iron. His skin crackled—faint sparks biting the air between us. A warning. A threat.
“Elira,” he said, calm and cold. “This is not the way to behave.”
His voice was soft. Almost gentle. But it curled around me like a leash.
I tried to twist free. “Let go.”
“You used to be so sweet,” he murmured, tightening his hold. “So obedient. What happened to her?”
“She grew up.”
He leaned in, his breath brushing my cheek. “A shame. Still, I do like you in chains, my love.”
Behind him, Thorne moved.
Just a fraction. But it was enough.
Vael’s grip burned hotter. His magic coiled just beneath the surface.
“You’ll change your tone soon,” he said. “Once you see what I’ve built for us.”
He yanked me forward, his grip unrelenting, and dragged me out onto the wharf.
The sunlight hit like a slap—too bright after the dark belly of the ship. I blinked against it, dazed, as the chaos of the dock unfolded around us.
I didn’t know the area, but the bright silks and jewelled cloaks told me enough. We were in Duskfall.
Behind the township, carved against the mountains like a wound that never healed, stood a tower of black stone. Tall. Silent. Watching.
It pulsed with something old. Wrong.
A blemish on the land.
Soldiers swarmed the area—loading crates, shouting orders, inspecting weapons. Vael’s colours flew high above the battlements in tattered crimson.
“That,” Vael said beside me, voice honey-slick and proud, “is the future.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t tear my eyes from the tower.
Something about it called to my shadows. Not gently.
They recoiled like a wounded animal.
He leaned closer. “Welcome home, precious.”
**
We were met at the end of the dock by a black carriage with silver trim and no driver.
Vael helped me in like a gentleman—like a groom on his wedding day.
He slid in beside me, too close, taking my hand and cradling it in his lap. He stroked my fingers as though we were newlyweds, as though he hadn’t stolen that touch. Claimed it.
Across from me, Thorne sat like stone. His eyes locked on Vael’s hands. He didn’t speak. But his jaw twitched—tight with something too sharp to name.
The ride was silent, save for the soft rattle of wheels over cobblestone and the occasional whisper of breath I didn’t realise I was holding.
When we reached the tower, the carriage slowed. The gates yawned open, revealing a courtyard still under construction. Workers shouted over each other, hauling beams and stone into place, while black-armoured soldiers patrolled every inch.
A figure in burnt umber robes stood waiting.
His crown—iron and twisted like thorned branches—sat heavy on his brow. He was flanked by guards in crimson and steel, their weapons sharp, their faces sharper.
“Welcome back, Vael,” the crowned man called. His voice was smooth, cultured. Too smooth. “I see your journey was successful?”
Vael smiled, stepping down from the carriage like he owned the world. “Very,” he said, glancing back at me. “And the preparations?”
The man inclined his head. “Nearly complete. Your sanctum awaits, as promised.”
Sanctum.
The word curled in my stomach like rot.
Vael offered me his hand again, expectant. Thorne still hadn’t moved.
And I—I wasn’t sure if I could.
Vael’s hand lingered in the air between us, palm up like some twisted offer. His smile didn’t falter, but his eyes narrowed—just a little. The warning was there, beneath the charm.
Behind him, the iron-crowned man watched with interest, one brow raised. The guards were quiet. Waiting.
“Elira,” Vael said softly, “don’t embarrass me.”
I met his gaze, spine stiffening. “I’d hate to disappoint.”
Then, slowly, I placed my hand in his—cold fingers into colder ones.
He gripped it too tightly. Like ownership.
Thorne stepped out of the carriage last. He didn’t look at me. Didn’t look at Vael. Just stared at the tower like he wanted to burn it down.
We moved together toward the gate, Vael’s hand curled around mine like a shackle made of flesh. Soldiers parted for us. Some bowed.
The man in the crown turned and walked ahead, leading us through the half-built halls. Stone scraped under our feet. Torches lined the walls, flickering in iron sconces. The whole place smelled of smoke and steel and something older beneath—like old blood and sanctimony.
“Your rooms are prepared,” the man said. “The ritual hall is nearly complete. You’ll be pleased with the modifications.”
“I always am,” Vael said cheerfully.
My heart kicked hard against my ribs.
Ritual hall.
“So our agreement stands?” the man asked, voice like slow poison.
“Of course, your highness,” Vael replied smoothly. “You’ll have my army to add to your own. Together, we’ll remind Ashton what happens when kings grow greedy.”
Your Highness?
Vael turned to me, all smug delight.
“Oh,” he said, as if suddenly remembering. “Did I forget that part?”
He gestured lazily, like he was introducing a prized possession at a gala.
“Elira, meet King Ivan of Iron reach.” His smile stretched, oil-slick and triumphant. “Your Majesty, my bride-to-be.”
I stepped forward before I could stop myself, voice sharp and venom-laced.
“I will never marry you.”
The air thickened. A few soldiers stiffened nearby.
Vael only chuckled, not looking at me, not yet. “She’s spirited,” he said to Ivan, as if I weren’t standing there. “But she’ll come around. She always does, with the right motivation.”
Ivan’s gaze pinned me. He didn’t smile.
“Elira Virell?” He said, his lips curled with cruelty. “Of the Virell bloodline?”
“Her father was Alistair,” Vael said, stroking my face. I shuddered, pulling away.
Something flickered in Ivan’s eyes. A knowledge that chilled me.
“She has the shadows?” he asked, his voice low, deliberate. “She’s a true shadowmancer?”
“The very last,” Vael said, pride curdling in his voice like spoiled wine.
“Interesting.” Ivan’s gaze raked over me, sharp and assessing. There was hunger in it. Not lust—ambition. As if he’d just uncovered a long-buried weapon and was calculating how best to wield it.
Beneath my shirt, the amulet seared against my skin. Not a burn—a warning. Like it had woken.
Something was happening. Something I didn’t yet understand.
Not for the first time, I was grateful I’d given Phoenix the book.
And not for the last, I wondered just how much danger we were really in.
“Sire,” Thorne said, stepping forward, “I should escort Elira to her rooms.”
“Indeed,” Ivan murmured, without looking at either of us.
“Take her to my chambers,” Vael added smoothly, his voice thick with satisfaction. “She’ll be joining me there.”
A silence fell. Heavy. Suffocating.
I looked to Thorne. I pleaded. Begged with my eyes.
Please. Don’t.
His jaw twitched. Just once.
“As you wish,” he said flatly. He took my arm. His grip was firm—but not painful.
And he pulled me away,
**
The room was beautiful. At the top of the tower—too high to climb, too far to scream.
The door was thick, iron-braced, locked with something beyond a key.
I tried anyway.
I clawed at the handle. Slammed my shoulder into the frame. Yanked at the chains on my wrists.
Nothing.
I was trapped. Again.
Vael arrived not long after, reverence in every step. He looked around the room like it was sacred.
“Isn’t it incredible?” he said softly. “We’re so high, we can almost see the gods.”
In his arms, he held fabric. Silk. Lace. Gowns. He laid them on the bed with care.
Then he turned to me.
His eyes flicked over the dirt-stained leathers I still wore. He reached out and tugged lightly at the front of them.
“I hate these,” he murmured. “They make you look hard. They make you look… wrong.”
I swallowed, terror turning cold in my veins.
“Remove them,” he said.
I shook my head. “No.”
His smile thinned. He pulled a knife from beneath his robes—curved and delicate, like everything else about him.
“Remove them,” he said again, voice calm. “Or I will.”
The blade slid down my side, slicing a clean line through the fabric.
I didn’t flinch. “So what?” I snapped. “You plan to rape me now?”
He sighed, almost sadly. “I would never be so cruel, my love. That’s not what this is. I just want to see you.”
He reached out, touched my face like he owned it. Like I was a painting.
“You remember our game, don’t you?” he whispered. “You do as I say… or someone you love suffers.”
He turned. Raised his voice.
“Thorne.”
The door opened.
Thorne stepped in.
Vael’s hand crackled at his side—lightning coiled like a serpent, waiting to strike.
I forced my face to stay blank. “You’re wrong,” I said. “I don’t love him. He means nothing to me.”
Vael tilted his head, studying me. Then he smiled.
“Is that so?”
He didn’t wait.
The lightning arced through the air in a white-hot streak, slamming into Thorne’s chest. He crumpled, gasping, knees hitting stone.
“No!” I surged forward, instinct before thought. “Stop—please!”
Vael’s grin widened. He didn’t even look at Thorne again.
He stepped closer, voice low. “Remove your clothes.”
I was shaking so hard I thought I might splinter.
But I reached for my jacket—because he had me. Because I couldn’t fight this, not now.
Not with Thorne on the floor. Not with lightning in the air.
So I did the only thing I could.
I tried to disappear.
Tried to find that place I used to go, where pain couldn’t reach me. But it was gone.
Every scrap of fabric he demanded… every inch of skin he wanted exposed—it wasn’t just clothing.
It was pieces of me.
It’s just my body.
It’s just my body.
I closed my eyes and peeled off my shirt. My shoes. My pants. The tears came hot and silent, running down my cheeks even as I stood in just my underwear.
His breath hitched like a man seeing God.
“Everything, Elira,” he whispered, voice trembling with hunger.
I stepped out of the last of it.
Naked. Cold. Shaking. The only thing left on was the amulet, weighted on a string around my neck.
It’s just my body.
It’s just my body.
He reached for me. His hands slid down my sides, fingers ice-cold and reverent.
Then his grip tightened on my jaw, and he kissed me.
I turned my face away.
“You are stunning,” he murmured.
My skin crawled like it had turned inside out.
But I had a reprieve. He stepped back.
“Wear the clothes I’ve laid out for you,” he whispered. “All of them. You’ll join me for dinner.”
He reached for me again—like he wanted to devour me—but stopped himself.
“I’ll see you soon,” he said, and left.
Thorne still lay on the ground, unmoving. His gaze found mine. For a moment, just a breath, I thought I saw him. Really saw him.
I stumbled to the bed, hands shaking, and dressed as fast as I could.
Only then did I fall—knees crashing to the floor as the silks pooled around me in a heavy, suffocating heap.
The sobs came next—deep, wrenching, soundless. Terror clawed its way out of my chest. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. I was shaking so hard it felt like my bones would splinter.
Thorne stood—slowly. Carefully.
He crossed the room without a word and knelt beside me.
Gently, he lifted one of the dresses and draped it over my shoulders.
I clutched it tight, fingers buried in the fabric like it could shield me from everything.
Still, I said nothing.
And neither did he.