Chapter 41
Elira
Dinner was a farce.
Vael had dressed me in a ridiculously ornate pink gown that fell down my legs in waves of tulle and silk. It was a sweet dress, a little girl’s dress—and it made me sick.
I was seated at the table across from Vael and Ivan, who kept watching me with a strange, curious expression. Like I was a puzzle. Or a creature he’d seen in a book once but never believed existed.
I didn’t speak.
I didn’t touch my wine.
I smiled once at Ivan—just to see how Vael would react. He glowered at me like I was betraying him. I almost laughed out loud.
There were six guards in the room. Two standing behind me, two by the doors, and two lining the wall behind Vael’s throne. None of them looked at me. That, more than anything, told me how afraid they were of him.
“That is quite the jewel you are wearing my dear,” Ivan asked. “Where did you find it?”
I had been clutching my amulet in my hands, rubbing it like I might be granted a wish from a genie.
“It’s just a piece of costume jewellery. I found it in the ruins of Shadowmere.” I lied.
“Of course,” Ivan said, clearly not believing me. “May I see it?”
“No.”
“Elira – “ Vael warned like he was scolding a small child.
I glared at him. “I said no. It’s mine.”
Vael stood with all the patience of an irritated parent and walked over. I clutched it tightly in my hand. I picked up my steak knife from beside me and shoved it towards him.
Vael paused mid-step.
I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
The knife wavered—barely—but I held it steady. Right between us. Right in line with his stomach.
“I said,” I breathed, “it’s mine.”
He looked down at the blade. Then up at me.
The room went still. Even Ivan didn’t speak. The guards held their breath.
Only the flames crackled.
Vael’s expression didn’t change—but something behind his eyes… shifted.
That familiar flicker. Not anger. Not surprise.
Amusement.
He reached out—not toward me, but to gently press his fingers against the blade’s flat edge. Testing it. Testing me.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured.
“Because having you this close to me makes me want to puke.” I spat at him. “Now back up!”
Vael’s lips twitched.
Not into a snarl.
Into a smile.
“Ah,” he murmured. “There she is.”
He stepped back—but slowly. Deliberately. Like indulging a child mid-tantrum. The knife still hovered between us, but the danger wasn’t in the blade—it was in him. In the way he looked at me now.
“You’ll learn to sheath that sharp tongue eventually,” he said softly. “You always did.”
“Touch me again,” I said, voice low, “and I’ll show you how sharp it really is.”
For a breath, I thought he might retaliate. That the guards would seize me. That Ivan would laugh.
I clung to the knife like it was the only real thing in the room. But his hand was already closing around the handle—warm, crackling with restrained energy.
I didn’t let go. Not at first.
But the moment the electric charge sparked against my palm, something in my nerves screamed don’t push him.
So I let it go.
Vael held it for a moment longer than necessary. Turned it in his hand like it amused him.
“Such fire,” he murmured, brushing a thumb along the flat edge before passing it to a guard. “You always did like playing with sharp things.”
My stomach churned.
Ivan rose slowly from his seat, the picture of civility. But his eyes…
Gods, those eyes. They saw too much.
“It’s fine, Vael,” he said smoothly. “Another time.”
But there was something beneath the words. A dark curiosity that made me shiver.
Then he turned to me.
“So, Elira. Tell me—how is your mother these days?”
As if that was an entirely normal question.
I glared at him. “And what would you know about my mother?”
Ivan chuckled, but his gaze darkened. “Syrena and I have a history. She was born in Iron Reach, you know.”
“Bullshit.”
“And you know that how?” he asked, all polite interest.
I didn’t answer.
“We were raised together,” he went on. “I was always quite fond of her.”
“And now you hold her daughter captive. Maybe that’s why you’re not friends anymore,” I snapped.
“I knew your father too,” he said. “He and I - Well, we never really got along. He was always off adventuring, you know. It used to upset your mother terribly.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked. “Trying to make friends?”
“No.” He smiled thinly. “I just find it fascinating, looking at you now. Makes me wonder—”
“Wonder what?”
“Who you take after. Your mother… or your father.”
“What does it matter?”
“Call it curiosity,” Ivan said, voice smooth as oil.
Then, almost offhand, “That necklace you’re wearing—it reminds me of another. One your father found on one of his trips.”
I stiffened. My fingers curled protectively around the pendant.
I tried to keep my face still. But he saw.
Of course he did.
“And?” I asked.
“And nothing,” Ivan said lightly. “Just making friendly conversation, that’s all.”
I shifted. “It’s just a necklace.”
“Perhaps.”
Vael rolled his eyes then, sighing loud and deliberate—like he was sick of being left out of the conversation.
I sat back in my chair and said nothing. I even sipped my wine.
But I imagined driving the stem of that wine glass through his eye. The thought was so beautiful, I almost cried.
It was midway through the meal that the first message came.
“Sire, it would seem King Ashton of Varrowmere is approaching the city with a large force.”
The servant stuttered, refusing to meet Vael’s eyes.
Vael just frowned and rolled his eyes like this was a great inconvenience—uncaring about how many innocent lives would be lost if Ashton dared to strike.
“How dramatic,” he muttered, dabbing his mouth with a cloth napkin. “He never could resist a stage.”
Ivan, for his part, chuckled softly. “He always did prefer spectacle to subtlety.”
“Please, sir—he’s threatening to burn the town to the ground,” the servant tried again.
Vael narrowed his eyes. “So?”
The servant blanched. “I’m sorry, sir.”
He turned and bolted from the room.
I just stared after him in disbelief.
I shouldn’t be surprised by his callousness, but still.
“You sicken me.” I sneered.
Vael only smiled.
Their voices blurred after that. Talk of troop movement, of sentinels and sabotage, of ward reinforcement along the lower city edge. As if none of it mattered.
A messenger arrived and whispered something in Ivan’s ear. He looked up at me and met my eyes momentarily, a smug smile on his face.
“It would seem my guest has arrived. Excuse me.” Ivan smiled to Vael.
But I wasn’t listening anymore.
My attention had shifted—to the servant.
She’d been watching me all night. Not with suspicion, but with purpose. A strange glint in her eyes, like she wanted me to see her. To know her. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen, slight and pale beneath her grey smock and frilled cap.
I took a chance.
My elbow nudged the wine glass—just enough. It tipped, slow as a heartbeat, then fell. Blood-red liquid spilled like a wound across the table, soaking into my pale pink dress. The glass shattered on the floor.
A sharp gasp came from down the table. Someone swore.
I rose fast, clutching my napkin like a flustered fool, dabbing at the spreading stain. The wine bled down my front in a dark, blooming streak.
“I—gods, I’m so sorry,” I murmured, letting my voice tremble.
Vael’s jaw clenched. Ivan paused mid-step, raising a brow, amused.
But I wasn’t watching them.
I was watching her.
And just as I’d hoped, she moved—swift and quiet, head bowed, a cloth already in her hands.
She knelt by my feet. I did too.
Our eyes met for a half-second.
That was all I needed.
Her fingers brushed mine—just once—as she pressed a fresh napkin into my hand. It felt stiff. Heavier than cloth should feel.
Something was folded inside it.
She said nothing. Just kept scrubbing at the carpet with shaking hands, as though the world hadn’t just shifted sideways.
“Leave it,” Vael said sharply. “Take her to change. Then get that dress cleaned.”
The maid dipped her head again, backing away.
I looked down at the ruined gown, at the red seeping into the fabric, staining my skin like blood.
A soft, brittle laugh escaped me.
“What a shame,” I said quietly. “I guess dinner’s over.”
The girl walked beside me, holding my ruined dress off the ground. She said nothing while we were still within earshot of the dining room.
The corridor stretched ahead, lit by soft golden sconces that flickered against dark stone. My footsteps were muffled by thick carpet, but hers were almost silent. She kept her head bowed, her movements practiced.
Only when we turned a corner—well beyond the reach of listening ears—did she speak.
“Don’t open it until you’re alone,” she whispered.
I didn’t look at her. “How long do I have?”
She hesitated. Then, quietly, “Shift change is at eight. The only way out is down.”
Then she locked me in my room.
I waited until she was gone before I unwrapped the napkin. Inside was a small silver key.
My body shook with relief. I almost laughed.
Thank the gods.
I could hear movement outside and knew the guards were still there. The clock in my room ticked by slowly. It was only 6pm. I had to wait for hours.
I sat on the edge of the bed, still in the blood-stained gown, the silver key cradled in my palm.
So small. So delicate.
It looked like something from a child’s jewellery box. Not a key that could change everything.
The room was warm. Too warm. I stood and cracked the window, just enough to let the air in. The scent of night drifted through—smoke, distant rain, the salt of the sea below the cliffs.
The sound of footsteps passed by outside my door. A pause. Then silence again.
I stared at the clock.
6:03.
Godsdamn it!
I kicked off my boots and peeled the dress away from my skin, shivering as the sweat-soaked silk came free. I tossed it into a heap and pulled one of the heavier tunics from the wardrobe. Not ideal, but better for running.
Not that I could run yet.
Not for two more hours.
“Arrgh!” I screamed, kicking at the bedframe. If I had to stay in this godsforsaken place for two more hours—
The door creaked open.
And there he was.
Thorne.
But not the Thorne I remembered.
He didn’t speak. Just walked in like he belonged there. Like nothing had happened. His jaw was tight, his shoulders stiff beneath his cloak. And he was fidgeting—his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, over and over, like he couldn’t remember what they were for.
Then he started pacing.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
Like an animal trapped in a cage.
“What the hell are you doing?” I snapped.
He didn’t answer.
Just kept pacing. His boots scuffed the floor. His breath came in uneven bursts, too quiet for rage, too loud for calm.
“Thorne.” I took a step forward. “What are you doing here?”
He froze.
And then, slowly, turned to look at me.
His eyes were wrong. Clouded. Flickering—not with emotion, but with static, swirling from black to green.
Like someone had rewired him and left pieces loose.
“I—I wasn’t supposed to come in,” he muttered. “I was just... listening.”
I felt my heart lurch in my chest.
“Listening to what?”
“To you.” His voice dropped lower. “You screamed.”
He looked down at his hands like they belonged to someone else.
“I thought you were hurt.”
I swallowed hard. “And now that you know I’m not?”
He blinked. “I don’t know.”
For one brief moment, I thought I saw a flash of green in his eyes.
Real green. Not that black void from before. Not dull obedience.
Him.
I took a step toward him.
He jerked, his hand on his sword hilt - like I was a threat to him.
My breath caught.
“What’s going on?” I asked, softer now.
Thorne clutched at his head, fingers digging into his hair.
“I keep hearing things… in my head…”
“What things?”
“Words. Memories. Are they—” He stopped, eyes darting around the room like he couldn’t find the thread.
“Thorne.” I moved closer, slower this time. “Talk to me.”
He looked up at me like I was a nightmare he couldn’t quite wake from.
“One thing that keeps appearing is—you.” His voice cracked. “But you’re a traitor.”
The words landed like a slap.
I froze. “Is that what they told you?”
“No,” he whispered. “That’s what I told me.”
He backed away, stumbling slightly.
“I—I see you and I feel—everything. All at once. I don’t know if I’m supposed to stop you or protect you or—”
His voice cracked further.
“—or fall apart.”
My throat tightened. “You’re not well.”
“I’m broken,” he said, and it wasn’t angry. Just… hollow.
“You can be fixed,” I whispered. “I know you can—”
He laughed.
Not cold. Not cruel.
Just wrong.
“What do you know?” he snapped, voice sharp with hysteria. “You don’t know anything. Ashton said—he said if I didn’t obey, he’d bring her out again— he would hurt her!”
His breath hitched.
His hands were shaking.
“I had to listen,” he choked. “I had to go in that room. I didn’t have a choice.”
My blood ran cold. “Who, Thorne? Who did he bring out?”
He looked at me then—really looked at me. And I saw it. The flicker of shame. Of knowing.
His mouth moved, but no sound came out.
Then finally, broken and raw: “Allison.”
My heart cracked.
His sister.
That was the leash that tethered him to Ashton all these years. That was the control.
And I was going to kill Ashton for it.
Every part of me was burning with it—rage, sorrow, vengeance.
He slid down the wall, breath shallow, like even the act of remembering had gutted him.
“I tried to fight it,” he murmured. “I tried. I sat in that room and I closed my eyes. I’m supposed to be so strong. But she was screaming, and I—I couldn’t lose her again. Not her. Not you.”
I crouched beside him.
“You haven’t lost me.”
His eyes darted to mine—wild, uncertain.
“But I will,” he whispered. “I can feel it. You’re going to leave me behind.”
I didn’t speak.
I couldn’t lie to him.
He looked down, fingers curling against the stone floor.
“That’s what I deserve.”
“No,” I said, fiercely. “What you deserve is to choose. Not to be dragged by chains forged by tyrants! You were forced into this, Thorne. And I won’t let them force you anymore.”
“I’m too far gone,” he said. “You don’t see it. But I can feel the edge, Elira. One order, one command, and I’ll—”
“Then come with me.”
He blinked.
I reached for his hand.
“Come with me now.”
But he didn’t move.
His breathing hitched. His fingers tightened—but didn’t reach back.
His head shook, once, twice. “If I follow you now, I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t know who I am.”
“I do,” I said. “You’re the one who protected me back in Varrowmere – the one who kept me safe from Ashton. You saved my life! And that man—he’s still in there.”
And for one heartbeat, his eyes cleared again.
Green.
Real.
“Run,” he whispered. “Now. Before I can’t let you.”
I ran. And for the first time, I didn’t look back.