It was the first time she had ever said something like this to anyone. She hadn't even uttered such words when the Romani had tortured her for her blood, nor when her father had burned her.
Yet now, standing in Ilkar's oppressive embrace, she felt a certainty in her declaration, untainted by regret.
"I-I hate you," she repeated, her voice gaining strength with each syllable, solidifying her resolve despite the tears that continued to fall.
Ilkar laughed coldly, the sound devoid of any warmth or sympathy. "Hate me all you want, Eira," he said with a sarcastic edge to his voice. "It won't change anything. Your feelings are irrelevant here." He tightened his grip, his fingers digging into her skin. "Now, tell me, why did you come to my room?"
Eiravyne gasped, her breath hitching as his fingers dug painfully into her flesh.
She wanted to stay silent, to defy him, but the intensity of his grip and the cold menace in his voice compelled her to speak.
