The night was eerily silent after the confrontation in the chamber. The air in the courtyard felt colder, the moon above casting long shadows across the stone ground. Lyra could still feel Kael's grip on her arm, even though he had let go. His touch lingered, like a brand on her skin, and it made her want to scream.
Kael stood a few steps away from her, his posture deceptively calm. He glanced at her, his green eyes softening just enough to make her wonder what was going on in his mind. His demeanor had changed since they left the chamber, and it unsettled her.
"I've been too harsh with you," Kael said suddenly, his voice low but steady.
Lyra blinked, her guard immediately rising. **Too harsh?** The man who had chained her, tortured her, and tried to break her was now talking about being too harsh? She didn't buy it for a second.
"Too harsh?" she repeated, incredulous. "You think?"
Kael's lips twitched into a faint smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. He took a step closer to her, his presence overwhelming even in the open air. "I don't want this to be harder than it has to be."
Lyra's heart raced, but she forced herself to keep her voice steady. "Harder for who? Me or you?"
Kael's gaze flickered, but he didn't answer the question directly. Instead, he closed the remaining distance between them, his voice softening. "I've been trying to get you to understand your place here. But perhaps I've gone about it the wrong way."
Lyra tensed. The wrong way? Was this supposed to be an apology? She didn't trust it—not for a second. There was something in the way he was speaking now, something calculated. This wasn't a change of heart. This was strategy.
"You're not a prisoner, Lyra," Kael continued, his voice almost gentle. "Not if you don't want to be.
Her blood boiled at the words. She **was** a prisoner, and they both knew it. She had been locked in a cell, tortured, stripped of her freedom. And now he was pretending like that wasn't the case? She clenched her fists, ready to lash out with every ounce of rage that had been building inside her.
But something stopped her. The look in his eyes—carefully constructed softness. It wasn't real, but it was effective. He was trying to get inside her head, to make her doubt her own resolve.
"What do you want from me, Kael?" she asked, her voice sharp but quieter than she intended.
Kael's eyes darkened, and for a moment, she saw a flicker of his true intentions behind the mask of kindness. But it was gone just as quickly. He reached out, and before she could pull away, his fingers gently brushed her bruised wrist. The touch was almost...tender.
"You know what I want," he said softly. "I want you to submit to me. Willingly."
Lyra flinched, jerking her wrist away from his touch. His words were coated with sweetness, but underneath them lay the same dark intention. He didn't want her because he cared. He wanted her **control**. He wanted her to give in, to surrender everything to him, to break on her own.
She stared at him, her body rigid, anger coursing through her veins. "I will never submit to you."
Kael's jaw clenched slightly, but he didn't react with the violence she expected. Instead, he stepped back, giving her space. His eyes softened again, the same false kindness she had seen moments ago.
"You're strong, Lyra," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "That's what I've always admired about you."
Admired? She almost laughed in his face. He didn't admire her. He **hated** that she wasn't bending to his will. He hated that she wasn't afraid enough to beg for mercy. Every word out of his mouth was a lie, a carefully constructed performance designed to make her feel...safe. But there was nothing safe about him.
"I don't need your admiration," Lyra spat, narrowing her eyes at him. "I need my freedom."
Kael tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable for a moment. "Freedom?" he echoed. "You'll have it—once you understand your place here. Once you realize that submission doesn't mean weakness. It means...belonging."
Belonging. The word made Lyra sick. He was offering her a place at his side, but only as someone who would bend to his will, someone who would give him everything without question. It was the same offer wrapped in a prettier package.
Kael reached for her again, this time cupping her cheek gently. His touch was warm, a stark contrast to the coldness she knew lingered just beneath his skin.
"You're not my enemy," he whispered, his voice thick with false sincerity. "I don't want you to suffer, Lyra. But you have to understand... I'll do whatever it takes to get what I need from you."
His words were like a knife to her gut. He wasn't even trying to hide it anymore. He would do whatever it took. The gentle touch, the soft words—it was all a part of his game. A way to wear her down, make her doubt herself, make her crave the illusion of safety he was offering.
But she saw through it. She saw through him
Lyra forced herself to hold his gaze, ignoring the way his touch made her skin crawl. She wouldn't let him see her fear, wouldn't let him know that the cracks in her resolve were already beginning to show.
"I'll never be yours," she said firmly.
Kael's expression didn't change, but the air between them seemed to thicken with tension. His thumb brushed her cheek, almost tenderly, before he dropped his hand to his side.
"Maybe not yet," he said quietly, his voice calm, controlled. "But you will be."
Back in the Cell
Hours later, Lyra found herself back in her cell, her mind reeling from the conversation. Kael had returned her to the darkness, locking her in again—but this time, it felt different. He hadn't beaten her, hadn't tortured her. He had spoken softly, touched her gently, and it unnerved her more than the violence ever had.
His kindness wasn't real. It was a tactic.
She knew it, felt it in her bones. But that didn't make it any easier to resist. He was *smart*—smarter than she had given him credit for. He knew that brute force wouldn't work on her. So now, he was trying something else. A new game.
She sat down against the cold stone wall, hugging her knees to her chest. Her body ached, but the pain wasn't what kept her awake. It was the knowledge that Kael was playing a game she wasn't sure she could win. He wasn't going to stop until she submitted, one way or another.
But she wouldn't let him break her.
Not yet.
The Inner Chamber (Kael's POV)
Kael stood in the shadows of his private chamber, staring out into the night through the narrow window. His conversation with Lyra had gone exactly as planned. She was strong, yes, but every show of defiance only brought her closer to breaking. The soft touches, the gentle words—it was all part of the game.
He had learned long ago that fear alone wasn't enough. If he wanted true submission, he needed to make her believe she had a choice. He needed to make her **want** to submit.
But he wasn't fooling himself. This wasn't about care or affection. It never had been.
Kael clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. **She was power.** And he would have that power—no matter what it took.
His lips curled into a smile, a dark, twisted thing as he thought of the path ahead. Lyra thought she could resist him. She thought she could stand strong.
But she was wrong.
And soon, she'd realize that.