Sienna Daelith
The path from the dungeon to her private quarters was quiet, but the silence between Sienna and Emery simmered with unspoken tension. As they climbed the winding staircase to the upper floors, Sienna kept her pace steady, glancing occasionally over her shoulder to ensure he followed, the chain she held linking them both. The halls of House Daelith were dim, lit by flickering candles and streaked with shadows that draped across them, lending a dark elegance to the worn walls and ancient tapestries.
Once they reached the guest quarters near her own room, Sienna stopped, lifting her hand to an ornate door. "This will be your room," she said, her tone clipped and curt, emphasizing her role in the hierarchy. She pushed the heavy door open, revealing a modest room with a bed, a small wooden wardrobe, and a connecting bathroom with a bathtub. The window was small and high up, barely large enough to offer a view but enough to let in a cool breeze.
Emery remained silent as he stepped inside, his hands still sore from the tight shackles that had restrained him. His gaze was unreadable, yet she felt his eyes on her, quietly calculating, studying. After closing the door behind them and setting the chain aside, she turned to face him, her face blank but her mind restless. Despite her insistence on his status as her 'toy,' the flicker of his gaze carried a calm confidence that belied his circumstance.
"Sit," she commanded, gesturing toward the bed. She noticed the fresh wounds across his arms and the discolored bruises that marred his wrists, evidence of the hours he had spent in the dungeons. Emery obeyed, though a flicker of tension crossed his expression as he lowered himself onto the bed's edge. He held himself like a coiled spring, wounded but unbroken.
Wordlessly, Sienna entered the connecting bathroom and running some warm water in the sink. She dipped a clean cloth into it, wringing it out until only a few drops fell back into the sink bowl. Taking a deep breath, she moved toward him, her posture tense yet deliberate.
"Let me see your wrists," she murmured, almost a whisper, more to herself than to him. Carefully, she pressed the damp cloth to his skin, watching as the red welts began to fade under the cool cloth. Emery's jaw tightened, but he made no sound, refusing to show weakness, even now.
Taking notice of he small reaction, she can't help but be reminded of her older brother. He refused to show any signs of weakness around her, hiding the fact that he did not live up to their father's expectations and that resulted in him paying the price for it.
Her movements were methodical, calculated. She'd tended to wounds before—her brother's, mostly—but treating his was different. Her fingers brushed against the ridges and marks, reminders of the cruelty he'd endured.
Just as she finished dressing his wounds, a wave of nausea washed over her. It came on suddenly, a violent churn in her stomach, followed by an intense heat that clawed up her throat. Her vision blurred, and she stumbled, clutching the edge of the bedframe for balance. The room spun, colors bleeding together as the nausea intensified.
"Sienna?" Emery's voice was unexpectedly close, laced with a hint of genuine concern.
She tried to respond, but the nausea grew stronger, overwhelming her senses. She gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth, only for the bile to rise, leaving her no choice but to turn away, choking and vomiting. Her legs gave out, and darkness crept at the edges of her vision, pulling her down as she fought to stay conscious. She barely registered the sensation of falling, of cold hands reaching out to steady her, before everything went black.
When Sienna finally opened her eyes, she was lying on her back, her head cushioned by a soft pillow. Her surroundings came into focus slowly—the faintly familiar ceiling of the guest room, the dim candlelight casting gentle shadows on the walls. She blinked, her mind sluggish and foggy, trying to piece together what had happened. The last thing she remembered was tending to Emery's wounds, and then… nausea, darkness.
She turned her head and found herself face-to-face with Emery. He sat beside the bed, watching her with a mixture of concern and guarded curiosity, his brows furrowed slightly. His presence startled her, and she shifted up, leaning back on her elbows. A strange warmth pulsed within her, a subtle tingling in her veins that left her feeling… different.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice low and steady, laced with an unexpected softness.
Sienna frowned, realization dawning upon her as she pieced together what he must have done. She felt the residual warmth of healing magic—faint, but unmistakable. The sensation was disorienting, an uncomfortable reminder of her vulnerability. She had spent years training herself to ignore weakness, to mask pain with cold indifference, and yet here she was, having fainted in front of the very man she'd vowed to control.
Her thoughts running in circles as she tries to recall what had happened in the novel. Elara, the female lead, had been eventually kidnapped by Thalys and kept as his personal toy. Her powers came to surface the moment she realized that her brother had been kidnapped and came to rescue him. She ended up being captured by Thalys before making it past the entrance of the Daelith castle, where she was able to live off of her healing powers, long enough for the rest of the Aelthar family to show up and rescue her. Despite the timeline, they were never able to find Emery, instead capturing Sienna to pay for his demise.
"You have healing powers?" Her tone was sharp, a subtle accusation threading through the words.
Emery's gaze remained steady, unapologetic. "I did what I thought was necessary."
She wanted to lash out, to demand he explain himself, but the odd sensation of his healing energy lingered, making her feel strangely calm. Her anger faltered, giving way to an unsettling sensation that she could only identify as gratitude, as unwelcome as it was.
For a moment, silence settled between them, broken only by the crackling of the nearby candle. Emery's gaze remained fixed on her, a faint hint of exhaustion etched into his expression, though he masked it well.
"You should be more careful," he murmured after a pause, his voice quiet. "Whatever they're feeding you… it's harming you."
She stiffened, her gaze narrowing. "That's none of your concern," she replied, her voice icily detached. "I'm not your responsibility." He had positioned himself as an equal, even in chains, even under her control, and it grated at her pride. The last thing she wanted was for him to view her as someone to be pitied or helped. "Focus on yourself," she replied, her voice cold and dismissive. "Your injuries need more tending than mine."
Slowly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the slight dizziness that lingered as she pushed herself to her feet. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, determined not to show any further weakness. Emery watched her silently, his gaze unreadable but intense, as if he were trying to understand her, to read the hidden thoughts beneath her expression.
"I appreciate the… assistance," she forced herself to say, each word like a bitter pill. "But don't forget your place. Finish cleaning yourself up, there is a change of clothing in the wardrobe ready for you."
Without another word, Sienna turned and strode to the door, her footsteps firm, though the lingering effects of his healing energy still hummed faintly beneath her skin. She felt his gaze on her as she left, an unsettling sensation that stirred something she could not quite name.
Once outside, she paused, leaning against the wall and pressing a hand to her chest. Her heartbeat was unsteady, her pulse quickened by a strange mixture of fear and intrigue. She had expected Emery to remain obedient, to follow her orders without question. But his actions tonight had shaken something within her—a crack in her carefully constructed walls that she couldn't ignore.
It was dangerous, she realized, allowing him this close to her. The tenuous balance of power between them was more delicate than she'd anticipated. She would need to tread carefully, to reinforce the barriers she'd set, lest she find herself ensnared in a game she hadn't planned to play. She needed him alive for her to survive and for both of them to leave this place in one piece.
But then again what had caused her to vomit and black out that led to all of this in the first place? She must have given out more blood than she should have to those fairies. They were draining her blood more and more, now that they were close to hatching. If she wanted to live to see them successfully hatch, she should take care of herself better.
But as she walked back toward her room, the faint warmth of his healing magic still clinging to her like a whisper of kindness, she couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between them.