Eira woke to a world that felt heavier, like she was submerged in water. Her limbs ached with the weight of exhaustion, and a dull throb lingered at the side of her neck. Instinctively, her hand reached up, but her fingertips met smooth, unbroken skin.
The memories rushed back, sharp and unrelenting. Caius's fangs, the pull of her blood, the unyielding strength of his hands. Her stomach twisted, and she dropped her hand as if the mere thought might burn her.
The bond pulsed faintly beneath her skin, subtle but insistent, like a second heartbeat. She hated it—hated the way it tethered her to him in ways she couldn't explain. It wasn't just his presence she felt, but his power, his hunger, his control. It seeped into her thoughts, uninvited and unwelcome, and the more she tried to shake it, the deeper it seemed to root itself.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet pressing against the cold stone floor. Her breath hitched as she sat there, frozen by a rising sense of helplessness. Was this what her life had become? Chained to a man she neither trusted nor understood, bound by a vow she'd never truly wanted to make?
"No," she whispered, the word cutting through the quiet like a blade. "I'm still me. I have to be."
But even as she tried to convince herself, the weight of the bond lingered, a silent reminder of how much she'd already lost.
By midmorning, a knock broke the silence. Eira blinked, startled, as a servant entered with a cart laden with art supplies.
Her breath caught as her eyes scanned the collection. Sketchbooks bound in leather, brushes of every size and shape, delicate pastels, and rows upon rows of oil paints in jewel-toned tubes. There was even a set of charcoal sticks neatly arranged in a polished wooden box.
Her chest tightened as she approached, her fingers hovering over the supplies like they might vanish if she touched them. This was more than she'd ever dreamed of, a treasure trove of possibility laid out just for her. She could already imagine the smooth glide of paint across a canvas, the soft smear of charcoal beneath her fingertips.
For a moment, the spark of excitement burned bright, cutting through the haze of dread that had settled over her since her arrival. Art was hers. It had always been hers. A part of her that no one—not even Caius—could take away.
But then the realization struck.
This wasn't hers. It was his.
Her excitement fizzled, replaced by a sharp, hot anger. She didn't need to ask who had sent these. Caius's fingerprints were all over it—meticulous, calculated, impossible to ignore.
Eira's hands balled into fists at her sides. Did he think this would soften her? That a few paints and brushes would make her forget everything he'd taken from her?
She paced the room, her thoughts spiraling. It was infuriating how easily he could get under her skin, how deeply he seemed to understand the cracks in her defenses. Art was her sanctuary, her escape. And now, even that felt tainted by his shadow.
Still, the supplies called to her. The urge to create tugged at her fingers, insistent and relentless. She tried to resist, tried to tell herself that giving in would mean giving him power. But the emptiness inside her—the aching, gnawing void—was too much to bear.
"Damn him," she muttered, grabbing a brush with more force than necessary.
Her first strokes on the canvas were wild and chaotic, the brush dragging dark streaks across the surface. She poured every ounce of her frustration into the movement, her hand shaking with the force of it. But as the minutes passed, the chaos began to settle. The jagged lines softened, gave way to deliberate shapes, and the raw emotion that had driven her began to transform into something else.
The world around her faded, her focus narrowing until it was just her, the canvas, and the act of creation. For the first time in days, her breathing evened out. She lost herself in the rhythm, in the way the paint moved beneath her brush, in the way her emotions flowed out onto the canvas in ways words never could.
But no matter how much she tried to lose herself, the thought of Caius lingered at the edge of her mind, like a shadow she couldn't quite escape.
By late afternoon, the hunger gnawing at her stomach pulled her from her trance. She wiped her hands on a cloth, the paint smudging across her skin, and slipped out of her chambers in search of food.
The castle's hallways felt colder today, the light filtering through the high windows casting long shadows. Eira wrapped her arms around herself as she walked, the sound of her footsteps swallowed by the stone walls. She followed the faint smell of roasting meat, her mouth watering as she turned a corner.
Voices drifted from a nearby alcove, stopping her in her tracks.
"She's out of her depth," a woman said, her voice dripping with disdain. "You can see it in her eyes—she's terrified."
"And Caius thinks he can use her?" another voice replied, smoother but no less cutting. "She's a liability. It's only a matter of time before she cracks."
Eira's hands balled into fists at her sides. She knew she shouldn't care what these strangers thought of her, but their words struck a nerve.
"She's not one of us," the first voice continued. "He's wasting his time. A human like her? Fragile. Replaceable."
The heat in her chest burned hotter, threatening to spill over. But before she could step forward, a shadow fell over the alcove.
The voices cut off abruptly, the echo of their mocking laughter fading into a tense, suffocating silence. Eira turned slowly, her breath catching in her throat as she saw him.
Caius stood at the end of the corridor, his figure framed by the dim light filtering through a high window. His golden eyes burned, sharp and unyielding, cutting through the distance between them like a blade. He didn't move, but his presence filled the space as if the air itself had bent to accommodate him.
The court members froze under his gaze, their postures stiffening as though caught in the act of something unspeakable. Without a word, they bowed their heads hastily, their faces pale with something far beyond embarrassment. One by one, they scurried away, their laughter replaced by hurried, nervous whispers that faded down the hall.
And then, it was just the two of them.
Eira stood rooted to the spot, her chest tight as Caius's attention settled on her fully. His gaze was like the weight of a storm pressing down on her, every nerve in her body bracing for the crack of thunder that hadn't yet come.
He didn't speak. He didn't have to. The deliberate sound of his footsteps as he began to approach spoke volumes, each one echoing in the stillness of the hall. The distance between them shrank slowly, unbearably, until he was close enough that she could feel the faint heat of him, the air growing thinner with every step.
The silence stretched taut, each second heavier than the last. Eira's heart hammered in her chest, but she lifted her chin, refusing to let him see her falter.
"You've been wandering," he said finally, his voice low and smooth but edged with something razor-sharp.
The simple words were a command in disguise, layered with an unspoken accusation she couldn't quite parse.
"I was hungry," Eira said, forcing her voice to stay steady, though it came out tighter than she intended.
His gaze flicked down to her hands, her posture, before returning to her face. His lips quirked, but there was no humor in the gesture. "And instead of asking," he drawled, each word precise, "you decided to roam the halls like prey."
The word struck like a spark against tinder, sending a flare of anger through her chest. "I didn't ask you to protect me," she snapped, the sharpness of her tone masking the way her pulse quickened.
His expression didn't change, but his golden eyes darkened, narrowing as though her words had uncovered something he hadn't decided how to handle. "No," he said, his voice dropping, soft and cutting. "But you expect me to, don't you?"
Eira bristled, his words striking deeper than she cared to admit. The calm in his tone was more unnerving than any anger, like a predator toying with its catch before the kill. "If you're so worried about what I do," she bit out, her defiance flaring, "maybe you shouldn't leave me alone in the first place."
Caius stilled, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, his lips curved into a faint, humorless smile that chilled her more than his anger ever could. "Alone?" he repeated, the word lingering on his tongue like a blade sliding from its sheath. "You are never alone here, Eira. Not in this castle. Not in this court."
Her breath hitched. The way he said it was not a threat, not exactly, but the weight of the truth behind it sent a shiver racing down her spine. Her chest tightened, and she hated the way his words unsettled her, made the walls of the castle feel closer, darker. "If you're trying to scare me, it's not going to work," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady, though she wasn't sure if she believed it herself.
Caius tilted his head, studying her with an intensity that made her stomach churn. "Scaring you isn't my goal," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, rougher, as he leaned in closer. The space between them disappeared, his presence looming over her like a shadow she couldn't escape. "But perhaps it should be."
Her back stiffened, her breath quickening as his golden eyes locked onto hers. He was too close now, the faint scent of cedar and iron cutting through the air. His heat radiated toward her, making it impossible to think clearly.
Eira refused to flinch, though every nerve in her body screamed for her to move, to run. "If you think I'll just fall in line," she said, her voice trembling with both fear and fire, "you're wrong."
The faint curve of his lips disappeared, his expression hardening into something darker, sharper. "You mistake your place," he said, the weight of his voice pressing against her like the walls of the corridor had closed in. "Your defiance might amuse me, Eira, but it will not save you."
For a moment, the air between them was heavy with unspoken tension, the bond between them thrumming like a live wire. And then he straightened, the sudden absence of his closeness almost more disorienting than his presence.
"Tomorrow," he said, his tone final, cold. "You'll be introduced to the court. Be ready."
Her stomach sank, but she refused to let her expression falter as he turned and walked away, his coat sweeping behind him like a shadow. Each step he took echoed in the silence, his presence lingering even after he disappeared around the corner.
Eira exhaled shakily, her hands trembling as she pressed them against her sides. She tried to will her heartbeat to slow, but the moment replayed in her mind, every word, every look, every faint flicker of something behind his eyes she couldn't name.
Whatever tomorrow held, she wasn't sure she'd survive it unscathed.