Darkness pressed in from all sides, thick and suffocating. The damp air clung to her skin, laced with the rancid stench of mildew, rot, and something metallic—old blood, maybe. Forgotten blood. The kind that stained stone long after the bodies were gone.
The iron shackles chafed against her wrists, heavy enough to drag her arms downward, forcing her shoulders into an aching slump. A deliberate weight. A reminder.
Her knees ached from the cold, uneven stone, her once-fine gown pooling around her in tattered folds, damp with something she refused to name.
Seraphina Vale lifted her chin. Her breath came shallow, her ribs bruised from the scuffle, but steady. She would not bow. Not here. Not before him.
The chamber was small, the kind of space meant for breaking people down. Its walls, slick with moisture, swallowed sound in an unnatural way, muting even the softest breaths. A single torch flickered in its iron sconce, the light stretching the shadows long and grotesque, making them writhe like something living.
A heavy door loomed ahead—thick, reinforced with iron, a gate to the stories whispered in fear. The Black Tower. The place where traitors vanished, where their screams were swallowed whole by stone and darkness.
The guards flanking her stood motionless. Silent. Watching. She knew their faces. Knew their names. Knew which ones had laughed at her father's feasts, which ones had stood outside her chamber, once sworn to her.
Now, they were just steel and silence.
A distant echo—boots on stone. Measured. Unhurried. Each step rang through the chamber like the ticking of some unseen clock, marking the slow passage of something inevitable.
Her stomach twisted in recognition before she even saw him.
Caius.
The man who had once stood at her right hand. The man who had ridden into battle beside her. Who had killed for her.
Now, the man who had killed because of her.
His armor had changed. He still wore blackened steel, but there was something too polished about it now. No dents, no wear from war—only cold, gleaming victory.
His stance was different, too. Relaxed. Unbothered. As if he could stand before her with her father's blood still cooling on the floor above them and feel nothing.
Seraphina met his gaze.
"You've finally come to gloat?"
Her voice was rougher than she meant. But it didn't matter. The words landed sharp and jagged between them.
Caius didn't rise to the bait. He studied her, gaze slow and assessing, like she was something to be weighed, measured, calculated. The warmth of his presence cut through the chill in the room, and she hated that she still noticed.
"I came to offer you a choice," he said.
A choice.
A bitter smirk twisted her lips. That was rich.
"Did you expect me to beg?"
His expression didn't flicker. "No." A pause. Then, quieter, unreadable, "I expect you to listen."
The air thickened. The torchlight flickered, throwing his face into half-shadow. He moved closer—too close—lowering himself into a crouch so they were at eye level.
She should have recoiled. She didn't.
"Marry me."
The words hit harder than a blade.
For a moment, she simply stared.
She must have misheard him. The Black Tower did things to the mind, warped reality. Maybe she had been down here longer than she realized, maybe the air had poisoned her thoughts, maybe—
She barked out a laugh, sharp and humorless. It echoed in the small chamber, bouncing off stone like a broken thing.
"I would rather die."
Caius's expression did not change.
"That is the other option."
The words weren't a threat. They were a fact.
Silence stretched between them, thick, suffocating. The weight of his betrayal, the corpse of her father, the stolen throne—it all pressed against her throat like a noose.
Her nails curled into her palms, the shackles biting deeper into raw skin.
She wanted to lunge at him. To tear out his throat with her bare hands, to watch the life drain from his eyes the way she had been forced to watch her father crumple like a felled tree.
But she was bound. Weak. And he knew it.
"You would make me your queen?" she whispered, voice sharp as a blade. "Do you think chaining me to your side will make me forget what you've done?"
He tilted his head, considering her. "I think you understand that I don't make empty offers."
She swallowed back the fury burning in her chest. He was right about that. Caius did not believe in mercy. Every move he made was precise, calculated.
She shifted, slowly, testing the bruised ache in her limbs. "And if I refuse?"
His answer was as steady as the steel at his hip.
"Then you will die. Slowly. Publicly. Your head on a spike, a warning to those who would defy the crown."
His voice was calm. Too calm. But there was something beneath it. Something she almost recognized.
She should have been afraid. Any sane woman would be.
But fear had died with her father.
She leaned in, just enough to catch the flicker in his eyes, the storm raging behind them.
"Then kill me now."
A flicker. A hesitation so quick she almost missed it.
He hadn't expected that.
Seraphina smirked.
Caius's jaw tightened. He rose to his full height, his expression locked behind that same damn unreadable mask.
"No," he murmured. "Not yet."
He turned, striding toward the heavy door, but paused at the threshold.
"I will return in the morning for your answer." A beat. Then, "Choose wisely, Seraphina."
Then he was gone, swallowed by the shadows beyond the iron door.
She exhaled slowly, carefully, as if it might keep her from breaking apart.
Pain throbbed through her wrists, her knees. Her body ached. But she barely noticed.
Caius had made his move.
Now, it was her turn.