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She cried until she felt drained.
Eventually, her tears subsided, leaving her feeling raw and exposed, her breaths coming out in soft, tired puffs.
“You can trust me, Anthea.” His voice was low, a soothing rumble that vibrated against her. “You can trust me to keep you safe.” It was a promise, a vow spoken in the quiet comfort of his embrace. And despite everything, despite the deceit and manipulation that had painted their relationship until now, she wanted to believe him. She wanted to trust in the warmth of his arms, the steady rhythm of his heart against her ear, the sincerity in his words.
Slowly, she pulled back, her hands still clenching the fabric of his gray shirt. Lifting her eyes to meet his. “I can’t,” she whispered, the words coming out more as a tired sigh, stripped bare of all pretense. “I really can’t, Endreth.”
His eyes held hers, not blinking, not looking away. For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Finally, he nodded, a small, tight motion. “I understand,” he said, fingers gently brushing away a loose strand of hair from her face.
She didn’t respond, instead she pressed her cheek against his chest, her head facing the window, her gaze lost in the mesmerizing sight of the sea crashing into the stark white cliffs. The rhythmic pounding of the waves echoed the pulsing beat of Endreth’s heart, a soothing lullaby in the otherwise silent room. She allowed herself to sink deeper into his embrace, her body growing heavier and more relaxed. The familiar scent of him, of sea and something reminiscent of rosemary filled her senses. She may not trust him, but the warmth of another being, the steady rhythm of his heart, the gentle caress of his hands—it all offered a solace she didn’t realize she had been craving.
Then, with a shaky breath, her voice barely a whisper, she asked. “What . . . what year is it?”
Endreth’s body stiffened beneath her at the question. “It’s the 6745th year of the elven time.”
16
“There needs to be a safe word.” Anthea stood in Endreth’s study again, her back to the window, arms crossed. “Or a signal . . . when it becomes too much for me. Three taps, perhaps?” She demonstrated to the confused prince, tapping her fingers against the wooden surface of the table for emphasis. Despite their shared moment the day before, the room felt as imposing as ever. This time, however, she wasn’t here to argue or confess vulnerabilities. She was here to set down rules, terms, and conditions that would govern her role as his slave in the future.
Endreth’s eyebrows drew together, but he did not interrupt, silently urging her to continue. After she explained the concept of a safe word and its importance, he nodded slowly, acknowledging her need for such a mechanism.
“Three taps, then,” he agreed. “If you are too uncomfortable or if it is too much, you tap thrice, and I halt the act immediately.”
Next, she outlined her physical boundaries. No exposing of her breasts or other more private parts; touching her waist, neck, hair, and legs was permissible, but definitely no intimate acts. To this, Endreth agreed as well.
“There is another condition,” she added, her voice firm as she met his gaze. “I am not to be touched by any other male at these gatherings. I don’t care how it’s perceived or what explanations you need to make, but this is non-negotiable.”
“In return,” Endreth answered, pulling out a small roll of parchment from his pocket, “you need to conduct yourself with the perfect charade of a slave. This role is not a game. It is a façade, a very real one, and if we are to convince anyone of it, you need to play your part seriously.” He waited for her to nod before continuing. “And you are not to reveal to anyone, and I mean anyone, your immunity to magic . . . or your origin from another world.”
Anthea’s heart clenched at his words. It was a condition she was expecting, but hearing it out loud filled her with dread. She swallowed hard. After a moment’s pause, she nodded in agreement. “Okay.”
Without another word, Endreth slid the parchment toward her. The texture was soft under her fingertips. Her eyes wandered over the neatly written lines, slowly taking in the information, her mind raced to make sense of the data.
“6745, Elven year.” Her eyes swept to the next line, “3672, Human calendar . . .” She trailed off, her eyebrows furrowing. Following it were the years and calendars of other races, something she didn’t even think to ask about. Anthea scanned the page again, this time focusing on a list of book titles. They were arranged in what looked like a chronological order. Realization dawned on her as she understood what this was—a timeline, a guide to the history of this world, and a reading list to aid her understanding. Looking up from the parchment, she met Endreth’s expectant gaze. A mix of questions and gratitude swirled in her eyes. The prince’s eyes remained steady on her, studying her reaction with a silent intensity.
“The librarian.” She swallowed hard, steeling herself before she continued. “She’s banned me from the library.”
Endreth simply nodded, his face betraying no hint of surprise or frustration. “Do not worry about it,” he assured her. “I will talk to her. And if you want, I can ask her to put aside these titles for you.”
Anthea blinked at his offer. Perhaps, with these resources and with Endreth’s assistance, she could start to unravel the threads of this new world and find a way to navigate through it—find a way to get home. She gave him a small, grateful smile, her hand clutching the parchment a little tighter.
The next fortnight flew by in a haze of dust-covered books, arcane scrolls, and magical trials. Each day, Anthea delved deeper into the library, learning a bit more about the world she had been thrust into.
Endreth, in his study, continued to test her resilience against magic, guiding her through various magical barriers. The elven prince seemed to have softened toward her, beginning to offer her explanations and information without her having to ask. It was strange, but not unwelcome. It didn’t feel like a battle anymore—being in his presence.
With the ominous glow of the magical barrier looming in front of her, Anthea hesitated. The flickering symbols, inscribed by Aegonar, seemed to hold a promise of something much darker than the barriers she had tried to breach before with Endreth.
She glanced at the younger prince’s form standing next to Aegonar, searching for reassurance. Endreth looked tense but gave her a slight smile, urging her on. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes briefly, mustering every ounce of courage she had, and stepped through the sealed doorway to Endreth’s bedroom.
The intense heat that enveloped her was startling. It felt as if she had been thrust into the middle of a burning inferno.
Emerging on the other side, she glanced back, seeing Aegonar, his usually strong and arrogant demeanor replaced with visible strain. The magical incantation he held in place seemed to be demanding a great deal from him. It was the first time Anthea had seen him be affected—it terrified her.
Endreth’s voice, muffled by the lingering magic of the barrier, reached her. “Step through again.”
Swallowing her fear, she gave a hesitant nod. As she walked through the barrier once more, a wave of exhaustion washed over her. She barely registered the soft fabric of the chair against her fingers as she reached out, trying to keep from collapsing.
Endreth’s arms were around her in an instant, steadying her. “Are you alright?” Anthea’s vision blurred for a moment as she tried to steady herself, leaning into him, the exhaustion lingering in her bones, seeping through her very core. She looked up, meeting Endreth’s gaze, as he gently gripped her elbow.
