The thought came clear and quiet, like a struck bell.
If she didn’t move, what happened?
Would he be angry?
Would there be punishment?
Would he hurt her?
Would he simply…take?
Fear tightened again, but it wasn’t the only thing in her chest.
Nothing about her treatment so far had been careless. The Majarin ship had offered comfortable quarters that adjusted themselves to her body. Vykan attendants had bathed her gently, tended her hair, and slipped silks over her shoulders that never chafed. The food had been exquisite, the floors warm beneath her bare feet, the air scented with something subtle and soothing.
Such thoughtful, deliberate care…
For a captive.
Cushioned walls were still walls.
Silk-lined corridors still led where someone else chose.
Luxury only hid how little say she had.
Except in this. In this, she had a choice.
Refusal might be reckless. It might be stupid. But it belonged to her. One small piece of agency left.
Her stubborn streak stirred.
It rose now as it always had in her father’s house, even while she nodded and smiled. It pulled her spine straighter, as if recognizing itself after a long sleep.
You’re scared, she admitted.But you don’t have to obey.
Keeping her gaze lowered, she let her eyes flick up for the briefest instant, catching the bright red slits of his helm before dragging them down again.
Submission and resistance collided inside her.
For the first time since waking on the Majarin ship, resistance didn’t feel completely futile.
Her throat tightened as the thought formed fully.
I could refuse him.
She hesitated, eyes on the ground. The smooth stone beneath her slippers reflected faint amber from the light above, mist drifting through the beams in soft veils. Shadows shifted with the water’s ripple behind her, giving the garden a dreamlike pulse.
She focused on her feet—on the soft grey silk slippers the attendants had slid onto her earlier. Finer than anything she’d ever owned, even in her father’s world. The observation barely registered, swallowed by the rush of panic and defiance coiling through her.
Her toes curled inside the silk.
Then, she shook her head, so slightly it barely counted as movement.
She didn’t want to walk toward him.
Shedidn’t.
Her head stayed bowed, but inside something small and fierce braced itself. A reminder: she was still Morgan Halden, and that part of her did not bend easily, even here.
