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But she never wished for it to end.
This was more dangerous than the chains, more reckless than dancing with the vampire prince. She understood monsters—could hunt them, corner them, kill them like the foul beasts they were.
But this?
This hesitation…This strange, impossible gentleness buried beneath centuries of cruelty?
This was how people lost themselves.
As if sensing her thoughts, Lucan stepped away abruptly.
“There.”
Elarian glanced down at herself and recognized little besides the faint scars over her body. The bodice clung tight to her curves, neckline plunging to just below her belly button. The collar around her neck remained, a reminder that this finery only existed to break her spirit.
Good fucking luck, she thought acidly.
“Surely you do not expect me to leave looking like this?” Elarian fingered the high slit in her skirts, pressing at a bruise beginning to bloom near her hip. The dull pain helped ease her rising panic.
“I do,” he replied smoothly.
Lucan retrieved the chain attached to her collar and wrapped it once around his hand. Whatever strange moment had existed between them disappeared beneath iron and shadow.
“Remember your role,” he commanded.
Elarian met his eyes.
“Prisoner? How could I possibly forget?”
His smile was thin.
“No.” Lucan opened the chamber doors, beckoning for Elarian to leave first.
“Mine.”
The word should have disgusted her. Instead, some broken piece of her remembered the warmth of his hands and couldn’t even hate herself for it.
The chain between them was not heavy.
That was, perhaps, the cruelest part of trailing behind Lucan like a leashed dog.
He could have easily forged something as monstrous as he, something meant to grind her bones into dust with every step. Instead, the iron collar rested at her throat with an almost delicate weight, polished smooth until it shone as moonlight melted into silver.
Almost.
Elarian knew better than to trust something so beautiful in such a blood-stained place. Beautiful things often hid the most dangerous blades—many a vampire had died at her hands, blood dribbling from their mouths as they called her a beautiful bride waiting for the Bloodlord. Some of her Blades preferred poisons, a sweetness upon the tongue before they faded from the world. Even the gods themselves had created flowers that shone like the sun, capable of killing with a single breath.
And Lucan Valmere was no different.
He did not need chains forged from cruelty. He had always been far more skilled at crafting prisons from things people wanted.
Elarian had made it all too easy for him to turn her craving for tenderness into her cage.
The corridor stretched before them, carved from black stone that swallowed the faint glow of the witchlights burning overhead. Every step echoed through the ancient halls, her bare feet brushing over polished marble cold enough to bite. The castle awoke around them as they passed. Shadows shifted in the corners. Pressing themselves into alcoves, servants lowered their gazes, only to lift them again as the royal couple passed. Guards straightened as their prince approached.
Lucan had indeed told the truth. Every head turned to stare at the elf maiden dressed in pale pink silks, led by a chain around her neck by the prince she had failed to assassinate.
What did they think of her? Did they gaze in suspicion, guessing at who she truly was beneath the finery? Elarian had tried to cleanse herself of the countess’s wretched stench, but it clung to her like an obstinate lover. Some faces regarded her with curiosity, while others undressed what little clothing hid her body, still shivering with shame and anticipation.
