Celine woke to the stifling weight of silk.
Not the softness usually tied to luxury, but the kind that smothered. Her wrists were bound with silken cords, pulled tight against gilded bedposts. Sheets, smooth and cool, wrapped around her like a net she hadn’t agreed to. The air was thick with the scent of rose and smoke—too sweet, too deliberate. The temperature in the room pressed in around her, warm to the point of discomfort. The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was oppressive.
The chamber was unfamiliar. The walls were dark, the windows shuttered, and the glow from the lanterns didn’t quite reach the corners of the room. Every detail was designed for control, not comfort.
And she wasn’t alone.
A chair sat just beside the bed, carved with gold inlay, draped in shadows. The man in it sat like he belonged there, one leg crossed casually over the other, his hand wrapped around a half-empty glass. As if this were a quiet morning between lovers.
The Lycan King. Maeron.
His gaze met hers the moment she stirred, calm and steady.
“Good,” he said, setting the glass down on a small table beside him. “You’re awake.”
Her pulse surged immediately, hammering in her throat. She tugged at the bindings, hard, her breathing already quickening. “Where am I?”
“In my private wing,” he answered. His tone was conversational, as if they were discussing the weather. “The royal residence. No one comes here without my word. No one leaves without it either.”
Her throat tightened. “You won’t get away with this.”
The smile that touched his lips was faint, infuriatingly calm. “I already have.”
She yanked harder at the silk, but the knots held firm. Her skin burned with frustration and panic. “Let me go.”
“I will,” he said, standing. His movements were slow, deliberate. He walked to the edge of the bed, hands relaxed at his sides. “But not until we’ve spoken properly.”
He stopped a step away, gaze fixed on her face. “You should’ve known, Celine. You were never meant to leave the Capital. Not while you’re still tied to him.”
The breath caught in her chest. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re mated to Leon,” he said simply, kneeling beside the bed now, his voice lowering. “That bond—it’s sacred. Magical. Unbreakable... unless someone dies.”
Celine tried to pull back, but the restraints didn’t allow for much movement. Her voice came out tight. “You’re insane.”
Maeron didn’t blink. “No. I’m patient.”
His hand moved to her ankle, brushing the skin there. The touch wasn’t forceful, but it was possessive. Measured. He wasn’t trying to hurt her—he was reminding her she couldn’t stop him.
“You were wasted on him,” he said. “He kept you hidden, armored, like something that needed protecting. But you weren’t meant to be protected. You were meant to be seen. Adored. Elevated.”
“I love him,” she said, the words harsh and immediate.
“And he loves you,” Maeron replied, with a nod, as if agreeing to a basic truth. “Which is why this will hurt him more than anything else.”
He stood slowly, letting the weight of his words hang in the air. He looked down at her, voice steady.
“He has to die.”
Celine didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her heart pounded so hard it made her vision blur.
“Only then can the bond be truly broken,” he continued. “And once it is…”
His expression didn’t change, but his eyes darkened—lit from within by something far colder than lust.
“Then you’ll be free to become mine.”