They brought her to a different door this time.
Not the throne room. Not his private chamber. This one was tall and narrow, framed in iron sigils that pulsed faintly as she approached, as if the very metal knew her collar and recognized it. The guards stopped, shoved her forward the last step, and the door slid open on its own with a grinding sigh.
“Inside,” one said.
Ariaxa stepped through, her heart rattling against her ribs.
The war room smelled of smoke and old decisions. Obsidian walls were carved with maps of the empire, lines of power marked in silver veins. A massive central table dominated the space, strewn with parchment, blades used as paperweights, crystals humming with captured light. Candles burned low in heavy iron holders, throwing shadows that cut across Kaedan’s face where he stood at the far end.
He did not sit.
He watched her instead, arms braced on the table, head bowed slightly as if he had been staring at something for a very long time.
The door closed behind her with a solid thud.
“Ariaxa Solen,” he said at last, the formal use of her name not a courtesy but a blade. “Come closer.”
Her bare feet whispered across the floor. The collar pulsed once, as if in response to his voice. She stopped on the opposite side of the table, fingers pressing lightly into the wood to steady herself.
He lifted his gaze.
The full force of it hit her like a physical blow. There was no emptiness in his eyes now. They were dark and hot and searching, as if he were trying to cut her open without moving his hands.
“Do you know why you are here?” he asked.
Her throat felt dry. “Because of the Convocation.”
He smiled without softness. “Because of your performance at the Convocation.”
Her fingers curled. “I did not perform anything.”
“You think lying will help you?” he asked. “We will start again. From the moment they dragged you onto that table. You will recount every detail. You will not omit. You will not soften. You will not edit it into something that paints you as less of a disaster.”
She flinched. “I don’t want to relive—”
The collar flared.
Pain lanced her throat, ripping the air from her lungs. She stumbled, one hand flying up to the metal as if that could loosen it. Heat burned under her skin like molten glass.
Kaedan watched her without blinking.
“You will answer,” he said calmly. “Or I will make your silence unbearable.”
She swallowed through the ache. “They… they pulled me onto the table. Rhaelle ordered my wrists held. Someone forced my knees apart. They laughed.”
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing, only gestured for her to continue with a small movement of his fingers.
“Rhaelle… she touched me. She traced runes into my skin.” Ariaxa’s voice shook. “They glowed. It felt like cold fire sinking in. She said she was marking the Emperor’s spoils.”
“Specifics,” Kaedan said. “Where.”
Ariaxa flushed, heat crawling over the very places she described. “My ribs. My stomach. My hip. Near my…” She broke off, unable to shape the word.
The collar sparked, a warning jolt.
“My thigh,” she forced out. “Vaelen cut my lip. He tasted it. Brakus…” Her fingers pressed harder into the table. “Brakus grabbed me. He moved his hand higher. They spoke about me like I was a broken toy they had not yet snapped in half.”
“And you?” Kaedan asked. “What did you do?”
“I tried to pull away. I tried to keep my eyes on the ceiling so I wouldn’t see.” Her breath hitched. “Then a guard forced my head back. They said to keep my eyes open. So I did.”
The memory knotted in her chest.
“And then?” His tone remained even, but the muscles in his neck were taut.
“And then,” she whispered, “I looked at you.”
The air in the war room thickened.
His fingers dug into the edge of the table. “Describe it.”
She stared at him, horrified. “Describe what?”
“What you were thinking,” he said. “What that look meant. The one that made me stand. The one that made me break a law older than either of us. Describe it.”
Her heart slammed into her throat. “You already know.”
The collar burned.
The pain was sharper this time, bending her forward as if someone had kicked her in the gut from the inside. She let out a strangled sound and caught herself against the table, knuckles whitening.
Kaedan came around the edge in three slow steps. He did not reach for her. He stood at her side, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, his voice soft and merciless at her ear.
“I said,” he murmured, “describe it.”
Ariaxa squeezed her eyes shut. “I was terrified.”
“Of them,” he said. “Not new information.”
“And of you,” she added bitterly.
The collar cooled, as if acknowledging the truth.
“I looked at you because…” She stopped, jaw clenching.
He waited.
She could feel his patience like a loaded crossbow.
“Because you were the only one,” she finally whispered, “who would not destroy me completely.”
His breath caught—a small, sharp intake, there and gone.
She forced herself on. “They wanted to tear me apart to prove something to each other. They wanted to use me to insult you. To insult Elyndor. To prove they could break what you claimed.” Her nails scraped the wood. “I knew if I begged them, they would enjoy it. I knew if I begged you, you would be angry—but you would not… ruin me just to hear me scream.”
Silence crashed down between them.
Kaedan stared at her profile, at the way her throat worked beneath the collar, at the flush burning high on her cheeks. Something flickered in his gaze—shock, anger, something dangerously close to hurt.
“You thought,” he said slowly, “that I was the safer monster.”
Her laugh came out broken. “Is that not the cruelest part?”
He moved then, crowding her further against the table, one hand slamming down beside hers. His other hand caught the collar and twisted it just enough to make her gasp.
“You believe you understand me,” he said. “You think a few nights in my palace have given you insight into what I would or would not do.”
“I know you had the chance to let them continue,” she said, staring straight ahead. “And you did not.”
His grip tightened. “You manipulated me.”
Her head snapped toward him. “I looked at you. That is all.”
“You begged,” he snapped. “You offered yourself to me instead of them.”
“Yes,” she shot back, pulse racing. “Because if I had to be used like that, I would rather it be by the devil I already know.”
For a heartbeat, his expression went blank.
Then he laughed, low and disbelieving. “You have grown very bold.”
“Maybe I used up whatever fear I had left,” she said quietly. “Maybe there is nothing left to be afraid of.”
“That is where you are wrong,” he said.
His hand slipped from the collar to the side of her neck, thumb pressing against her pulse. He leaned in, his mouth close to her ear.
“If you ever,” he whispered, “use my self-control against me again, if you ever make me choose between my law and your skin, I will not intervene. I will stand on that dais and watch while Rhaelle, Vaelen, and Brakus finish what they started.”
Her body went cold.
“You are a tool,” he continued, voice soft and vicious. “You exist to serve my vengeance and my empire. You do not exist to sway my hand.”
Her lips trembled. “You’re lying.”
His fingers dug in. “What did you say?”
“You are lying,” she repeated, quieter now, but the words would not go back in. “If you meant it, you would have left me there. If you meant it, you would have let them brand their claim over yours.”
His jaw clenched. A muscle ticked in his cheek.
“For someone who claims she is done being afraid,” he said, “you are very determined to prod the beast.”
“Maybe I want to know which beast I’m chained to,” she whispered.
The collar stayed silent.
He held her gaze for a long, burning moment.
Then he released her neck and stepped back abruptly, as if proximity had become dangerous in an entirely different way.
“Get out,” he said.
Her knees almost buckled with relief. She pushed away from the table, ignoring the way her hands shook, and walked toward the door, each step feeling like it might be the one that snapped his patience and dragged her back.
The war room door opened at her approach and closed behind her with a heavy thud.
She exhaled a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and began down the corridor, pulse still pounding.
Inside, Kaedan remained where she’d left him, staring at the empty space she had occupied. Her words echoed around the chamber like a ghost.
Because you were the only one who wouldn’t destroy me.
He swore under his breath, grabbed the nearest goblet, and hurled it at the wall. It shattered, wine streaking down the carved map of Nocthara like blood.
“Your Majesty.”
The voice at the door was cautious. A noble, not a guard.
Kaedan didn’t turn. “Speak.”
The door opened a fraction, just enough for Lord Calvaris—a slim, fox-eyed courtier draped in midnight blue—to slip inside and bow deeply.
“I regret disturbing you,” Calvaris said, “but the matter I bring might… alleviate certain tensions.”
Kaedan’s tone was ice. “You are still speaking.”
Calvaris straightened, measuring his words. “There is concern among the allied courts about Seren Veran’s… influence. She is well known, well watched, and her moods are… volatile, as you know. Another ruler has expressed interest in acquiring her services.” His lips curved slightly. “As a gesture of goodwill. A trade. A sign that you are not… overly attached to certain distractions.”
Kaedan’s shoulders stiffened. “Which ruler.”
“Lord Vaelen.” Calvaris paused. “He believes she would flourish in his northern court. He would consider it an honor to take her into his household in exchange for several very public endorsements of your decision at Convocation.” The noble’s gaze flicked to Kaedan’s hands, then back to his face. “There are whispers that your focus is… clouded. Reassigning Seren would quiet many of them.”
For a moment, Kaedan said nothing.
Calvaris waited, perfectly still.
Then Kaedan spoke.
“Arrange it,” he said.
Calvaris blinked. “You… agree?”
Kaedan’s eyes were dark as pits. “Trade her. Prepare the papers. Seren Veran will be Lord Vaelen’s problem by the next moonrise.”
Calvaris bowed low, satisfaction glinting in his eyes. “At once, my Emperor.”