Kaedan didn’t drag her to his private chambers.
He hauled her—one hand locked around the back of her neck, the other gripping her upper arm hard enough to bruise. His steps were silent, lethal, unhurried, the way predators move when the kill is already guaranteed.
Ariaxa stumbled once and he jerked her upright without slowing. Shadows swallowed them as the heavy doors slammed shut behind him. The room vibrated with wards locking into place — layers of magic sealing them in together.
Just the two of them.
No guards.
No nobles.
No witnesses.
Kaedan shoved her forward. She caught herself on a lacquered table, gasping for breath.
“Tell me,” he said, voice like a blade drawn too quickly. “Who sent the note?”
Ariaxa spun toward him. “I don’t know—”
“Wrong answer.” His eyes darkened to near-black. “Try again.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You are something,” he bit out, pacing like a caged beast. “A spy? A pawn? A fool? I have yet to decide.”
Her chest tightened. “If I were working with them, would I have screamed when they tried to grab me? Would I have begged Riven to protect me? Would I—”
“Oh, yes,” Kaedan snarled, cutting her off with a mocking bow of his head. “Because fear is your language. You speak it beautifully.”
Ariaxa flinched.
Kaedan stopped pacing. “What did you tell them?”
“Nothing!”
“Who did you speak to?”
“No one!”
“Then why,” he growled, stalking toward her, “did they leave a message soaked in blood beneath your pillow?”
She backed up until she hit the carved stone of a column. “I don’t know—”
He slammed a hand beside her head. The impact shook dust loose from the ceiling.
Ariaxa gasped.
His face hovered inches from hers, breath hot, eyes feral with something far worse than fury.
“Do not lie to me.” Each word vibrated against her skin. “Do not insult me.”
Her voice trembled. “Kaedan—please. I swear on my life, I have never spoken to anyone from Elyndor since the war.”
His jaw clenched.
His breathing changed — harsher, uneven, like he was fighting himself.
She dared whisper, “Why can’t you believe me?”
“Because,” he hissed, “I am not thinking clearly around you anymore.”
Ariaxa froze.
The admission slipped out of him like a wound tearing open. Kaedan jolted back from her, as if shocked at his own words. He turned away, dragging a hand through his hair, pacing toward the throne in the corner.
“That night in the Crypts—
The Convocation—
The attack—
Your eyes—
Your voice—”
He broke off with a growl.
Ariaxa watched him, confused and terrified.
Finally, Kaedan stopped pacing.
He inhaled once — slow, sharp.
Then he turned and crossed the room with terrifying purpose.
Ariaxa’s breath stuttered. “What are you—”
He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her toward the central ritual platform.
“No,” she whispered, heart pounding. “Kaedan—don’t hurt me—”
“I’m not going to.”
He snapped his fingers.
Silk restraints — deep crimson, etched with faint silver runes — unfurled from the ceiling like living serpents, slow and fluid. They wrapped around Ariaxa’s wrists, binding them above her head with practiced, ritual precision.
She gasped as her feet lifted onto the low stone dais, her body stretched but not painfully.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
Kaedan stepped back, every muscle wired tight. “I am stopping myself.”
Her eyes widened.
He paced around her, hands clenched at his sides, voice razor-raw.
“Do you understand what almost happened in that hall?” He stopped behind her, breath brushing the back of her neck. “I slaughtered men without thinking. I tore through them like they were nothing.”
“You were protecting your palace,” she whispered.
“No.” His breath hitched — almost a laugh, but broken. “I wasn’t.”
He stepped in front of her again.
His eyes were not the eyes of an emperor.
They were the eyes of a man terrified of what he had revealed.
“I was protecting you.”
Her heartbeat thudded painfully.
He lifted a lock of her hair between his fingers, voice low, dangerous. “You drew every blade in that room. Not my throne. Not my empire. You.”
Ariaxa swallowed hard. “I didn’t ask—”
“I know you didn’t ask!” His voice cracked like a whip. “That is the problem. That is the curse.”
The silk restraints tightened slightly, humming with runic magic.
Ariaxa whispered, “You think I deceive you. You think I’ve manipulated you.”
Kaedan’s eyes flickered at her words — like she had struck truth too precisely.
He stepped closer, hand sliding along her jaw. Not gentle. Not cruel. Just… desperate.
“I need answers,” he murmured. “I need to know you are not playing me. I need—”
He broke off, trembling with the force of holding himself back.
Ariaxa whispered, “Ask what you need.”
“I need to know,” he said, voice raw, “why I cannot think straight when you look at me.”
Her breath caught.
Kaedan pressed his forehead against hers — a gesture so intimate it stole all the air from the room.
He was too close.
Too furious.
Too exposed.
And she was bound, heart hammering, unable to decide if she wanted to run or lean into him.
His thumb brushed the pulse in her throat.
“One more lie,” he murmured, “and the silk will tighten.”
“I’m not lying,” she whispered. “I don’t know who entered my room.”
He stared at her for a long, agonizing moment.
Something cracked inside him.
He slammed his hand against the wall beside her head. Stone splintered under his palm; dust drifted around them like ash.
Ariaxa flinched hard.
Kaedan leaned in, his voice pouring heat down her throat like molten metal:
“If I cannot trust you…”
His fingers curled against the stone.
His breath trembled against her lips.
“…I may have to destroy you.”