Ariaxa woke to the taste of metal in her mouth and a bruise at the base of her throat that pulsed in time with the cursed collar.
Her body felt heavy, as if she had spent the night dragged across stone. The harem dormitory glowed faintly red beneath morning lamps, every surface softened by velvet cushions and low silks, yet the sweetness in the air sickened her.
To her left, several slaves were already rising from their beds, moving with slow, resigned grace. Their faces were carved into stillness, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion, but their hands trembled in ways they tried to hide.
Ariaxa pushed herself upright, wincing as pain shot up her spine. Her thoughts blurred—last night’s humiliation, Kaedan’s cold examination, the way his eyes had never left her face while Seren writhed in his lap. She wrapped her arms around herself, fighting the shame burning under her skin.
A chime echoed down the hall. Breakfast.
Ariaxa forced her legs to stand and joined the others moving toward the central table. The spread was deceptively elegant—fruits sliced into perfect shapes, thin breads drizzled with honey, bowls of spiced porridge. But the slaves ate silently, taking only small portions, their heads lowered. The room felt wrong, too quiet, too rehearsed, like a stage where one wrong step could bring an actor to the gallows.
Ariaxa reached for a piece of fruit. A hand grabbed her wrist.
Seren stood beside her, her body draped in shimmering crimson, her posture relaxed but her smile sharp enough to slice skin. She leaned in, bending at the waist until her lips nearly brushed Ariaxa’s ear, her breath warm and intimate in a way that made Ariaxa’s stomach twist.
“I’m surprised you’re still breathing,” Seren murmured. “Some newcomers don’t make it through their first night.”
Ariaxa tried to pull her wrist away. Seren tightened her grip.
“I told you yesterday,” Seren continued softly, “that you would regret stepping into our world.”
Ariaxa swallowed hard.
“I didn’t choose this.”
Seren’s smile widened, wicked and cruel.
“That is the funniest part.”
In one smooth motion, Seren reached into her hair, sliding a jeweled pin free. The tip gleamed silver in the dim light—too sharp, too long, too thin to be just an ornament. She let it trail along the inside of Ariaxa’s forearm, the cold metal kissing her skin with a promise of blood.
“Stay out of Kaedan’s eyes,” Seren whispered. “If he looks at you again the way he did last night, I will carve out the part of you that tempts him.”
Ariaxa’s breath stuttered, her pulse hammering against the collar.
“Put it away.”
Seren tilted her head mockingly.
“Or what? You’ll cry again? You’ll kneel prettier next time?”
The blade pressed harder.
“Seren.”
The voice was cold enough to freeze the air.
Riven stepped between them with the silent precision of a shadow. His eyes—dark and unreadable—fixed on the shining blade. Without a word, he plucked the hairpin from Seren’s hand. His fingers brushed hers only briefly, but the reprimand in his movement was unmistakable.
Seren lifted her chin, feigning innocence.
“It was only a lesson.”
Riven snapped the blade in half with one hand. The metal cracked sharply, the sound echoing through the dormitory. Seren’s eyes widened in indignation.
“I said,” Riven repeated, “enough.”
His voice carried authority, a warning sharpened by something colder than anger.
Seren’s lips curled. “She’s going to ruin everything.”
Riven turned his gaze to Ariaxa. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw concern. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a wall of indifference.
“You should eat,” he said simply.
Ariaxa stared at him, waiting for something—comfort, reassurance, acknowledgment of the danger she now lived beside. She received nothing. Riven walked away, dropping the broken blade pieces into a bin without looking back.
Seren’s gaze followed him with ice in her eyes. Then she leaned toward Ariaxa one last time.
“He won’t protect you twice.”
Breakfast was over in a strained quiet.
Before Ariaxa could retreat to her bed, several older harem members approached her, their faces expressionless but their movements firm. One gestured to an empty cushion.
“Sit. You have much to learn if you want to stay alive.”
Ariaxa lowered herself to the cushion, her shoulders tense, her stomach tight.
Another slave—tall, silver-eyed—began demonstrating posture.
“This is how you kneel before him,” she said, lifting her chin slightly while pushing her knees apart in a submissive bow. “You will hold this pose until dismissed. If you break it, you will be punished.”
A second spoke up.
“When he enters a room, your head stays down unless he commands otherwise. Eye contact is earned.”
A third whispered from behind her. “And if he snaps his fingers, you move immediately. Delay brings pain.”
Ariaxa’s throat tightened. “I’m not— I don’t belong here.”
The women exchanged a look that carried centuries of resignation.
“None of us did,” one replied softly. “But you survive by learning quickly.”
The session lasted until Ariaxa’s legs burned from kneeling. Her mind swam with new rules, each one a chain tightening around her neck. She felt the walls closing in, pressing the air thinner.
A chime rang—sharp, singular.
A summons.
Mirel appeared breathless in the doorway.
“He wants you. Alone.”
Ariaxa’s pulse spiked.
“Why?”
“No one questions why.”
Mirel led her through a series of opulent halls until they reached a vast room adorned with silver arcane sigils. A nobleman dressed in plum velvet stood beside Kaedan, who leaned against the table as if bored.
Kaedan’s voice slid across the room.
“Serve him wine.”
Ariaxa approached hesitantly, lifting the crystal decanter. Her hands trembled. She steadied them, forcing her breath to slow. But when she tilted the bottle, a single drop of wine slipped over the rim and spattered onto the tablecloth.
The collar struck instantly.
Pain tore through her body like lightning splitting bone. Her knees buckled. The decanter nearly fell from her grip. The nobleman laughed, his teeth flashing.
“She can’t even pour.”
Kaedan did not move. He watched her, his expression unreadable, his arms crossed as she gasped for air and fought to stay upright.
“Again,” Kaedan said, his tone neither cruel nor kind. “Do it correctly.”
Ariaxa forced the wine to pour smoothly this time, the collar still humming with threat.
When she finished, Kaedan lifted a brow.
“She will improve.”
Laughter erupted from the nobles. Ariaxa felt her skin burn with shame.
Mirel eventually guided her back to the harem wing. Ariaxa entered the dormitory, her legs shaky, her vision blurring with exhaustion.
Then she froze.
Her bed—her small corner of safety—was destroyed, silks ripped, cushions shredded. Feathers floated in the air like drifting snow. The smell of jasmine and venom hung thick.
A faint rustle stirred the torn curtains, soft enough that Ariaxa thought at first it was only the drift of feathers settling on the floor. But then she heard the sound again—slow, measured breathing from somewhere it should not have been.
Ariaxa’s fingers curled at her sides.
“…Who’s there?”
The curtains shifted an inch.
A footstep followed. Light. Deliberate.
Not a guard.
Not an accident.
“Come out,” Ariaxa whispered, her voice cracking in the stillness. “Show yourself.”
Another breath—this one too controlled to be anything but intentional—slid through the shadows like silk being drawn across skin. Ariaxa took a step back, her pulse thundering in her ears.
“Don’t—” she started, but the word strangled in her throat.
The curtain peeled open slowly, almost lovingly.
A hand appeared first, fingers gliding along the shredded fabric. Then a hip. Then a glint of crimson silk. Then—
Seren stepped into view with a smile far too calm for the ruin surrounding her.
“Did you miss me, sunshine?”