They woke Ariaxa before dawn, dragging her from her thin mattress with hands that did not care whether she stumbled or breathed.
The harem wing still slept in muted crimson shadows, the other slaves curled in restless knots, too exhausted to notice when the guards seized her. The lanterns along the corridor flickered as she was marched away, illuminating the sharp angles of iron doors and the gleam of obsidian walls. The collar around her throat pulsed faintly, reminding her who she belonged to — even here.
The descent into the Blood Crypts was far colder than the palace above. Each staircase dropped her deeper into a labyrinth of stone that smelled of rot, iron, and something ancient enough to vibrate in the marrow. The final door groaned open, and warm, fetid air spilled out, thick with the stench of creatures that should never have been captured at all.
A hulking man stepped into view.
His smile was wrong — too broad, too hungry, too delighted by her fear.
“Well,” the overseer drawled, circling her like a beast scenting prey. “Look what our Emperor sent down for morning entertainment.”
Ariaxa forced her shoulders straight. “I’m here to work.”
He chuckled. “You’re here to bleed.”
Her pulse collided painfully with her throat.
He leaned close enough that she felt his breath against her ear.
“I could protect you from the worst of it, little princess. If you kneel nicely. If you give me what I want.”
Ariaxa stiffened. “I belong to the Emperor.”
That earned a bark of laughter.
“Oh, I know exactly who put that pretty collar on you. And let me tell you something important.” His fingers brushed the metal around her neck, making her flinch. “Kaedan doesn’t watch what happens in the Crypts. Down here, you kneel for me.”
Ariaxa slapped his hand away before she could stop herself.
His smile twisted. “Feisty. That’s all right. I enjoy breaking the spirited ones.”
She stepped back, breathing hard. “Don’t touch me.”
He spread his arms wide. “Then work. And work hard. Because I won’t protect you.”
The first task nearly broke her knees. She carried sloshing iron buckets filled with thick, warm blood drained from half-dead creatures chained to the walls. Their growls echoed through the chamber, shaking dust from the ceiling. Their eyes — desperate, furious, pleading — followed her every movement. Some snapped their jaws when she passed, the chains rattling violently. The overseer watched, laughing each time she flinched.
“Keep your arms steady!” he shouted. “If you spill a drop, you’ll lick it off the floor.”
Her muscles screamed, but she didn’t spill.
Next, she scrubbed stone floors where dried blood clung like tar. The scrubbing brushes tore at her blistering hands until they throbbed. Red water soaked her skirts, dripping from her elbows. The whispers of the trapped monsters scraped the back of her mind, as if they begged for mercy and vengeance both.
Slaves passed her carrying tools, their faces pale, eyes hollow.
One whispered as he darted by, “Don’t anger him. He crushes fingers for mistakes.”
Another added under his breath, “Better to be under the Emperor than beneath this beast.”
She kept her head down. Every task blurred into the next — cleaning knives still warm from use, dragging chains to new hooks, sorting cages for creatures that screamed when she neared.
But the overseer never stopped circling her.
Midway through the day, he leaned against a pillar, watching as she scrubbed dark stains from the floor.
“Pretty hands,” he murmured. “They won’t stay pretty long.”
Ariaxa’s jaw tightened. “I don’t need your commentary.”
He stepped closer. “You will. You will need my protection. And when you finally beg for it, I will make sure you remember whose boots you crawled to.”
She forced herself to keep scrubbing, even as her fingers trembled so violently the brush scraped stone instead of blood.
Hours passed.
Her legs shook. Her arms burned. Her mind felt raw, as if every fear was scraped open. But she endured.
When she stood to move the next bucket, a shift of air made her freeze. Someone else had entered the Crypts.
Riven leaned against the shadowed wall near the stairs, arms crossed, his presence sharp and silent like a blade she couldn’t see coming. His eyes flicked over the scene — the buckets, her trembling hands, the overseer’s looming form. His expression did not change.
Ariaxa swallowed. “Riven…?”
The overseer smirked. “Sir Riven. Checking on the Emperor’s new toy?”
Riven didn’t acknowledge the insult. His gaze landed on Ariaxa again, distant, controlled.
Her voice cracked. “Is this… normal?”
Riven’s answer was a single sentence delivered with chilling calm.
“This is the Blood Crypts.”
The overseer chuckled. “If the Emperor spoils her too much, she’ll rot before she learns her place.”
Riven’s eyes narrowed by the smallest fraction — a warning so subtle the overseer didn’t catch it.
Ariaxa did.
Riven turned and walked away without another word.
She didn’t know whether she felt abandoned or spared.
By the time the Crypts closed for the night, Ariaxa’s legs buckled with each step. Blood had dried on her arms in dark streaks. Her palms throbbed with open blisters. The overseer walked behind her as the guards escorted her out, his heavy footsteps echoing like a countdown.
“Tomorrow,” he called after her, “you’ll learn how to drain a live specimen.”
Ariaxa didn’t look back.
When she reached the harem wing, she nearly collapsed onto the cushions just inside the door. Mirel rushed toward her, kneeling immediately to examine her hands. Her soft gasp made Ariaxa’s stomach cramp.
“Mirel, I—” Ariaxa tried to speak, but her voice wavered.
Mirel took her blistered hands in hers, rubbing salve over the raw skin with gentle, practiced care.
“They sent you without preparation. They always do. But it is worse for someone with a collar like yours.”
Ariaxa winced as Mirel wrapped her palms with soft cloth.
“I couldn’t stop shaking. I thought the monsters would break their chains.”
“You survived,” Mirel whispered. “That’s enough for today.”
Ariaxa let out a trembling breath as Mirel guided her toward her bed. The lamps cast soft red light, and for one fragile moment, Ariaxa allowed herself to believe she was safe.
Then a heavy shadow blocked the doorway.
The overseer.
He leaned against the bars of the harem gate, grinning through the iron like a wolf denied its prey.
His voice slid into the room, low and poisonous.
“If you don’t belong to me…” he whispered,
“I’ll make you wish you did.”