The illusion shattered like glass beneath my feet.
The day had started like any other, controlled, ceremonial, wrapped in the silk and gold that made Aurelion's cruelties look like art.
I was scheduled to observe a training session, though not one led by Rios. Master Elias, a human instructor with cold eyes and a reputation for "producing results," would be demonstrating what the palace steward called "the elegance behind obedience."
I should have known better than to expect elegance.
The chamber was smaller than Rios's, its walls lined with mirrors that reflected and multiplied everything until it felt like being trapped inside a kaleidoscope.
Several other consort candidates were already seated when I arrived, their faces bright with anticipation.
"How exciting," Lady Vivienne whispered as I took my place. "We're so fortunate to witness a correction session. They're quite rare, most Adepts are beyond the need for such... guidance."
The way she said it made my skin crawl, but I nodded politely and waited for the demonstration to begin.
Master Elias entered with a young Fae Adept in tow, a boy who couldn't have been more than twenty, with silver hair that caught the lamplight and a single wing that trembled with exhaustion.
Even from across the room, I could see the dark circles under his eyes, the way his hands shook as he tried to maintain proper posture.
"Today's lesson concerns the importance of endurance," Master Elias announced, his voice carrying the boredom of someone who'd given this speech countless times. "The Adept will demonstrate the Seventh Position of Submission for the duration of our session."
What followed was a masterclass in sanctioned torture dressed up as education.
The Seventh Position required the boy to kneel with his back arched, arms extended, his single wing spread wide despite the obvious strain.
It was beautiful in its way, the kind of pose that would look like art if captured in marble. But this wasn't marble, this was flesh and bone and spirit being pushed past their breaking point.
Minutes passed, then an hour. The boy's wing began to tremble more violently, sweat beading on his forehead as he fought to maintain the position.
His breathing grew labored, his muscles visibly cramping, but Master Elias continued his lecture as if nothing was happening.
"Notice the perfect line from shoulder to fingertip," he droned. "The Fae anatomy is uniquely suited to such displays of controlled suffering. Their pain tolerance is quite remarkable."
The boy swayed slightly, his wing drooping despite his obvious efforts to keep it raised. Master Elias's voice turned sharp. "Position, Adept. You're disappointing our guests."
The boy straightened with a visible effort that made something twist in my stomach.
His wing snapped back to attention, but I could see the cost, the way his whole body trembled with the strain, the tears that gathered at the corners of his eyes despite his efforts to hide them. Then he collapsed.
It happened suddenly, one moment he was kneeling in that impossible position, the next he was crumpled on the floor, his wing folded protectively over his body as he gasped for breath.
"How unfortunate," Master Elias said without a trace of concern. "Continue, Adept. We're not finished."
The boy tried to rise, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. His wing wouldn't support its own weight anymore, hanging limp and useless at his back.
"Lucky us," Lady Catherine whispered to her companion. "We get to see a proper correction. This will be educational."
I wanted to speak, to object, to do something. But the words stuck in my throat like stones. This wasn't aberrant behavior, this was the system working exactly as designed.
The cruelty was open, sanctioned, and dressed in silk ribbons that made it look civilized.
The session continued for another agonizing hour. By the end, the boy could barely lift his head, let alone maintain the required position. But Master Elias seemed satisfied with the demonstration of what happened to Adepts who failed to meet expectations.
I left the chamber feeling sick, the other candidates' excited chatter about "technique" and "discipline" ringing in my ears like the sound of breaking glass.
Unable to shake what I'd witnessed, I found myself seeking out Rios. I didn't plan to confront him, didn't even know what I wanted to say.
But when I found him alone in a quiet corner of the Pleasure Gardens, everything I'd been holding back spilled out.
"How can you allow it?" The words burst from me before I could stop them. "That boy, he was dying in there, and they called it education."
Rios didn't look at me, his attention focused on something beyond the garden's ornate fountain. "I don't allow anything. I'm not in charge of the other instructors."
"But you could stop it. You have influence, authority-"
"Do I?" His voice was quiet, dangerous. "I'm a slave, Princess. A well-treated slave with pretty quarters and expensive clients, but a slave nonetheless. I follow orders, just like that boy."
"That's not the same thing-"
"Isn't it?" He finally turned to look at me, and what I saw in his eyes made me step back. Pain, ancient and carefully buried, but still raw enough to bleed. "Because I'm better at hiding the chains doesn't mean they aren't there."
I pushed further, driven by something I couldn't name. "Were you once like him? That boy?"
The silence stretched between us until I thought he wouldn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"Worse." The single word hit me like a physical blow. "But I learned fast," he continued, his tone turning clinical again. "Had to. Or I wouldn't have survived it."
He walked away before I could say anything more, leaving me standing alone among the perfectly manicured roses and carefully orchestrated beauty.
The contrast felt obscene, all this luxury built on a foundation of broken wings and shattered spirits.
That night, I couldn't escape the images.
The boy's trembling wing, his desperate attempts to maintain a position designed to break him. Master Elias's casual indifference to suffering. The other candidates treated cruelty as entertainment.
This world didn't just polish pain to make it palatable, it profited from it.
When I finally fell asleep, I didn't dream of Luka's gentle kisses or the weight of a crown on my head.
I dreamed of wings, torn, bloodied, still trying to lift bodies that had long since given up hope.