The golden pendant felt heavier than any chain, and I was about to learn that some gifts are just beautiful prisons waiting for you to be locked in them.
Prince Luka had presented it to me at the midday court gathering, taking my hand with practiced ease as nobles watched from behind their fans and crystal goblets.
The piece itself was exquisite, a small sun wrought in gold and set with amber that caught the light like captured fire. Aurelion's symbol, worn close to the heart.
"A token of my regard," he'd said softly, his fingers warm as they fastened the delicate chain around my neck. "I hope you'll wear it as a reminder that you're never far from my thoughts."
The gesture was quiet, symbolic, but unmistakable to anyone who understood court politics. A prince's favor, publicly bestowed. The nobles around us had smiled knowingly, their whispers following me like silk ribbons for the rest of the day.
“She's not just a candidate anymore.”
“The frontrunner, clearly.”
“Look how he watches her.”
“The future queen, mark my words.”
I tried to accept their attention with grace, to smile and nod as if this were exactly what I'd hoped for.
Luka was kind, confident, and his closeness had become genuinely comforting. When he'd kissed my cheek after fastening the pendant, I'd felt the flutter of real affection, not just duty.
But later, catching my reflection in a mirror as I passed through the palace corridors, something in my stomach tightened.
The pendant gleamed against my skin like a beautiful brand, marking me as chosen, claimed, decided upon. It didn't feel like triumph, it felt like chains made of gold and good intentions.
The next morning, I entered Rios's chamber still wearing the pendant. I'd considered tucking it beneath my bodice, hiding it away from those silver-gray eyes that saw too much. But something stubborn in me refused to conceal what I had every right to display, he noticed it immediately.
His gaze flicked to the golden sun resting against my throat, and something in his posture sharpened, like a blade being drawn from its sheath. He said nothing about it, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.
"Sit," he commanded, his voice carrying none of its usual measured patience.
The lesson was different from the start, more harsh. Where he'd once asked questions that made me examine my own desires, now he gave commands that brooked no argument. Where he'd once guided me toward self-discovery, now he seemed intent on breaking down whatever progress I'd made.
"Stand. Walk to the window. Turn. Again."
Each instruction was delivered with clinical precision, but I could feel the controlled fury beneath his calm exterior. He was treating me like one of his other students, a body to be positioned, a will to be bent, rather than a person to be understood.
"What's wrong with you today?" I finally snapped, stopping mid-turn to face him directly.
"Nothing is wrong with me." His voice remained perfectly level, but his hands were clenched at his sides. "Continue the exercise."
"No." The word came out sharper than I intended. "You're angry about something, and I want to know what."
"I'm not angry."
"You're lying." I stepped closer, drawn by some reckless impulse I couldn't name. "Ever since I walked in here, you've been different. Cold. Cruel, even."
"Cruel?" Something flickered in his eyes, pain, perhaps, or recognition. "You want to see the cruel, Princess?"
"I want to see honesty."
I took another step forward, close enough now that I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his wing trembled with barely controlled emotion.
"You taught me to recognize my own lies. Don't think I can't recognize yours."
The silence stretched between us like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap.
When he finally moved, it was faster than I expected, his hand shooting out to catch my wrist in a grip that was firm without being painful.
For a heartbeat, we stood frozen like that. His fingers wrapped around my wrist, my pulse hammering against his palm.
I could feel the calluses on his skin, could smell the sandalwood that always seemed to cling to him, could see my own reflection in his silver-gray eyes.
"Don't," he said quietly, though I wasn't sure what he was warning me against.
"Don't what?" My voice came out breathier than I intended.
"Don't push me when you're wearing another man's mark."
The words hit me like cold water. I looked down at where his fingers circled my wrist, then at the pendant that suddenly felt like it was burning against my skin.
He released me so abruptly I stumbled backward, but the sensation of his touch lingered like a brand. We stared at each other across the sudden distance, both breathing hard, both caught in the wreckage of whatever had just broken between us.
I felt guilt crash over me in waves, guilt for the way my pulse had quickened at his touch, guilt for the heat that had flared in my chest when he'd looked at me like that, guilt for wanting something I had no right to want while wearing Luka's pendant around my neck.
But underneath the guilt was something else. Something that felt dangerously like hunger.
"This lesson is over," Rios said finally, his voice carefully neutral again.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. As I turned to leave, my fingers went instinctively to the pendant, touching the warm gold that suddenly felt heavy as lead.
"Princess." I paused at the door, not turning around.
"Next time," he said quietly, "decide what you want before you come in here. Because I won't be responsible for what happens if you keep playing with fire while wearing ice."