Page 12 of Bound to the Dreadlord

The silence between us grows heavier, an entity in itself, pressing against my gut.

He waits and I don’t know what is he waiting for.

He does not touch me.

He does not demand.

He simply… watches.

It is worse than everything else.

I see it.

The way his silver gaze lingers when he thinks I do not notice. The way his fingers curl against the arm of his chair, as if resisting some unseen urge.

As if my very presence is a thing that unsettles him.

That is power.

I am not supposed to have power over him.

But I do.

For the first moment since being dragged into this gilded cage, I feel something dangerous stir beneath my skin.

He is waiting for something.

I can’t help but wonder, what happens when I finally give it to him?

6

VEYLAN

She does not break.

She should have by now.

It has been four days since I set the rules.

She will eat only when I allow it.

She will sleep only when I say so.

She will sit in silence unless I demand otherwise.

She will understand that every aspect of her existence is mine to control.

Yet, as I watch her now—seated at the long ebony dining table across from me, wrists resting delicately in her lap, shoulders squared but not tense—I see no cracks.

The flickering glow of candelabras casts soft gold light over the polished wood, the gleam reflecting in her damned, defiant oceanic eyes. A rare color among humans, a stain of something unnatural. Something not right.

She stares at the untouched plate before her.

Roasted meat, steamed root vegetables, a goblet of wine dark enough to be mistaken for blood. A meal far too rich for a slave.

A meal she has not touched.

"Eat." My voice is soft but carries command, cutting through the vast silence of the dining hall like a blade.

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