Page 58 of Bound to the Dreadlord

The walls are wrong. The silence is too empty.

The shadows too deep.

That’s when I hear the voices, mocking as they realize I’m not unconscious anymore.

“She’s awake.”

Boots shift against stone. Someone steps closer.

I force myself to sit up, ignoring the way my limbs protest. My wrists ache where the chains bite.

Figures emerge from the gloom, faces flickering in the half-light. Not Drazharel colors.

Not Drazharel insignias.

My stomach lurches.

House Velkiron.

A noble steps forward, his smile sharp, pleased. Wrong.

Dark blue robes drape over his lean frame, embroidered with symbols I don’t recognize. His hair is too pale, his skin too smooth.

Everything about him is polished. Civilized. False.

“Such a rare find,” he murmurs, his voice slick with amusement. “I must admit, I had my doubts when the reports first reached us. But now…”

He tilts his head. Watches me too closely.

“You are something else, aren’t you?”

His gaze drags over me like a hand, lingering where it shouldn’t.

Disgust curls in my stomach.

I keep my face blank. I say nothing.

His smile only widens.

“She has spirit,” he muses to someone behind him. “Good. I was hoping she would.”

Another noble laughs. A woman, her voice like silk wrapped around steel.

“She won’t have it for long.”

Laughter. Too many voices.

This is a game to them.

My hands tighten into fists, nails digging into my palms.

I do not shake.

I will not.

The noble crouches before me, tilting his head like he is studying something fascinating.

“Does he know yet?” he asks.

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