Page 77 of Bound to the Dreadlord

The world tilts, just slightly. The edges of my vision blur, the sensation creeping through my bones like something reaching for me.

Veylan stops.

His hand snaps out, fingers closing around my wrist, pulling me back before I can stagger.

I barely breathe.

He studies me, gaze narrowing. “What was that?”

I shake my head. I’m unaware.

Something inside me is changing.

I can feel it.

I can feel him.

His grip lingers too long.

His jaw tightens. Then he releases me.

I don’t thank him.

But something about the way he watches me as we continue walking tells me he wouldn’t want me to.

29

VEYLAN

Sera walks behind me, her steps careful, measured. Like prey tracking the breath of a predator.

She should be afraid.

She should be running.

Yet she follows.

The fortress corridors stretch wide, the cold black stone swallowing sound, swallowing light. Swallowing her.

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask where we’re going.

I think she’s learning.

But I catch it—the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers twitch at her sides, like she wants to do something reckless. Like she wants to fight.

She won’t. But she will.

I lead her to the training grounds. A vast, open space of packed earth and ancient weapons, stained with centuries of blood. It is not a place for ornamented nobles or slaves meant for pleasure. It is a place of war.

Sera hesitates at the threshold.

She doesn’t belong here. She knows it.

I turn, watching her closely. Her chin tilts, as if she refuses to show weakness, but her hands betray her—clenching, releasing. Uncertain.

Good.

She should be uncomfortable.

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