Page 84 of Bound to the Dreadlord

Close. Too close.

His lips hover at my ear.

“Don’t challenge me.” His voice is a ghost, a growl, a dark thing crawling against my skin.

“I will break you, little siren.”

A shiver races down my spine.

He steps back, breaking the moment.

And I let him.

If he doesn’t, I might.

My breath comes too fast.

My hands shake.

But when I glance down, I realize something.

He left the dagger in my hands.

I hope there never comes a time that I will use this myself.

31

SERA

Veylan is avoiding me.

At first, I tell myself this is a good thing.

For days, I don’t see him. No harsh commands. No sharp silver eyes dissecting me like something he’s trying to break apart and understand. No cruel hands dragging me too close, holding me just long enough to make my breath catch before shoving me away.

I should be relieved.

But something festers in the absence.

The fortress shifts, and I feel it—something is wrong.

I hear it before I see it. The whispers.

"The siren."

"The Dreadlord keeps her."

"She sings to him in the dark."

The rumors are spreading, curling through the halls like a slow-moving plague. I hear it in the sharp laughter of the nobles, in the way the guards shift uneasily in their posts. I see it in the way dark elf women watch me with something close to curiosity. The way the men watch me with something much worse.

Veylan has vanished from my sight, but the rest of them—they are starting to see me.

I need to know what they are saying.

The halls wind and twist, dark stone swallowing sound. I walk carefully, head low, body moving like I belong. No one stops me. No one even acknowledges me. Not yet.

A group of guards linger near the training grounds, speaking in hushed voices.

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