Page 10 of Bound to the Dreadlord

An unknown. A risk.

I cannot let this continue.

But I also can’t stomach letting her go either.

I glance back over my shoulder, eyes narrowing.

"You will not be leaving these chambers," I state, finality heavy in my tone. "From this moment forward, you belong to me."

Her breath stills.

In that silence, I see something in her gaze.

Not just fear.

Not just defiance.

Somethingworse.

A storm waiting to break.

5

SERA

The room is beautiful.

It should not feel like a prison.

But it does.

The bed beneath me is softer than anything I have ever known, layered in black silks and deep red furs, their texture smooth against my bare skin. The air is overflowing with incense, spiced and heady, curling in lazy tendrils from the bronze burner set upon a carved table near the hearth. Heavy drapes of black velvet swallow the walls, embroidered with silver filigree—elegance woven into suffocation.

And beneath it all, I am still a prisoner.

My wrists are raw where the shackles used to be, the memory of them burned into my skin even though they are gone now. He removed them after the first night, but not out of kindness.

He doesn’t think I need them.

I exhale slowly, pressing my palm flat against the coverlet. The silence is thick. Not comforting. Not peaceful. A quiet thatlistens.

I am alone in this chamber. But I am not unwatched.

He is still here.

Somewhere.

I do not look for him. I have learned by now that he prefers the chase, the game of catching me unaware. And I refuse to play.

Instead, I turn my gaze to the arched window. The view beyond is nothing but a lie of freedom—the sprawling towers of House Drazharel, winding bridges and towering spires bathed in moonlight. Somewhere beyond those walls, the world moves on without me.

Yet, I am still here.

Not dead. Not tortured. Not used.

Not yet.

That is what terrifies me.

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