Page 32 of Bound to the Dreadlord

A strange kind of silence fills the distance between us.

Her breath stutters.

Not fear.

Something she does not understand yet.

I do.

That should make me stop.

It doesn’t.

Instead, my grip tightens—just enough for her to feel it.

Just enough for her to understand.

Her lashes lower and I drag the cloth lower, along the column of her throat.

Slow. Unrelenting.

She lets me.

She does not flinch.

Does not speak and only watches.

I let the silence stretch.

I drop the cloth, stepping back.

She sways—just slightly.

Then catches herself.

A slow exhale leaves me.

I tilt my head and I do not smirk.

Silence spread in the room because I don’t even have the words to describe what’s going on between us.

15

SERA

The fire flickers low, casting jagged shadows along the stone walls, their movements sharp and restless—just like him.

Veylan doesn’t sleep.

Or if he does, it’s never for long.

I lie on my side, back pressed against the silk sheets, watching the ceiling as the events of the night churn in my thoughts, clawing at my mind.

I should be dead.

That truth sinks into my bones, heavy and undeniable.

He should have punished me, torn me apart for making a fool of him in front of his own kind. A lesson in control. A reminder of what I am.

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