Elana's nose caught the layered scents of flowers as she and Cara stepped into the house Eldric had been leading them to.
A woman's voice called from within, warm and amused.
"Welcome honey. Oooh—you have friends. Pretty ones too."
"Ah ah," Eldric chided playfully, "These are important guests from the kings. We've been honored for their care."
Elana smiled faintly. She wasn't used to being treated as important. The feeling was alien—yet strangely nice.
The woman exhaled. "Well, they certainly look like royalty, with those lovely aesthetics."
Soft hands held and guided Elana's hand slightly lower, the woman's voice suddenly close.
"Well then, just in case we end up having favorites—this one's mine."
Elana giggled into her palm, unconcerned with where Cara was because of how light-hearted she felt.
"Aww," the woman cooed. "Look at that pretty smile. I'm Zelda."
Cara chuckled. "I think I like you already. I'm Cara—and your favourite's Elana."
"Trust me," Eldric added, his voice dropping into quiet admiration. "You do."
His footsteps retreated. "I'll let Zelda settle you in from here."
"Good riddance," Zelda said cheerfully, tugging Elana forward. Cara followed as they moved deeper into the house.
The atmosphere was warm—rich with the natural scents of fresh flowers and a faint trace of mint polished wood.
Zelda settled Elana carefully into a chair.
It puzzled her that Zelda hadn't asked if she could see; most people always did.
She felt Cara pull a chair beside her.
"Your home's beautiful," Cara said, genuine awe in her voice.
"Thank you," Zelda replied happily. "Eldric's always complaining that it makes him look bad to the men when they come over for dinner. But I don't care. I think—just like you—it's lovely aesthetics."
Elana smiled. "It smells really nice too."
"Of course it does, sweetheart." Porcelain clinked softly as a dish was placed before her. "Eat. Your stomachs must be empty."
"Oh," Cara said. "Sorry, we didn't say earlier—Elana can't see."
"Oh please," Zelda dismissed easily. "I know. I just find it rude to announce a person's disability."
Elana's heart warmed. It was thoughtful—kind—to be seen beyond what others labeled a flaw.
She slowly reached out, finding the table's smooth surface. Her fingers brushed the curved edge of the plate, traced half its circumference, then found the spoon.
The first taste made her pause. It was the best porridge she'd ever had.
"When you're finished," Zelda continued. "I'll take you to your rooms so you can have hot baths and proper rest."
Elana's thoughts drifted back weeks—back to when she had still been a slave.
She'd never imagined a life like this, being treated with such care.
Everything was perfect—except the one who had made it possible.
Her expression darkened as she simmered inside at how much Azael confused her, and the worst part was that her body had learned his control.
No matter what he'd said to her, her treacherous body would likely betray her if he so much as coaxed her with his cold breath.
Later, Elana lay submerged in the tub Zelda had prepared.
The warmth reminded her painfully of the spring—of how Azael had touched her there, intimately.
She pressed her face with both palms, hating that she couldn't drive him from her thoughts.
His strong arms firm beneath her breasts, holding her in place as he devoured her lips, his touch straying between her thighs.
Her lips trembled as she curled in on herself, arms wrapped around her knees.
She had once believed true bondage was only physical—chains and ownership, like with Naina and Israel's parents.
But with Azael, it was deeper. Physical and internal.
She couldn't separate him from being her owner—and her lover.
It felt like being a slave who could not bear to be free.
**
Caesar stood on the balcony, studying the night sky beyond the refuge he shared with Zane.
There weren't many men here, and the environment was surprisingly well-kept for a place meant to house refugees.
In fact, the kingdom itself seemed prosperous—too prosperous.
From what he could tell, finances were being managed efficiently.
He hadn't expected that the twins would be such competent rulers despite their nature.
Did they ever feel the need to feed from their subjects?
Movement below caught his eye. A man stood there in uniform—Sirence Military.
Their gazes locked, the man's amber eyes sharp and assessing.
Caesar looked away just as a knock sounded on the door. Zane was already asleep.
Scoffing softly, Caesar opened it and found the same man standing there—tall, broad-shouldered, imposing.
"I'm from Eira," the man said.
"Okay," Caesar murmured as he stepped outside, closing the door quietly behind him. Careful not to alert Zane.
"I'm Theo. I'll be the one relaying your reports to Eira,"
Caesar studied him. Theo looked human—warm brown skin, dark hair—but the speed with which he'd reached their room suggested otherwise.
"Appeal to her patience," Caesar said coolly. "We only just arrived."
"I'll be staying in the refuge," Theo replied, already turning away. "Reachable once you know where the blind girl is."
"Is Eira in the city as well?" Caesar called, curiosity overtaking him.
He missed her—her beauty, her allure.
No sane man could ignore it.
Theo stopped and turned back. He was only an inch taller as their eyes met, the tension between them sharpening instantly.
"Don't get in way over your head, Caesar," Theo warned.
Caesar didn't retreat. He was important to Eira at this point and intended to exploit his limits.
He stepped closer, closing the distance until they were nearly face-to-face.
"If she is," Caesar said evenly, holding his gaze. "Tell her I miss the scent of her elegant fingers."
Theo's eyes darkened—but he only smirked before walking away.
"I'll be seeing you often then," he said over his shoulder. "Men drawn to danger tend to become potential rivals."
Then he was gone.
Caesar cracked his neck. The threat stirred his ego—and strengthened his resolve to prove himself worthy of Eira's attention.
**
Syrus observed the small stone structure beneath the moonlight. Broken, but not ruined—only the front lay collapsed.
Debris, slick with rain.
His magic had led him here: the source of the cast protecting the Ancient's land. He'd come in flesh this time.
A protection spell would be enough especially since he wasn't expecting the Ancient to come here.
Inside the building was sparse—a single table, one chair, and a shelf made out of dark wood, lined with old but well-put-together files.
His eye immediately caught one file floating briefly before dropping back in place.
A ghost.
Syrus grinned, knowing fully well the ghost was trying to mask its presence.
He pretended not to notice.
Ghosts were easy to catch—he only needed to lure it closer.
He moved toward the shelf, fingers grazing the edges of each file as he murmured a spirit-binding spell.
The ghost drifted through him, a common way ghosts used to frighten humans. The spell activated instantly, forcing the spirit to collapse into Syrus's palm.
"Release me at once!" It's now tiny voice shrieked.
He examined the translucent figure—a gentleman dressed in fine 1500s attire—before closing his fist and sealing it within his cloak.
The files were important. He would return with soldiers to retrieve them all.
Suddenly, goosebumps prickled across his skin as he doubled on his protection spell making him invisible.
Bats flooded in—and the Ancient appeared among them.
Syrus's breath hitched. Fear coiled in his chest, as awe followed close behind.
"Arden?" the Ancient called with soft command.
Perhaps he was calling out to the ghost Syrus had just captured.
Syrus calculated frantically how he might slip away from such proximity to this being, yet he couldn't tear his eyes from the creature's grace and strength.
The Ancient circled the table, his crimson eyes carefully observing the shelf and its space.
Syrus struggled to steady his heartbeat—even ordinary human reactions might give him away.
Wisteria hung thickly in the air, subtly confirming Syrus's suspicion of the Ancient's partial containment.
The Ancient moved closer, approaching the end of the shelf where Syrus hid.
Fear and awe stretched within him—the power, the majestic aura, the beauty of a demon in the form of a man.
Syrus was still lost in it before he abruptly noticed the hard stare of Crimson eyes fixed directly on him.
He had been noticed.
Syrus gritted his teeth and bolted from the building, whispering a vanishing spell that carried him instantly back to his lair.
His hands shook. His feet trembled.
Soon, he would make that demon kneel before him.