Chapter 20 — "You Are Safe Here"
The words followed Elowen long after Kael spoke them.
They echoed in the quiet corridors of Blackspire, in the soft brush of torchlight against black stone, in the way her footsteps sounded too loud despite her careful steps. You are safe here. No one had ever said those words to her and meant them not her father, not her stepmother, not even the servants who had once whispered apologies behind closed doors while continuing to look away.
Safe.
It was a fragile word. One that felt too delicate to hold in her hands without breaking.
Her assigned chamber was larger than the entirety of the servants' wing she had once slept in. The bed alone could have housed three maids comfortably. Heavy curtains framed tall windows, and a small hearth glowed with a low, steady fire, casting warmth across stone walls softened by woven tapestries.
Elowen stood just inside the door, fingers curled around the hem of her borrowed dress, unsure if she was allowed to move.
She had been given permission to leave Kael's presence, but habit lingered. Years of being told to wait. To stand still. To exist quietly until dismissed.
The door closed behind her with a solid, final sound.
She flinched.
Then waited for the familiar rush of dread.
It didn't come.
No footsteps followed. No angry voice barked her name. No hand slammed into the door demanding she return. There was only the soft crackle of fire and the faint sound of wind outside the fortress walls.
Elowen exhaled slowly, the breath trembling as it left her.
She crossed the room cautiously, as though the space itself might reject her if she moved too quickly. Her fingers brushed the tapestry nearest the bed thick wool, embroidered with silver thread depicting a battlefield frozen beneath a dark sky. She had never touched something so finely made without fear of punishment.
Her reflection in the polished mirror near the washstand startled her.
She looked… wrong.
The dress she wore was simple, but clean. Her hair had been loosely braided by one of the female attendants without pulling, without scolding. The faint bruises on her wrists were still visible, but they looked smaller here, less defining.
Less like the sum of her existence.
Elowen pressed a hand to the glass, grounding herself.
This is real, she told herself. You are here.
And yet her heart refused to settle.
She sat on the edge of the bed, posture straight, hands folded in her lap as if awaiting inspection. Minutes passed. Then more. Her muscles ached from holding herself so tightly.
Eventually, exhaustion won.
She lay back slowly, fully clothed, staring up at the dark canopy above. The mattress dipped beneath her weight, soft in a way she was unaccustomed to. She felt as though she might sink into it entirely and disappear.
Her eyes burned.
Elowen turned her face into the pillow, pressing her mouth against the fabric to muffle the sound as tears finally escaped.
She cried silently, the way she always had no sobs, no gasps. Just quiet grief leaking out of a heart that had learned too early that sound invited punishment.
She cried for the girl who had scrubbed floors until her fingers bled.
For the daughter who had been sold without a second thought.
For the woman who did not know how to exist without fear.
And for the strange, unsettling warmth she felt when Kael had looked at her not as property, not as currency, but as a person.
When the tears stopped, she lay still, drained.
Sleep came slowly, cautiously, as if unsure it was welcome.
Kael Draven did not sleep.
He stood on the balcony outside his own chambers, dark cloak pulled tight against the night wind, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. Blackspire loomed behind him, its presence as familiar as his own shadow.
The bond marriage, the court insisted sat heavy on his shoulders.
He had expected resistance. Fear. Revulsion.
What he had not expected was the quiet way Elowen had looked at him when he spoke. Not with awe. Not with pleading hope. But with something fragile and dangerous.
Trust, tentative and unearned.
Kael clenched his jaw.
He had built his reputation carefully. Ruthlessness kept people at bay. Fear was a shield. The Void within him responded to threat and violence; it was easier to control when the world believed him a monster.
Elowen did not look at him as though he were a monster.
That was a problem.
He had seen the marks on her wrists. The way she flinched at sudden movement. The practiced obedience that clung to her like a second skin. None of it belonged in Blackspire.
None of it belonged to him.
And yet by accepting the Ashmere bargain, he had brought her here.
I will not be another cage, he vowed silently.
He turned from the balcony and strode through the corridors toward the guest wing where Elowen had been placed. The guards straightened as he passed, sensing the shift in the air. The Void stirred, responding to his agitation.
He forced it down.
At her door, Kael paused.
He did not knock.
Instead, he rested his palm against the stone beside the frame, grounding himself. He could sense her faint, flickering, like a candle flame in a vast darkness. Fragile. Alive.
Safe.
After a moment, he turned away.
Elowen woke to light.
Soft morning light spilled through the curtains, painting the room in pale gold. For a few disoriented seconds, she forgot where she was. Panic rose instinctively late for chores, late for punishment
Then she remembered.
Blackspire.
The warlord.
Her husband.
Her heart skipped, but the panic eased into something gentler.
She sat up slowly, surprised to find she had slept through the night. No nightmares. No sudden waking at imagined footsteps.
A knock sounded at the door.
Elowen froze.
"Lady Blackspire," a woman's voice called gently. "May I enter?"
Lady.
The word didn't feel like it belonged to her, but she managed to answer. "Y Yes."
The door opened to reveal Mistress Virelle, the fortress's head steward. Her expression was sharp but not unkind, eyes assessing without cruelty.
"You will breakfast with the lord this morning," she said. "Unless you wish otherwise."
Elowen hesitated. "Is… is it required?"
Virelle's brows lifted slightly. "Nothing here is required of you unless Lord Kael says it is. And even then, he tends to listen."
Elowen absorbed that slowly.
"I will come," she said at last.
Virelle nodded once, satisfied. "Very well. You have time to prepare."
When the woman left, Elowen stood alone again, heart racing.
Breakfast.
With him.
She dressed carefully, choosing the simplest gown provided. No jewelry. No adornment. She braided her hair herself, fingers steady despite the nerves coiling in her stomach.
When she entered the dining hall, Kael was already there.
He stood near the window, arms crossed behind his back, gaze fixed on the mountains beyond. He turned as she approached, and something unreadable flickered across his expression.
"Good morning," he said.
The words were simple. Gentle.
"Good morning, my lord," Elowen replied automatically, dipping into a shallow curtsy.
His jaw tightened.
"I told you," he said quietly, stepping closer. "You do not need to bow to me."
Her hands clenched in her skirt. "I don't know how not to."
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, carefully, "We will learn."
The meal was quiet but not uncomfortable. Kael did not rush her. He did not comment on how little she ate, nor did he press her to speak. When she finished, he rose as well.
"Elowen," he said, stopping her as she stood. She looked up at him, pulse quickening.
"I meant what I said last night," he continued. "No one here will harm you. Not my soldiers. Not your family. Not the court."
His voice lowered. "Not even me."
Something inside her chest shifted, subtle but profound.
"I believe you," she whispered.
The Void stilled completely.
For the first time in centuries, Kael felt something loosen in him.