An hour after the king left, nothing had changed for Elowen except the wet spot on the ceiling.
She lay on her back on the cold floor, her wrists chained, resting on her stomach. She watched a drop of water form in a crack, grow, shake, then fall, joining the steady dripping sound down the hall.
She counted the drops for a while.
It was that or count her bruises.
Her head still hurt from the king's magic. Each time she tried to heal, the chains glowed and stopped the light before it could rise. Her magic was still there, faint, like a heartbeat under ice, but she could not use it.
So she watched the ceiling.
"Royal life is overrated," she whispered.
Footsteps came closer. Heavy, slow, armored. Two, maybe three. Voices drifted down the hall.
"…said the king's sending her out."
"Already? Thought he'd keep her here to gloat."
"He gets bored fast."
Keys clinked. Metal scraped. Elowen turned her head as the lock groaned, then opened with a loud clank.
The door swung open.
One guard from before stood there, helmet pushed back so she could see his smirk. Another leaned against the wall behind him, arms crossed.
"Well," the first said, "time to get you out. Nice knowing you, princess."
Elowen sat up, lifting her chained wrists. "We spoke twice and that's your goodbye? I'm hurt."
"We can fix that," the second guard said.
She ignored him. "Where are you taking me? Execution? Decoration for the throne room? Pit of despair?"
"You talk too much," the second muttered.
"Hazard of the job," Elowen said. "Someone has to make up for how little you think."
The first guard snorted, hiding a smile. "Orders say bring you to the teleport chamber. That's all we know."
Teleport chamber.
Elowen's stomach tightened. They were moving her. That meant a plan she hadn't seen yet.
"Up," the guard said, more gently than she expected. "Try not to fall. The king will blame us."
"Perish the thought," she said, standing.
The chain tugged, glowing red for a moment. Her muscles ached from lying on stone, but she didn't show it. She rolled her shoulders and stepped forward.
The guard gestured with his spear. "After you, Princess."
"Yes, let me enjoy the view of walls on the way to doom," Elowen said, but she walked.
The dungeon hall was narrow, damp, torches burning low. Shadows clung to corners. They passed other cells; most were empty, a few held shapes that stirred then went still.
"Do you move many prisoners by teleport," she asked, "or am I special?"
"Very," the first guard said.
"We've never seen the king use a circle for a human before," the second added. "You must be important."
"Oh good," Elowen said. "I'd hate to be ordinary the day I'm stolen by demons."
They climbed stairs. Elowen's breath caught, more from the chains blocking her magic than the climb. She glanced at her wrists, glowing faintly.
If I break these, I have one chance.
But she had already tried. Only magic could break them, and hers was caged.
They reached a larger hall, cleaner, brighter. Through a narrow window she saw dark sky, sharp demon towers, red light rising from below.
She slowed.
"Keep moving," the second guard said.
"Just admiring the view," she said. "You don't see this kind of gloom in human castles."
"Gloom is our best work," the first said. "Right turn."
They turned.
At the end stood a heavy iron door covered in glowing marks. Several robed demons waited there, mages by their clothes and the power around them. The air smelled sharp, like metal and storm.
One mage looked up. His pale eyes skimmed her chains, then met hers.
"This is the princess?" he asked.
"Unless humans give crowns to foot soldiers," the guard said.
"Charming," Elowen muttered.
The mage ignored her. "Bring her in. The circle is ready."
The iron door groaned open. Inside was a round room. The floor held a huge carved circle, rings and runes glowing faintly. Candles burned in wall niches, flames green, blue, and violet.
Standing in the center felt like standing in a storm's mouth.
Elowen stopped at the door, resistance rising.
The mage frowned. "Problem?"
"Yes," she said. "I'm about to step into a demon circle. Forgive me if I don't run."
"Don't worry," the second guard said. "If it fails, you'll die fast."
"That is not comforting," Elowen said.
The first guard nudged her gently. "Orders are orders, princess. Best not to keep magic waiting."
She stepped forward.
Her boot touched the outer ring. She felt it—the hum. Not sound, but vibration, like a machine waking under her feet. Her chains flickered, then steadied.
The mage gestured. "To the center. The path is set."
"Will this hurt?" Elowen asked.
"Not for long, if it does," he said.
She walked to the center anyway. Her father would rage. Her people would whisper. Maps would change. None of it was hers to control now.
What she could control was this: how she stood, her chin high, her body steady. She would not shake before demons.
She took her place, ankles braced, shoulders squared. Chains clinked.
"Don't move," the mage said. "It muddles the path."
"Wouldn't want that," she said. "Landing in pieces is inconvenient."
He gave her a look, muttered, and raised his hands.
Power rose.
The lines on the floor flared red-gold, spiraling inward. Heat rose through her boots, strong but not burning. The air pressed on her skin, her lungs, her head. Her ears popped.
She clenched her teeth.
The room blurred. The mages became streaks of color. Torches stretched into lines. For one dizzy moment, she felt pulled in every direction.
Then the world ripped sideways.
No up, no down. Just motion. Her stomach lurched. Her eyes shut tight.
If this kills me after all, I'll be very—
The thought broke as the world snapped back.
Cold air hit her face.
Her boots slammed down on solid ground. Her knees bent, then steadied. The hum faded, leaving ringing in her ears.
Elowen opened her eyes.
She stood in a new room—wide, tall, walls of smooth dark stone, tall windows. Outside, a night sky with purple clouds and far mountains. Light came from hooded lamps, cooler than fire.
Demon soldiers lined the walls, armor neat, posture sharp. This place felt ordered. Less wild than the king's palace. More focused.
A castle. A fortress.
And in front of her, waiting at the edge of the circle, stood a woman who made the room feel smaller.
Severa Cromwell.
Elowen knew the name. She had heard it in councils, seen it on maps and painting. "General Cromwell" had always been a threat, a mark on paper.
In person, she was something else.
Tall didn't cover it. Severa stood above her soldiers, strong, shaped by training. Her black uniform fit perfectly, armor light but sharp, built for use. Her hair was black with violet streaks, falling heavy over one shoulder.
Her face was sharp, not soft. A straight nose, high cheekbones, a jaw that never shook. Her mouth was neutral, but Elowen saw danger in its curve, like a smile that could cut.
Her eyes were dark with a faint violet glow and her eyes were steady, unreadable, locked on Elowen like she was a plan.
She radiated control. Command. Power held tight.
And she was damn hot.
Not pretty like princes Elowen had met. Not charming. Different. The kind of presence that made instincts shout danger, and something deeper whisper yes.
Elowen's first thought was not to escape.
It was: Oh. That's a problem.