All four dropped to one knee, bowing their heads, tilting them to expose their necks.
“My King.”
Sylas rested his hand briefly against the back of Elsa’s neck—not rough, but unmistakably possessive.
“Care for her.”
The words were calm, but the command behind them carried absolute weight.
“She is my royal pet.”
Elsa felt the title like a brand.
The Sabers didn’t react—no surprise, no amusement. Just obedience.
“The Luna Chambers,” Sylas continued. “She stays there.”
One of the Sabers—taller than the rest, her pale silver fur braided along her temple—nodded.
“Yes, my King.”
Sylas’s fingers slid away from Elsa’s neck, but the warmth of his touch lingered.
“I will summon her tomorrow.”
Only then did he turn away.
He left without another glance, boots echoing once against the stone before the sound faded into the depths of the fortress.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then the silver-furred Saber rose and stepped forward, studying Elsa with sharp, assessing eyes.
“Come.”
Elsa swallowed and nodded as they led her deeper into the mountain, the corridor swallowing her whole.
She followed the Lux Saber through passages carved from ancient volcanic rock, the stone still holding a lingering heat from whatever furnace had shaped this fortress millennia ago. Blue light pulsed from embedded gems at regular intervals, casting everything in shifting shades of twilight and ice.
Her wrists ached where the cuffs bit into skin. Behind her, footsteps echoed—guards, probably, though she didn’t dare look back to count them. Ahead, the female wolfman moved with fluid grace, her rust-colored fur catching the dim light as she led Elsa deeper into the mountain’s belly.
A Lux Saber.That’s what Ryxin had called the female guards. Elite protectors of the Luna—the Alpha King’s mate.
Except Sylas didn’t have a mate.
Which meant these warriors served…what? The throne itself? The idea of a mate? Or were they simply weapons waiting to be aimed?
The Saber glanced back once, amber eyes assessing. “Keep up.”
Elsa’s legs obeyed before her brain caught up. The chains connecting her ankles had been removed after Sylas had dismissed them from the throne room, leaving only the cuffs. Small mercy. She could walk normally now, even if her destination remained a mystery.
They climbed stairs carved directly into the mountainside, each step worn smooth by centuries of clawed feet. The air grew warmer as they ascended, thick with mineral scent and something else—sulfur, maybe, from volcanic vents buried deep below.
The fortress wasn’t just built into the mountain. It was builtfromit, shaped by heat and pressure and deliberate design into something that felt alive.
Elsa’s cartographer brain catalogued turns and distances automatically. Thirty-seven steps up. Left corridor. Forty-two paces. Right turn. Another staircase, this one spiraling. The information settled into mental maps she couldn’t help but construct, even knowing escape was impossible.
Old habits. They’d kept her sane on theStardancerwhen her captain had stripped her position and locked her from the bridge. They’d keep her sane now.