He’d given her comfort. Food. Warmth. Safety. Everything she’d lost in the crash. Everything she’d been terrified she’d never have again.
And all she had to do was accept it. Accept him. Accept her place.
Her gaze drifted to the wristband on the table.
The blue gem pulsed steadily, patient. Waiting for her to make the choice that wasn’t really a choice at all.
Elsa moved toward it slowly, her bare feet silent on warm stone. She reached out, fingers hovering above the dark metal.
Should she just put it on? Surrender this last moment of freedom before it was taken from her anyway?
Sylas had been right about one thing—her refusal changed nothing. Tomorrow, she’d still be his prisoner. Still be dependent on his mercy for food, shelter, survival. Still be trapped on this frozen planet under stars she didn’t know.
The wristband would make her life easier. That’s what he’d implied. It would mark her as protected, untouchable by anyone except the Alpha King himself. No more guards dragging her through corridors. No more threats from creatures like Xar who looked at her like prey.
Just…acceptance. Compliance. Surrender.
Her fingers curled into a fist.
No.
Not yet. Not while she still had the ability to choose, even if the choice was meaningless. Even if tomorrow Sylas would fasten it around her wrist himself and her resistance would be nothing but a memory.
Tonight, she was still Elsa. Navigator. Survivor. Human.
Not pet. Not prize. Not property.
Not yet.
She pulled her hand back, leaving the wristband where it lay.
Tomorrow would come soon enough. Tomorrow, with whatever “earning her keep” meant, whatever tests or trials or degradations waited for her.
But tonight—this one night—she’d sleep in this too-soft bed surrounded by luxury she hadn’t earned, in a room meant for a queen she’d never be, and she’d remember what it felt like to make a choice.
Even a futile one.
Elsa climbed onto the bed, sinking into furs that smelled faintly of something clean and wild. She pulled the topmost layer over herself, cocooning in warmth that felt like betrayal.
Through the window, alien stars glimmered in patterns she was already beginning to memorize. Finding shapes. Plotting positions. Mapping the unmappable because that’s what she did.
That’s who she was.
And no wristband, no Alpha King, no amount of comfort or captivity would change that.
At least, that’s what she told herself.
As exhaustion dragged her down into sleep, her last conscious thought was of the Moon Tear core. Rare. Pure. Missing.
Leverage, maybe.
Or just another way for them to use her.
Tomorrow, she’d find out which.
7
Sylas