“About?”
About the taste of your tongue on my skin. About how I should hate you for what you did last night. About why I don’t.
“Navigation,” she lied. “Old habit. I’m mapping the route.”
His muzzle twitched. Not quite a smile. “Still planning escape routes that don’t exist?”
“Always.”
The corridor opened into a broader gallery, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadow. More wolfmen here—guards stationed at intervals, their ears swiveling toward Sylas before pinning back in submission. None of them looked at her directly. None of them had to. She could feel their attention like heat against her skin, tracking the human in their Alpha King’s wake.
The collar suddenly felt heavier.
“The ceremony will last two hours,” Sylas said, guiding her around a corner into a passage she hadn’t seen before. “Formal declarations, tribute from the eastern villages, acknowledgment of the grid’s stabilization. You’ll stand beside my throne until I indicate otherwise.”
“Stand. Not sit.”
“Pets don’t sit on thrones.” His tone carried no apology. “You’ll be given a cushion at my feet. It’s more comfortable than it sounds.”
At his feet.Like an animal. Like property.
She’d known this was coming. He’d warned her. But knowing and experiencing were different beasts entirely, and the reality of it scraped raw against something she’d thought she’d already surrendered.
“And if I need to move? Stretch my legs?”
“You wait for permission.” His claws pressed fractionally harder against her spine. “Tonight is about demonstrating control. Mine over you. The court needs to see you’re handled. That I haven’t lost perspective by keeping you.”
“Have you?”
The question slipped out before she could stop it. Dangerous. Provocative. The kind of thing that had gotten her in trouble before.
Sylas’s stride didn’t falter, but something shifted in his posture. A tightening she’d learned to recognize.
“Probably.” The admission came out rough. “But that’s not their concern.”
They turned another corner, and Elsa’s attention snagged on two figures ahead.
A wolfman—black fur, cyan eyes, familiar lines of predatory grace. Ryxin. Sylas’s brother, the commander who’d shot down theStardancer, who’d claimed the brunette from the escape pod as his own pet.
And beside him, small and human and startlingly composed, stood a woman Elsa recognized.
Ari.
The name surfaced from fragmented memories—whispered conversations in the medical bay, Yarx’s casual mentions of “the prince’s human.” She’d been on the escape vessel too. One of the five survivors who’d crashed into this nightmare together.
Now she walked at Ryxin’s side in a gown of deep burgundy, her reddish-brown hair swept up and pinned with silver clasps. No collar visible, but a delicate chain circled her wrist—the samedark metal as Elsa’s bracer, set with a smaller version of the glowing blue gem.
She looked...healthy. Well-fed. Calm in a way that seemed impossible given their circumstances.
Ryxin’s ears swiveled toward them. “Brother.” A nod of acknowledgment. “Your pet cleans up well.”
“As does yours.” Sylas’s response carried the formal cadence of males who’d had this exchange before. “The ceremony?”
“Already assembling. Vask arrived early. Xar brought his full complement of knights.” Ryxin’s cyan gaze flickered to Elsa, then back to his brother. Something passed between them—a communication too subtle for her to parse. “I’ll take point. You have fifteen minutes.”
Sylas dipped his head. Then, to Elsa’s surprise, he released her.
“Stay with Ari.” The command was quiet, pitched for her ears alone. “She’ll explain the protocols I don’t have time to cover. Don’t wander. Don’t speak to any males who approach. And—” His paw caught her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. “Don’t remove the collar. Not for any reason. Not even if someone orders you to.”