“Why would someone—”
“Just don’t.” His claws traced her jaw, featherlight. Then he was gone, following Ryxin down the corridor toward whatever awaited in the ceremonial chamber.
Elsa stood frozen for a moment, processing. He’d left her. Voluntarily separated from his precious property in a fortress full of creatures who wanted her dissected or destroyed.
Trust?The word tasted foreign. Wrong.
More likely strategy. Demonstrating that she was controlled enough to function without constant supervision. Another layer of performance for the court’s benefit.
“You’re thinking too hard.”
Ari’s voice was warm, tinged with an accent Elsa couldn’t quite place. Southern United States, maybe. Or somewhere that shared those soft vowels.
“Am I?”
“You’ve got that look.” The other woman moved closer, her burgundy gown rustling. “The one that says you’re calculating angles and probabilities and the exact number of steps to the nearest exit.”
“Old habit.”
“Navigator, right? That’s what Ryxin said.” Ari fell into step beside her as they followed the same direction the males had taken, though at a slower pace. Two guards flanked them—Lux Sabers, judging by their sleeker builds and the way they watched everything except the humans directly. “I was a bartender. Not much call for probability calculations in that line of work.”
“You’d be surprised.”
Ari’s laugh was unexpected—genuine, unguarded. “Fair point. Drunk men are their own kind of chaos equation.”
They walked in silence for a moment. The corridor narrowed, then opened into a small antechamber carved with the same swirling patterns Elsa had seen throughout the fortress. Blue light pulsed softly from crystals embedded in the walls, casting everything in shades of twilight.
“How are you doing this?” The question escaped before Elsa could frame it more diplomatically. “You look...settled. Like this is normal.”
Ari’s expression shifted. Not quite closing off, but sharpening. Assessing Elsa the same way Elsa had been assessing her.
“You want the honest answer or the polite one?”
“Honest.”
“Because I stopped fighting the things I can’t change.” Ari’s voice dropped, pitched low despite the guards’ distance. “Ryxinis going to keep me. That’s not negotiable. I can spend every day raging against it, or I can figure out how to build a life within those constraints.” A pause. “I chose to build.”
The pragmatism of it hit Elsa like cold water. Not acceptance—not really. More like...tactical surrender. Bending so she didn’t break.
You bend so you don’t break, and you hate yourself for bending, but you do it anyway.
Sylas’s words from last night, when he’d had her pinned beneath him, his tongue mapping territories she hadn’t offered. He’d seen this in her. Recognized it. Used it.
“The collar,” Ari said, her gaze dropping to Elsa’s throat. “That’s new. Sylas is making a statement.”
“So I’m told.”
“More than he probably explained.” Ari guided them toward a carved bench set into an alcove, settling onto it with the ease of someone who’d learned these spaces. Elsa sat beside her, hyperaware of the guards’ positions, the corridor’s layout, the faint sounds of gathering crowds echoing from somewhere deeper in the fortress.
“What do you mean?”
Ari was quiet for a moment. Her golden-brown eyes held something Elsa couldn’t name—pity, maybe, or understanding too complete for comfort.
“The court doesn’t fear your body,” she said finally. “You’re human. Fragile. No claws, no fangs, no strength that matters here.” She leaned closer, voice dropping further. “They fear yourscent.”
The Frosted Tears. Elsa’s hand drifted to her collar, fingers tracing the cool metal. “Sylas mentioned it was rare. Sacred to their goddess.”
“Sacred is an understatement.” Ari’s expression hardened. “Those flowers—the ones you smell like—they only bloom whentheir moon is closest. A sign of Lux’s direct attention. Fertility. Blessing.” She leaned closer and shot a quick glance at the guards. “Divine favor.”