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“I’m always restless,” I reply, tone clipped. “You made sure of that.”
She tilts her head, feigning innocence. “Now, now. I gave you everything. Power. Purpose. A place at my side. And in return, you gave me…” Her smile stretches wider, crueler. “Everything else.”
I want to tear her apart.
But I can’t.
The bond—hers, not Luna’s—is a cage made of my own bones. It doesn’t whisper; itcommands.It doesn’t seduce; itowns.I feel it in my spine, in the marrow, in the breath I have to count out slow to avoid falling too far into her gravity.
“I didn’t come here to play word games.”
“No,” she says, standing, her movements too fluid, too serpentine. “You came here because I let you. You breathe because I allow it. And you dream of her”—she steps closer, her finger dragging along the edge of the table—“because I haven’t ripped her from your thoughts.Yet.”
I flinch. Not visibly. Not in a way most would catch.
“I see what she does to you,” Branwen whispers, circling me now. Her voice curls around my neck. “That hesitation in your orders. That pulse that skips when her name is spoken. You think she’s different. Better. Yours.”
“She’s not mine,” I grind out.
“No,” Branwen agrees softly, leaning in so her breath ghosts my jaw. “She’severyone’s.That’s her magic, Lucien. Her curse. The Sin Binder.” She grins, and it’s too white. Too hungry. “And that makes her mine.”
My fists clench at my sides. I don’t respond. I can’t afford to.
The air thickens with her power. Dominion, twisted and turned back on me. My own gift mirrored in mockery. The irony isn’t lost.
Branwen stops in front of me, eyes gleaming with something darker than desire.
“I could tell you to kill her,” she muses. “Right now. And you would try.”
My jaw locks.
“But I won’t. Not yet. Because you hate me. And that hate is useful. That hatebindsyou more than love ever could.”
She steps back, turning away like I’m already dismissed.
“You’ll go to her soon,” she says. “Tell her some story. Pretend you’re still on her side. And maybe part of you even believes it. That’s the delicious part, isn’t it?”
She glances over her shoulder, and I know—I know—that whatever comes next, I’ll have to play along.
Until I can tear the bond out of me piece by piece.
The bond jerks tight—like a leash snapped around my ribs—and I stumble forward a step before I catch myself.
She doesn’t look back.
Branwen walks ahead of me, barefoot on the polished stone, like she owns every shadow. Like the world bends to her weight. Her voice drips like poisoned honey, smooth and slow and just a little too pleased with itself. “You hate this,” she says without turning. “Being dragged behind me like some broken beast.”
I bare my teeth. “You’re not wrong.”
That earns me a soft laugh. “Oh, Lucien. I knoweverythingthat makes you ache.” She finally pauses, fingers brushing the wall beside her, and the stone shivers beneath her touch like it’s alive. “Including her.”
I want to lunge. I want to sink my hand into her spine and rip out whatever rotten root keeps her standing.
Instead, I hold myself still. Because that’s all I have left. Stillness. Calculation. And the last frayed threads of my will.
She spins on her heel, eyes glittering. “You’re wondering why I’m still here.”
“You shouldn’t be.”