Page 9

She tries to stand tall, defiance still etched in every muscle. She flinches when I approach with the brand. I pause, voice low. “Give me your arm.”

She meets my gaze, a thousand emotions rippling in that moment. I see the memory of chains, of dark elf oppression, of forced labor, all flaring across her face. I see how she despises another set of shackles. But the raw need to survive wins out. She thrusts her arm forward, jaw clenched.

I set the brand against the skin of her upper forearm.

The searing hiss rings across the courtyard.

She bites down a cry, eyes squeezed shut.

My own breath catches as I watch her muscle tense, the smell of singed flesh rolling over me like a wave of nausea.

My chest tightens. A reckless urge claws at me to toss the brand aside, but I grip it steady just long enough to mark her.

When I lift it, the crest stands out, bright red and raw on her skin. Her breathing is ragged, sweat beading on her temples. My entire body tenses at the sight of her pain. I hand the brand back to a scribe, struggling to maintain composure.

Naeva opens her eyes, glistening with unshed tears and fierce anger. Her lips press togeter, refusing to let out a scream. That resilience almost unravels my composure. I step back, lifting my voice for the assembled crowd:

“By the law of House Rhek’tal, I claim Naeva Viren under my crest. Until the High Senate rules otherwise, she is not to be harmed or executed. If anyone defies this brand, they defy me.”

An uproar spreads among the gathered prisoners and guards. Some stare in disbelief, others murmur curses. A few call out that this is madness. The official scribes scramble to write everything down. Davor moves closer, eyeing me with a mix of shock and loyalty.

I turn back to Naeva, who’s panting from the pain. The chain linking her wrists rattles as she cradles her scorched arm. She meets my eyes, and the fury there is a bright flame. She looks as though she’d lunge at me if not for her injuries.

“You’ve chained me all over again,” she rasps. “How is this different?”

I exhale, struggling for composure. “You still live.”

She snarls. “Life in a new cage. This brand? It’s just a mark of your house, not my freedom.”

My own frustration flares, but I hold it down. “It’s the only option I had. Do you think I relish doing this?”

She shudders. Her voice is ice. “You only saved your prized tool from the scrap heap, Warden.”

Any retort dies in my throat. I don’t want to hurl words that I might regret. So I grit my teeth, turning toward the guards. “Get her wound treated. Then return her to a secure cell. Inform the rest of the Bastion that she is not to be harmed.”

Davor nods, wincing at the tension radiating between Naeva and me. The crowd parts, letting them pass. I watch her exit, still bristling with contempt, the fresh brand throbbing on her forearm. My horns feel so heavy than they ever have, carrying the weight of what I’ve done.

A voice pipes up behind me. “Warden Saru, is this wise?” It’s an older clerk with streaks of gray in his fur. He stands behind the scribes, hands clasped anxiously.

I turn, eyeing him. “Questioning my call, clerk?”

He bows his head quickly. “N-no, sir. But the Senate?—”

“I’ll deal with the Senate.”

A swirl of uneasy murmurs follows me as I stride away from the dais.

My heart hammers, and my entire body trembles with residual tension.

By claiming Naeva, I’ve set us on a path that few would risk.

The Vakkak crest bond can’t be undone lightly.

And I see the condemnation in the eyes of the onlookers.

Some part of me wonders if I’ve bound us both to a new form of torment. Another part insists I had no choice. She would be dead by now if I hadn’t. That knowledge must be enough.

I stride down the passageway to my private quarters, brushing off the stares from guards who move aside.

Once inside, I close the heavy wooden door and let out a shaky breath.

My quarters are sparse: a low table, a couple of chairs, a large trunk where I keep personal effects, a bed with a thick wool blanket.

I shrug off my chest armor, letting it drop onto a bench. My horns feel hot, and my chest is tight with adrenaline. It’s not fear, exactly—more like the aftershock of stepping off a cliff. This moment changes everything.

At length, I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, gaze distant.

Images of Naeva’s contorted expression keep flashing in my mind: how she forced herself to hold still while I burned my crest into her flesh.

The smell of scorched skin still seems to cling to me.

I hate that the brand was necessary. If I were a less honorable minotaur, maybe I’d let the Senate carry out their will, so I could remain unaffected. But that’s not who I am.

I recall the first time I glimpsed her in the corridor, how her spirit rattled the guards.

I think of the past days in the armory, her eyes bright with anger whenever I gave instructions.

She’s a flame of rebellion in a fortress built on discipline.

I sense she might burn me if I stand too close.

Yet I’ve chosen to shield that flame instead of snuffing it out.

That unsettles me in ways I can’t fully articulate.

Her refusal to bend resonates with something deep inside me—my own sense of honor, or maybe the guilt that’s gnawed at me ever since I spilled my brother’s blood.

She tears at my defenses by simply existing, forcing me to question whether I can truly carry out the Senate’s will if they demand it.

A knock rattles the door. I straighten as Captain Davor steps in. He’s out of breath. “Warden, Senator Thakur just arrived at the gates. He demands an audience.”

The timing is too convenient. “Of course he does. Where is he?”

“In the main hall, with two personal guards.”

I stand, adjusting the straps on my bracers. “Let’s not keep him waiting.”

Davor leads me through the winding halls until we reach a wide atrium used for formal receptions.

The walls are lined with tall windows that overlook the sea, giving a sweeping view of crashing waves far below.

It’s a room designed to display the Bastion’s majesty. Now it’s a stage for a power play.

Senator Thakur stands in the center, clad in expensive robes of dark blue trimmed in gold. Unlike the typical minotaur build, Thakur is leaner, with cunning eyes and horns polished to a near-metallic sheen. Two heavily armed guards flank him. He turns when I enter, tail flicking in annoyance.

“Warden Saru.” His voice is cool. “I’ve just heard a ridiculous rumor that you invoked the Vakkak crest law to spare that human. Please tell me it’s a misunderstanding.”

My hands clench at my sides. “It’s true. The brand was placed in the courtyard this morning. I’ve already had it recorded by official scribes.”

He narrows his eyes, stepping forward. “You defy a direct Senate order?”

I keep my tone steady. “I am fulfilling my duty as Warden. The Senate demanded she face execution here, but I uncovered additional…information tied to her sabotage. It’s more prudent to keep her alive while we verify what she knows.”

He scoffs. “So you tie your name to hers? You realize how this looks?”

I lift my chin. “I’m aware. But the law is valid, Senator. If you want her dead, you’ll have to bring it before the entire High Senate in an official hearing.”

A muscle near his jaw ticks. “You think the Senate will spare you once they see this as a threat to our alliance with certain trade partners?”

Anger flares in my chest. “We have no alliance with the dark elves. They remain at best a tenuous trade acquaintance. If that vessel carried contraband, the Bastion must investigate. Unless you have reason to hide such facts?”

He bristles at my insinuation. “You’re overstepping, Warden. A creature who kills a noble heir is a threat to Milthar’s stability. I’ll not have you tamper with the Senate’s authority.”

I inhale, fighting to remain calm. “Then petition the High Senate. Let them decide. The brand stands. Until they overrule me by official decree, she remains under my household protection.”

His guards shift uneasily, but Thakur stands firm. “You’ll regret this. I guarantee it.” His gaze flicks to Captain Davor, then back to me. “When the Senate convenes, I’ll ensure they strip you of your post. You’ll be left as an outcast.”

I meet his threat with silence. Eventually, he exhales in disgust, turns on his heel, and strides out of the hall.

His guards hurry after him, uncertain whether to glare at me or keep their heads down.

When they vanish through the grand doors, a half-dozen onlookers release the breaths they’ve been holding.

Davor glances my way, tension etched into his features. “That was…heated.”

I nod, still staring at the space Thakur vacated. “He’ll do what he can to undermine me. We have to prepare for that.”

“So we keep the human alive no matter what?”

My voice drops. “Yes. And we do it carefully. The Senate might send spies or create new charges. We watch her every move, but we don’t harm her. Understood?”

He nods. “Understood.”

Once the room empties, I turn to gaze out the high windows.

The sea below is churning, the waves smashing against jagged rocks.

It reminds me of Naeva’s spirit—relentless, unafraid to crash against seemingly unbreakable walls.

Now that I’ve branded her, she might hate me more than the Senate.

But a part of me can’t help recalling the moment our eyes locked after I seared her arm: a raw, trembling connection.

She was furious, but also alive in every breath, refusing to show weakness.