Page 5 of Marked by the Enemy (The Binding Vow #1)

I wanted to ask him about his parents, but held the question deep in my soul. I had tried to kill him twice, and I didn’t deserve his answers about something so deep. “So there’s no winning. ”

“There’s surviving.”

We didn’t speak for a long time. I got up and looked through my window at the empty courtyard and the empty sky, now devoid of clouds. After some time, I turned. He hadn’t left. I watched him. He watched the fire.

“You’ll be summoned tomorrow,” he finally said. “The trials begin.”

“What trials are you speaking of?”

“To prove that you are strong.”

“And if I am?”

“If you are, you could be a threat.” He strolled toward the door and paused with his hand on the frame. “Do you dream of me yet?”

My skin tingled, and for a split second, my breathing suspended. I didn’t answer. When the door shut, the bond quieted. But the bond wasn’t gone, it never was gone.

They woke me with soft bells. The repeating chimes that came from nowhere and everywhere. The sound threaded into the bond until I sat up, breath caught halfway in my throat.

A maid entered before I could speak. This one, too, was a recent addition; she provided me with a plain tunic and gloves. “You are summoned.”

I heaved a sigh and dressed in silence, wondering what they wanted me to do. Reinforcement had been added to the knuckles of the black leather gloves. When I pulled them on, something inside me steadied, like a weight settling into place.

She led me through a corridor I hadn’t seen before. This one dipped below the usual halls. We passed the chapel stairs and entered a windowless passage. Only thick-limbed torches mounted along the stone, their flames burning blue. Silence reigned here .

The room at the end, wide and low-ceilinged, carved into a perfect circle with walls the color of smoke-stained marble.

Years of footsteps had worn the stone underfoot smooth.

The perimeter featured no windows, seats, or tapestries to soften the walls.

Only a single ring of light above, suspended from nothing, casting an even glow without any shadows to hide in.

But I wasn’t alone.

Darian stood beside a raised dais of black basalt. Next to him, a man in a grey cloak held a glass rod twinkling with light. Behind them, half-shrouded in the wall’s curve, stood the six council members. Cloaks matching the wall’s color covered their colorful robes.

I bit the inside of my lips and lowered my head to study them. Were they wearing Invisibility cloaks?

Each of the Elemental Seats was a step lower than the platform, watching everything. No one told me to kneel.

Darian’s face appeared slack when he looked at me and spoke. “This is the Trial of Control. You will demonstrate restraint of physical magic under stress.”

“Whose stress?” I asked.

The man with the wand, or glass rod, or whatever it was, answered without looking at me. “Your stress, Consort.”

The door behind me clicked shut. The floor sank a fraction under my boots. Warmth bloomed across the stone. There was a low vibration threading through my molars. My mind raced through possibilities of what was about to happen. I rocked on my feet and squinted.

“Ready,” the tester said.

“Begin,” Darian said.

I stayed still.

The walls reverberated with a low rumbling, as if an earthquake was brewing in the depths of the earth.

The sound intensified, shaking loose bits of debris and sending them tumbling to the ground.

Dust swirled in the air, adding a gritty undertone to the trembling.

It was a warning, a warning that something powerful and dangerous was approaching .

My legs tensed, ready to run, but my feet remained rooted on the spot, determined to let it pass. And it did. As quickly as it started, it stopped.

A column of fire burst from the floor ten feet away, howled upward.

The fiery explosion erupted with a deafening roar like a wild beast in pain as it clawed its way from deep in the depths of Caldaen.

Its heat sent shivers down my spine, making my ears ring and drowning out any other sound.

The heat washed over the Elemental Seats, Prince Darian, and the man with the sparkling rod, causing tiny drops of sweat to form on their foreheads.

As the fire vanished, a cool breeze blew through the space, relieving the sudden warmth and leaving a chill in its wake. Wind sliced past my calves like a blade drawn low. Ice cracked outward along the floor and shattered under invisible pressure.

I decided these were illusions crafted to provoke panic, instinct, and reaction. But I was a trained assassin. I was brave. The bond surged. Hungry. It wanted me to answer. I didn’t move.

Another burst of fire erupted—closer this time, hot enough to press at my jaw. The tester with the wand said nothing. The council looked on. Darian never blinked.

I closed my eyes and let the magic rise and fall. In my mind, I shaped it like breath—wave on wave—like the sea drills the Boundless taught us.

They’d taken us to the black coast and marched us waist-deep into the surf.

No weapons. No footing. The water had slammed in from every side, cold enough to split bone.

We had to stay upright. Breathe through it.

Let the wave pass without letting it take us.

It was specifically training for when the magic hit like that—sudden, invisible, all at once.

It whipped past again, sharp and cold. I didn’t flinch, but briefly wondered if the other orphan assassins were journeying to kill the princes—one assassin for each prince.

Something cracked beneath the floor. I gasped. My reaction was my fault for letting my mind drift away. A tremor climbed up through the stone. The bond jolted, flared, and tried to take hold. I held tighter. Focused on stillness. On refusal .

“Enough,” Darian said.

The enchantments or triggers or whatever they were fell away. Silence swept through the chamber, full and final.

The tester with the sparkling rod stepped forward and tapped the rod against the floor. It flared white, then faded. “Impressive response. The human passes, Your Majesty. Your Consort shows strength.”

Several Councilors exchanged glances and didn’t object. That was enough. Darian descended from the dais. He stopped when he was close enough to touch, and he smelled of sandalwood. “You fought it well.”

My mouth was tight, as if tasting something bad. “I wasn’t fighting. I was refusing.”

There was a nervous tic under his eye. “Next trial is tomorrow. It will be a different test.”

My fingernails bit into my palms. They liked to test me as if I was an experiment. The prince didn’t seem fearful about turning to dust, either. “Will I get to fight something that bleeds?”

He didn’t answer. The door opened behind me, and I pivoted around to leave. I walked through it, spine straight, pace steady. The bond billowed once, faint and slow. Almost like approval.