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NARANUS

S he follows.

Her steps are measured, steady, though the ground beneath her feet was not made for creatures like her. The stone bridge twists up the cliffs, jagged and unforgiving, the path barely wide enough to allow the dark elves' entourage to trail behind. But she doesn’t falter, doesn’t glance back at them for assurance. She moves as if she belongs here. As if she isn’t walking into the lion’s den with a lamb’s throat.

I watch her from above, wings tucked tight against my back. My soldiers flank the cliffs, silent shadows perched along the edges, waiting. Waiting for her to misstep. Waiting for the deception to slip from that carefully held face.

But the woman in white does not stumble. What was she called again? Eryss?

The wind howls through the gorge below, carrying the stench of sulfur and old magic. The fortress rises behind me, a monolith carved from the core of the earth, its stone ridges worn smooth by time and war. The bastion of my people. The last stronghold of the cursed.

This slip of a creature is to be its queen?

The thought stirs something close to amusement.

I step forward as she crests the bridge, and the priest trailing her stiffens. His thin, reedy voice quivers through the dead heat. “The peace bride, as promised, Lord Naranus.”

He is careful not to meet my eyes. Cowards always are.

She, however, is not. She stared at me earlier, as well. I like it.

Storm-colored irises lift to meet mine, cool as a dagger’s kiss. They do not tremble. Do not waver. The same defiant fire from the exchange ground still simmers there, barely contained beneath the veil of her expression.

Good.

A lamb would not last long in my house.

My gaze drifts lower, past the delicate curve of her collarbones to where the dress clings indecently to her form. The heat of the desert has dampened the fabric, sweat pooling between the valley of her breasts, glistening along the line of her throat.

The dark elves dress their offerings like whores.

I drag my focus back to her face. “Remove the dress.”

The priest jolts as if I’ve struck him.

A muscle shifts in her jaw.

“No.”

The word hums between us, tension strung taut as a bowstring.

The priest sputters, “L-Lord Naranus, this is a?—”

I lift a hand, silencing him. “Did I ask you?”

His mouth clamps shut.

She remains unmoving, shoulders drawn back, chin tilted. A soldier trained to withstand intimidation.

Or a woman who has nothing left to fear.

I take a single step closer, lowering my voice. “You walk into my domain as my bride, yet you refuse my command?”

Her breath is steady. “A command meant to humiliate is not one worth obeying.”

A flicker of heat licks through my chest, curling tight in my gut.

Defiant little thing.

The priest dares another step forward. “Lord Naranus, please. The peace?—”

I snarl, baring my fangs. “There is no peace.”

He stumbles back, clutching his ceremonial staff.

The truth is an iron weight between us. There was never peace, never a union forged in sincerity. This woman stands before me because the purna and the dark elves wish to see my throat slit open while my own kin, fractured and desperate, watch from the shadows, waiting for their chance to strike.

The woman at the center of it all stares at me like she already knows this.

Not yet an enemy. Not yet an ally.

I turn without another word, the movement sending a shift of heat through my wings. “Follow.”

She hesitates only a moment before stepping into the stronghold behind me.

The stone halls are dark, cool, a stark contrast to the brutal sun outside. Faint lines of molten light trace along the walls, illuminating the ancient sigils that pulse with my people’s magic. The fortress was built for creatures like me, towering ceilings, vast chambers, jagged edges carved into every doorway to ward against intruders. To humans, it must seem like the throat of a beast waiting to swallow them whole.

She does not ask where I’m taking her.

A test.

She passes.

The guards that line the halls do not bow as I pass. They stand like statues, eyes forward, hands gripping their weapons. Their silence speaks louder than words. The bride’s arrival will not be celebrated.

She will find no allies here.

I stop before a heavy stone archway, the doors flanked by twin braziers burning low with charred embers. I gesture inside.

She does not move.

“This is your chamber,” I tell her.

Eryss tilts her head slightly. “Not yours?”

A slow, indulgent smirk pulls at my mouth. “Disappointed?”

Her gaze flickers down my chest, past the ridged stone fractures cutting through my skin. She meets my eyes again, unfazed. “No.”

I chuckle, low and rough. “Liar.”

The doors swing open, revealing a vast room draped in deep black and crimson, the furs and silks stark against the dark stone. A bed fit for a king looms at the center, its heavy wooden posts carved with ancient sigils meant to bind, to claim. The smell of embers lingers in the air, woven with something darker.

I watch her take it all in, gaze lingering on the runes carved into the headboard. She does not ask what they mean.

Another test.

Another pass.

“You will remain here,” I tell her. “You will not leave without my permission.”

She lifts her chin. “A prisoner, then.”

The word curls through the space between us, rich with challenge.

I step forward, watching the way her breath hitches ever so slightly, the way her fingers tighten at her sides. “You are whatever I decide you to be.”

A flash of something dark flickers in those storm-colored eyes. Not fear.

Amusement.

“You mistake me for a woman who bends easily,” she murmurs.

I exhale a slow, dangerous breath. “You mistake me for a man who has patience.”

Her lips press together, but I catch it, the briefest flicker of a smirk.

Defiant little thing.

I move, close enough so she can feel the heat radiating from my skin. Closer so she can see the faint glow of molten cracks splintering along my chest. “Rest, bride. You’ll need your strength.”

She doesn’t ask what for.

She passed again.

I turn, striding from the room, the heavy doors slamming shut behind me.

She will fight.

She will resist.

I want her to.