Page 6 of Savage Crown

6

RYLAN

S he doesn’t know what she is yet.

I see it in the way she holds herself, too tense, too alive for a human who’s spent her life under the yoke of dark elves. She should be broken by now. Bent at the very least. Instead, she meets my eyes with fire, even as she stands in my world, under my control.

Seraphina.

A name that rolls like embers on my tongue.

I shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t want to say it again. And yet…

I exhale slowly, pushing the thought aside. This isn’t the time to be intrigued by fragile things, even those wrapped in steel.

She stares at me now, bare-armed, her tunic still discarded from our earlier conversation. The dim torchlight casts shadows along the raised scars on her ribs, some old, some fresher than they should be. I recognize lash marks when I see them. The wounds of ownership.

She’s spent her life fighting it. And now, she’s walked willingly into my hands.

The irony is almost amusing.

I turn away from her, pouring another glass of wine. "You don’t trust me."

Her laugh is sharp, bitter. "Should I?"

I take a sip, enjoying the way the silence stretches. "I think you want to."

Seraphina scoffs. "I think you have an overinflated sense of your own importance."

Defiant, even now. Even after everything.

I place the glass down with deliberate care. “If I wanted to crush you, I would have done it already.”

She doesn’t flinch. "And if I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have come here at all."

I chuckle, low and dark. "Is that so?"

She doesn’t answer. Just watches me.

I push off the desk, closing the space between us with slow, measured steps. She tenses, her fingers twitching, but she doesn’t move away.

"Tell me, little thief," I murmur, reaching out. My knuckles barely brush her chin, coaxing her to tilt her head up. "Why do you fight so hard?"

Her breath catches. "Why do you?"

Clever girl.

I drag my fingers away, turning slightly, pacing a slow circle around her. "It’s simple, really. I fight to win."

She exhales sharply, a sound half amusement, half frustration. "Then what am I fighting for?"

I let the question hang in the air before answering. "Your life."

She stiffens.

I step behind her now, close enough that she can feel the warmth of my breath against her bare shoulder. Her pulse thrums at her throat, but she holds herself perfectly still.

"You’re still playing a game you don’t understand," I whisper. "So let me make it easy for you."

I move around to face her again, pinning her with a gaze that brooks no argument.

"Loyalty or death, Seraphina. Those are your choices."

She exhales sharply, nostrils flaring. "That’s not a choice."

"It is." I tilt my head. "Just not a kind one."

Her lips part slightly, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t want to give in. I can feel the war raging inside her, the part of her that craves freedom warring against the part that wants to survive.

I lean in to feel the warmth of her breath against my skin. “Swear yourself to me, and I will keep you safe. You’ll be under my protection, and no one—not Lartina, not the guards hunting you—will dare lay a hand on you.”

She swallows. "And if I refuse?"

My smirk is slow, deliberate. Cruel.

"Then I give them exactly what they want."

A flicker of emotions appears on her face. Fear. She knows what will happen if I hand her over. She’s smart enough to understand what dark elves do to humans who steal from them.

"I don’t trust you," she says, voice tight.

"I don’t need you to trust me." I let my gaze flick over her lips, down the curve of her throat, before meeting her eyes again. "I need you to obey."

Silence.

After a long, agonizing moment?—

She nods.

A small, sharp movement. A reluctant surrender.

I feel something in me tighten. I’ve won.

And yet… it doesn’t feel like a victory.

"Good," I murmur. "Now, let’s seal the deal."

Her brows knit. "What?"

I reach inside my coat and pull out a small, silver dagger. The blade is thin, wickedly sharp, gleaming under the dim firelight.

She steps back, just slightly, but I catch her wrist before she can put real distance between us.

"Easy," I say softly. "It’s just a cut."

She looks up at me, wary, searching for deception. She won’t find any.

"This is how dark elves swear oaths," I explain, guiding her palm upward. Her skin is soft, warm beneath my fingertips. "A drop of blood, given freely. No magic. Just a promise made in flesh."

She exhales shakily, hesitating. I watch her, waiting. She nods.

Brave little thief.

I bring the blade to her palm, pressing just hard enough to draw a single drop of blood. She doesn’t flinch, just stares at me with something unreadable in her eyes.

I release her hand, lifting the dagger to my own palm. A quick slice, another bead of red welling against my skin.

I press my hand to hers.

Heat.

Her breath stutters. So does mine.

The moment stretches, charged with something neither of us dares name.

Slowly, I pull away.

"It’s done," I say, voice lower than I mean it to be.

Seraphina exhales, flexing her fingers, watching the faint smear of our mingled blood on her skin.

She doesn’t realize it yet.

She’s mine now.

Not in the way she fears—not yet.

But she will be.