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ZARETH

M y footsteps echo across the polished marble floor of Orthani’s inner halls.

Torches set in ornate iron holders cast wavering light along the walls, creating a dance of living shadows around me.

I savor the hush of this corridor, enjoying the momentary privacy before I reach the door ahead.

Tonight has been exceedingly entertaining.

The purna we captured has stirred more excitement in these ancient chambers than I’ve seen in ages.

I pause near a tall mirror, adjusting the black velvet collar of my fine robe.

My hair, a deep crimson, is tied back in a sleek queue to reveal the golden sigils spiraling up the back of my neck—a mark of high-caste psionic mastery.

Dark elves who pass me in the corridors avert their gazes, well aware of my family’s reputation for mental domination.

The thought makes me smile. The fear we inspire is deserved.

Only one person in this entire fortress challenges me in ways I find truly interesting, and she’s the subject of this evening’s outing.

Selene, the purna. I recall the brief but tantalizing encounters we’ve shared.

She survived the dungeon with minimal compliance, and despite the pain inflicted by that brutish soldier, Sathran, she offered only taunts in return.

Impressive. My memory replays how she glared at me during the hearing, refusing to cower even under the combined scrutiny of the city’s highest authorities.

Most purna would have cracked. She, however, defied every attempt to break her.

The notion that her mind remains unbowed excites me beyond measure.

A slender figure materializes from a side corridor.

A servant, timid and silent, opens the heavy door leading into my private wing.

I pass by without a word, stepping into a wide antechamber furnished with plush obsidian seating.

Velvet drapes border tall windows that overlook Orthani’s labyrinth of spires and bridges.

The city sprawls under the moonlight like a glittering labyrinth.

Usually, I find that view more interesting than any captive.

Tonight, my pulse beats with a different kind of anticipation.

At the opposite side of the room, a pair of guards stand alert, each dressed in dark armor accented with the sigils of my house. Behind them, a second door leads to a more secluded suite I reserve for personal—research. The men snap to attention when they notice me. One extends a ring of iron keys.

I wave him off. “Stay outside. I’ll handle her myself.”

Their gazes dart to each other, uncertain.

They know what I’m capable of, yet the purna is no trifling prisoner.

She’s proven herself more resourceful than the average captive.

But their fear of disappointing me outweighs any worry, so they bow and step aside.

I take the keys, feeling the chilled metal press into my palm.

Inside the suite, lamps cast a low, sultry glow across polished floors.

The walls are carved with swirling patterns that reflect my family’s devotion to psionic arts.

Low tables hold an array of instruments—glass vials brimming with faintly smoking liquids, coils of chain engraved with runes, and delicate metal bands used to heighten or suppress certain mental frequencies.

At the center of the chamber is a raised dais.

Selene stands on it, wrists locked in narrow metal cuffs that connect to a short chain overhead.

Not so high as to force her to dangle, but enough to keep her from lunging.

A second set of restraints loop around her ankles, limiting her range of motion to a few meager inches.

Despite these bonds, she holds herself with a fierce kind of dignity.

Dark waves of hair spill over her shoulders, partially hiding the faint silver lines that mark her purna heritage.

Her golden-olive skin looks drawn, evidence that the last day or so hasn’t been kind to her.

Still, there’s a steely resolve in her bearing.

She notices me at once. Her gaze lifts, eyes narrowing with immediate hostility. A shiver of delight traces along my spine. There’s nothing quite like a challenge.

“Zareth,” she says in a low tone. There’s no respect in how she addresses me, no attempt to pretend civility.

I let the door click shut behind me and place the ring of keys on a nearby pedestal. “You remember my name. Good. I was worried the dungeons might have muddled your senses.”

She snorts softly, rolling her shoulders against the restraints. “I’m no one’s plaything, if that’s what you came to check.”

My lips tug upward. “Yet here you stand, chained in my private suite. You might forgive me if I assume otherwise.”

She exhales through her nose, making no effort to disguise her contempt. “You’re a noble. You think everything belongs to Orthani’s upper caste.”

“True, we do claim most things we desire,” I reply. “But you’re unique. Your mind, in particular, intrigues me.”

She scoffs, as though insulted by the suggestion. “You think rummaging in my head is a party trick? Let’s see you try again.”

My blood warms at the challenge. It’s not every day a captive invites me to test their mental defenses. Most cower, begging me to stay out of their heads. Selene instead dares me to attempt it, practically flaunting her resilience. A current of raw tension courses between us.

I step closer, circling her as a hawk might circle prey, trailing my fingertips across her forearm.

The cuffs clink in protest when she tenses.

Even bound, she stands with her chin lifted, eyes tracking my every movement.

The faint glow from a single lamp illuminates the curve of her cheekbones, the parted line of her lips.

“You have no idea the levels of subtlety I can employ,” I murmur, sliding my hand higher. “In the dungeon, you resisted my preliminary approach. I was impressed.”

“Is that what you call it?” She sets her jaw. “I call it you prying into what isn’t yours.”

“Minds are infinitely more interesting than any body part,” I say, ignoring her jab.

My voice lowers as I brush the slightest hint of psionic energy across her aura.

“I learned that the first time I tore open a captive’s secrets.

It was more satisfying than any physical conquest. But your mind is… elusive. That’s a rarity in Orthani.”

She shifts, rattling the chains overhead. Her eyes flash with something more than fear—fury, possibly, but also a spark that might be grudging fascination. “Perhaps you’re used to powerless humans who break at a hint of your magic. I’m not that.”

I grin. “I noticed. And that’s why I insisted you be given to me for further study.”

She exhales, a sound caught between outrage and reluctant intrigue. “Study, is that what you call it?”

I lift a slender metal band from the table. It’s etched with swirling glyphs that amplify mental energies. “Yes. I want to know exactly what strength you possess. Commander Vaelith sees you as a tool to serve Orthani. I see you as something far more… intriguing.”

Her mouth sets in a line. “Then you’ll be disappointed when I show no interest in serving anyone, especially not you.”

I take a step forward, holding the metal band near her temple. “Let’s not lie to each other. We both know the ultimatum that was forced on you. Serve, or die. Perhaps that means you’ll posture until you can wriggle free, but you still stand within these chains.”

She meets my gaze, unwavering. “I stand here only because I haven’t found a way to break them yet. Trust me, that day will come.”

Heat flares in my chest, stoked by the force in her threat.

Goddess, how exhilarating. She’s a phoenix caged by steel, ready to burn if she finds the slightest crack.

I slip the metal band over her head, feeling the subtle shift in psionic flow as the glyphs make contact with her scalp.

It’s not a collar that chokes her physically, but it will allow me to sense her mental presence more acutely, like shining a light into a dim corridor.

Her eyelids flutter for a moment when the band settles.

She stifles a sharp inhale. I sense her immediate attempt to reinforce her mental barriers, walls of determination slamming into place.

My lips part in appreciation. She is cunning.

She’s fought enough mental assaults to know how to lock her mind down.

I exhale, letting my psionic energy seep out like tendrils seeking cracks in stone.

She stiffens, a pained furrow appearing between her brows. “Stay out,” she manages. The chains overhead jostle when she jerks her arms, as though the mere thought of me crawling inside her mind disgusts her. Good. That keeps the tension high, exactly as I prefer.

I let the energy swirl around her thoughts, feeling the first hint of friction.

Her mind bristles with a storm of defiance, fierce and protective.

She’s learned how to shape her mental presence into a fortress ringed with sharpened spikes.

I push gently, and those spikes push back, sending small jabs that make my head throb. Intriguing.

A low groan escapes her lips. “Stop it.”

I tilt my head, watching the lines of strain flit across her face. “Beg me.”

Her eyes blaze open. “Never.”

A wave of savage delight surges through me.

She’s truly captivating. I ease off for a heartbeat, letting her think I’m retreating, then I press forward again with a sharper thrust. My mental presence needles at her defenses, searching for a gap.

Sweat beads along her temple. She bites down on her lip, refusing to cry out.

The longer I pry, the more my own temples pound.

She’s forcing me to exert more power than I expected. She’s no simple purna.