“I don’t care why it bothers you.”

  “You should.” He stepped close enough that the heat of him rolled across my skin. “That fire—it’s darker than you realise.”

  “I don’t care,” I hissed again, but the truth was a knot in my stomach, twisting tight. What the hell did he mean?

  Ashterion’s smile widened. “Black fire isn’t natural,” he said, his tone intimate in its menace. “It’s not a gift like wind or flame or ice. It’s a corruption. So, I must wonder…” He tilted his head. “Did you come upon it naturally… or did Varyth create you?”

  I blinked.

  What?

  “No one created me,” I said. “It happened when I crossed the Veil.”

  His expression flickered with unease. But he smoothed it away instantly, that armoured composure sliding back into place.

  I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. I was too busy trying to push down the sick churn in my gut.

  Ashterion folded his hands behind his back, pacing leisurely now. “You know,” he said casually. “Black flame wielders haven’t existed in millennia. They were once the most powerful warriors in Nyxaria—feared, unmatched. Touched by power darker than even we could understand.”

  His eyes slid back to mine. “That power isn’t born. It’s taken. Pulled from the shadows and forced into the vessel. And it comes at a cost.” He smiled, cruel and slow. “Eventually, the corruption drove them mad. And when they fell, they didn’t fall quietly. They had to be hunted. Eliminated.”

  I stood frozen, my thoughts spiralling.

  Eliminated.

  “You’re saying,” I managed, throat dry, “I’m going to go mad?”

  “I’m saying you don’t even know what you are.”

  “You’re lying,” I breathed, though the words felt hollow even as they left my lips.

  “Am I?” Ashterion’s voice was almost gentle. “Think, fireling. Have you felt it yet? The whispers in the dark? The hunger that gnaws at you when the fire burns brightest?”

  I had. Gods help me, I had. In the moments when the black flames consumed everything around me, when they licked across my skin like living things—there was something else there. Something that felt ancient and hungry and not entirely mine.

  “What does Varyth truly want from you?” Ashterion cut through my words like a blade. “What are you to him, really?”

  I bristled. “That’s none of your concern.”

  Ashterion hummed, considering my words. Then, in a movement so smooth I barely registered it, he leaned back against the edge of the table, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s claimed you. I can see it in the way you speak of him, the way you defend him. The way you wear his scent as armour.” His gaze dragged over me. “And Varyth’s choices tend to have… undesirable outcomes. I’d hate to have to kill him if he finds himself creating a mess of you.”

  The threat was unmistakable, delivered with such casual cruelty that it stole my breath. The blood drained from my face, but I shoved down my fear. Instead, I let anger rise, hot and fierce, burning away everything else.

  “The only ones creating a mess,” I said, “are you and your wife.”

  Ashterion’s expression shifted, the change so subtle I would have missed it if I hadn’t been watching him closely. A tightening around his eyes, a slight tension in his jaw—I’d struck a nerve without meaning to.

  “You know nothing of my wife.”

  “Oh, I know plenty.” A laugh bubbled up, humourless. “I know you’re her bitch.”

  Ashterion went preternaturally still. His fingers dug into his biceps hard enough that his knuckles went white.

  But I didn’t stop. “I know she has you on a leash. When she tugs, you obey.” I let my smile sharpen, my tone mocking. “While she tortures the rest of us, you stand there. Her perfect little pet.”

  Ashterion’s expression turned lethal. Violence rippled beneath the surface, coiled tight, ready to strike. For the first time since the conversation began, I wondered if I’d pushed too far.

  But, Ashterion merely hummed, low and thoughtful.

  “We’re done for today,” he said, pushing off the table.

  Relief should have settled in my chest, but it didn’t.

  Because then he smiled. A slow curve of his lips. “Though,” he mused, “I do find your company… unusual.”

  Unusual. Like I was some fascinating anomaly.

  My throat tightened. “You—” I started, but my voice caught, unable to find words for the horror curling inside me.

  His smile remained. “So, I think I shall have you brought back. Soon.”

  Something inside me clawed upward, frantic and voiceless. My body tensed, like it couldn’t decide whether to fight or flee—or collapse. I had expected pain. Expected cruelty. This was so much worse.

  Ashterion waved a lazy a hand. The doors opened, and two guards stepped forward, their presence a sudden, suffocating force. Hands seized my arms, yanking me away from the table. I twisted, my breath coming hard and fast, my heartbeat a wild thing in my chest.

  Ashterion watched my struggle, his expression amused. “Until next time.”

  I thrashed harder, panic curling around my ribs.

  No. No, no, no.

  I had survived so much—but something about this, about him, sent terror lancing through me in a way I didn’t understand.

  The moment the guards deposited me back in our dungeon Varyth surged toward me. But he froze as he took in the sight of me. Clean. Freshly clothed.

  “Where did they—” Varyth trailed off, scanning me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. “What happened?”

  I couldn’t speak. Instead, I moved past him, sinking down against the stone wall, drawing my knees to my chest. The others watched me silently, their expressions a mixture of concern and wariness.

  “Ashterion,” I said finally, the name bitter on my tongue. “He had me brought to him. Alone.”

  The cell went utterly silent. The shift in the air was palpable, as each of them processed my words. Brynelle and Darian both trembled visibly.

  “Did he hurt you?” Varyth’s voice was dangerous, calm in a way that didn’t conceal the fury beneath.

  I swallowed, the weight of Ashterion’s attention clinging to me. “He wanted to talk.”

  “Talk?” Fenric echoed from the corner, disbelief evident in his tone.

  Varyth’s jaw clenched as he took another step toward me. “What did he do to you?”

  “Nothing,” I said, the word sounding hollow even to my own ears. “He watched me. Asked questions. He didn’t like that I was dirty, so he made me bathe.”

  Varyth’s hands reached for me, hesitating just shy of contact before he finally knelt beside me, close enough that his warmth brushed over me, but not to touch.

  “What kind of questions?”

  I stared at the wall opposite us as I spoke. “He asked about my choices. About my alignment with Luceren.”

  Linc cursed under his breath, while Shaelith’s face hardened, turning cold and calculating. Brynelle moved closer to me, her movements cautious, as if approaching a wounded animal.

  “Did he say why?”

  I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “He said I was intriguing. That he was curious about humans.” The words were ash in my mouth. “He said he wanted to bring me back. That he found my company unusual.”

  Varyth went completely still beside me, his breathing so controlled that for a moment I thought he’d stopped completely.

  I didn’t dare tell them what Ashterion had said about my fire.

  When I finally looked at Varyth, his face had gone pale, his eyes burning with a quiet, lethal wrath. “He won’t touch you again.”

  I gave him a hollow smile. “I don’t think we have much say in the matter.”

  Varyth moved before I could process it, before I could pull away—if I even wanted to. His arms wrapped around me, solid and warm, pulling me into his chest with a careful, unyielding strength. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

  My fingers clenched in the fabric of his tunic. I let myself sink into him. I couldn’t stop myself. Not when the memory of Ashterion slithered under my skin. A shudder ran through me, and Varyth’s arms tightened. His breath was steady against the top of my head, his heartbeat a strong, rhythmic presence beneath my cheek.

  “I hate him.” The words were raw, unravelling at the edges. “I hate the way he looks at me. Like I’m—like he owns me.”

  Varyth’s hold became almost crushing. “He does not own you.”

  I clenched my eyes shut, pressing my forehead against his shoulder. I wanted to believe that. I needed to believe that. But the weight of Ashterion’s words burrowed in my bones, in the promise that he would bring me back.

  That he wanted to.

  I curled closer into Varyth, trying to banish the memory of Ashterion’s gaze.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  Because Ashterion wasn’t just playing with my pain. He was studying me. And I had no idea what he would do once he figured out what he wanted.

  51

  The silk ropes burned Ashterion’s wrists, the cruel twist of their restraints digging deeper with every breath. His body lay stretched across the bed, his muscles aching from both the physical strain and the tightness of the bindings.

  His gaze flicked toward Xyliria, standing at the edge of the room, the glint of her eyes catching the dim light.

  Ryleth was closer. Too close. Ashterion could feel the press of his presence in the air, thick and suffocating.

  The scent of bergamot and blood clung to Ryleth like a second skin. He moved with predatory grace, circling the bed with the patience of someone who had all the time in the world to inflict his particular brand of torment.

  “It’s been too long, little sovereign,” Ryleth purred. The name made Ashterion’s skin crawl. “I’ve missed our... sessions.”

  Ashterion kept his expression blank, his breathing measured. He had learned long ago that reactions only fed Ryleth’s appetite for cruelty. The male thrived on fear, on the subtle tells that betrayed pain or discomfort.

  “Nothing to say?” Ryleth’s fingers trailed along Ashterion’s bare chest, nails scraping hard enough to leave thin red lines in their wake.

  From across the room, Xyliria laughed, the sound crystalline. “He’s been sulking ever since our little meeting with Varyth and his pet,” she said, settling into an ornate chair. “Perhaps you can remind him of his place, Ryleth.”

  Ryleth’s smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed too sharp in the candlelight. “Oh, I intend to.” His hand moved lower, fingers digging into the tender flesh below Ashterion’s ribs. “Xyliria tells me you’ve been... questioning her methods.”

  Ashterion’s jaw tightened fractionally—the only outward sign he allowed himself. “I question nothing.”

  Ryleth’s fingers pressed deeper, targeting old wounds.

  “Then why did you stop the little display with the human?” His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned closer, his breath hot against Ashterion’s ear. “Why did you say enough when no one asked for your opinion?”

  Ashterion kept his breathing steady, even as Ryleth’s hand moved to his throat, applying just enough pressure to remind him how easily his windpipe could be crushed. “The girl was about to pass out. Dead captives serve no purpose.”

  Ryleth’s breath was hot against Ashterion’s ear. “Always so practical.” His fingers traced the line of Ashterion’s jaw, forcing his face to turn. “Or perhaps there’s another reason?”

  Ashterion met his gaze with practiced indifference. “There is no other reason.”

  Ryleth’s mouth curved into a cruel smile. Without warning, his teeth sank into the tender skin along Ashterion’s jaw, just below his ear. Not deep enough to tear, but hard enough to leave marks.

  Ashterion’s breath hitched involuntarily, his body going rigid against the restraints.

  “There we are,” Ryleth murmured against his skin. “Let’s try again.”

  Xyliria’s silk skirts rustled as she approached. “He’s been distracted lately. Distant.” Her hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Ashterion’s face with mock tenderness. “Ever since the human displayed that shadow fire.”

  “Shadow fire,” Ryleth echoed, his tone contemplative. “How fascinating. I thought that magic died centuries ago.”

  “As did we all.” Xyliria’s voice held an edge of irritation.

  Ryleth’s grip tightened on Ashterion’s throat, not enough to cut off air completely but enough to make each breath a deliberate effort. “And yet our dear Ashterion seems remarkably unsurprised by its reappearance.”

  “I’m surprised by very little these days,” Ashterion replied, carefully level despite the pressure on his windpipe.

  “Hmm.” Ryleth’s other hand traced patterns across Ashterion’s chest, following old scars with intimate familiarity. “Tell me, what do you know about shadow fire that we don’t?”

  “I’ve told you everything I know. Shadow fire shouldn’t exist in a human.”

  “Shouldn’t,” Ryleth repeated, his voice lilting with amusement. “And yet it does. Which means either our understanding is flawed, or someone has been very, very clever.”

  Xyliria leaned forward, her dark eyes gleaming with malicious interest. “Tell him about your little private meeting, husband.”

  Ashterion’s muscles tensed against the restraints. He should have known she would find out. Xyliria had eyes everywhere in this palace.

  “Ah,” Ryleth’s smile turned predatory. “Secret meetings with the human. How... illuminating.”

  “I was interrogating her,” Ashterion replied, forcing his body to relax. “Trying to understand where the power came from.”

  Ryleth’s fingers danced across his chest, each touch calculated to find the spots that would cause the most discomfort. “And what did you learn from this... assessment?”

  “Nothing of value,” Ashterion replied. “She’s untrained. Volatile. The power manifests without control or purpose.”

  Xyliria circled to the other side of the bed, her silken skirts whispering against the stone floor. “And yet you felt the need to clean her up first? To feed her? Such... hospitality.”

  “I needed her coherent for questioning.”

  “A convenient explanation,” Ryleth murmured, his fingers sliding lower, tracing the ridges of Ashterion’s abdomen. “Though I wonder why you didn’t simply compel the answers from her. Your shadows could have... extracted the truth with far less effort.”

  “The human’s mind is protected. Whether by Varyth’s magic or her own, I couldn’t say.”

  “Or perhaps you simply didn’t try.” Xyliria’s laugh was like glass breaking. “You’ve always had a weakness for broken things, husband.”

  “She’s not broken.” The words escaped before he could catch them.

  The room stilled. Ryleth’s hand paused its torment, and Xyliria’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

  “Not broken,” she repeated, each syllable dripping with suspicion. “How interesting that you would care about her condition at all.”

  Ashterion kept his face blank. “I meant only that her will remains intact. Which makes her a potential threat if not properly contained.”

  Ryleth leaned closer, his weight shifting onto Ashterion’s chest, making each breath a struggle. “A threat? One little human with unstable magic?”

  The pressure increased, but Ashterion remained motionless, even as his ribs protested under Ryleth’s weight. “Untrained power is often the most dangerous kind.”

  “True enough,” Ryleth agreed, though his tone suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Perhaps...” His fingers trailed up Ashterion’s jaw. “Perhaps what the human needs is a proper teacher. Someone who understands the true nature of pain and control.”

  Xyliria’s interest visibly piqued, her posture shifting as she leaned forward. “What are you suggesting?”

  Ryleth’s smile spread slowly across his face. “Allow me to break her for you, my lady. I could extract every secret, every drop of power from her pretty little body.” His fingers tightened against Ashterion’s throat. “I would make her scream until her voice gives out, until she begs for death. And then I’d make her serve you willingly.”

  Ashterion’s heart slammed against his ribs, dread flooding his veins. The mere thought of Ryleth’s hands on the female—of his particular brand of cruelty unleashed on her—made his shadows writhe beneath his skin, desperate to lash out.

  “Break her?” Xyliria’s lips curved into a delighted smile. “That would be... entertaining.”

  “No.” The word escaped before Ashterion could stop it, raw and immediate.

  Ryleth’s head snapped toward him, eyes flashing with cold fury. “No? Did I hear that correctly, little sovereign?”

  Ashterion’s mind raced, shadows coiling beneath his skin as panic threatened to overwhelm him. But he couldn’t show it. Couldn’t reveal the sudden, visceral dread that had seized his heart.

  “Let me do it. The human has seen my power. She fears me already.” He forced himself to meet Xyliria’s eyes, to keep his expression controlled. “I can break her for you.”

  Ryleth’s fingers dug painfully into Ashterion’s throat. “Explain.”

  Ashterion found his gaze. “I’ve been your subject for centuries. Learned your methods. Your techniques.” He tilted his head toward Ryleth. “You’ve been a thorough teacher.”

  Ryleth chuckled, the sound scraping against Ashterion’s nerves. “You think you’ve learned enough to break someone like her?”

  “I know I have,” Ashterion replied, forcing confidence into his voice while his mind raced. “She’s already responding to me. The fear is there, beneath her defiance.”

  Xyliria studied him, her head tilting slightly in consideration. “You wish to prove yourself.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Ashterion answered anyway. “Yes. Let me demonstrate what I’ve learned.”

  “And if you fail?”

  Ashterion met her challenge unflinchingly. “I won’t.”