Aurian felt it first in his chest—a low thrum beneath his ribs. Then in the air, thickening like fog, like incense, like the breath of something ancient exhaling through the cracks in the stone.
He staggered back from the bed, heart slamming, eyes wide.
The silks beneath Ellanior shimmered. The candles flared and dimmed—then flared again, brighter, hotter, as if tasting her pleasure. The shadows in the corners of the room stretched like they were watching.
Ein kept moving inside her, slower now, but deeper—his hand fisted in her hair, her legs still trembling around his waist. But even he looked changed. His body glowed faintly, not with light, but with heat—like iron freshly drawn from flame. Something curled around his spine, some presence, pulsing, breathing.
Ellanior moaned again, softer this time. Her head rolled to the side, auburn hair spilled like blood across the pillows.
Just for a blink.
A sigil, ancient and pulsing, burned into the hollow of her throat—one he had only seen once, deep within a forbidden tome: the Mark of the Vessel.
The legend said it hadn't been called forth in centuries.
The Binding of Flesh and Flame.
A rite that could only awaken when a woman of raw will, one who ruled without bowing, gave herself fully. Not through fear. Not through ritual. But through lust so deep it broke her.
Ellanior hadn't just surrendered.
She'd opened a gate.
The air in the chamber twisted. A whisper slid past Aurian's ear, though no one else spoke.
"She is chosen now."
They lay tangled in the silken sheets, breath slowing, limbs still wrapped around each other like they were afraid to let go.
The fire crackled softly in the hearth. Outside, the wind whispered against the tall windows, but inside, everything was still. Safe. Sacred.
Ellanior rested her head against Aurian's chest, her fingers tracing slow, hesitant circles over the faint scar at his hip. Aurian's hand stroked her hair, steady, patient, listening without asking.
Her voice was barely more than a breath, fragile and raw.
"I was sold here," she said. "Did you know that?"
Aurian said nothing—just held her tighter.
"Not with chains. Not openly. My family was noble, but land-poor. My father brokered a marriage to the Baron when I was seventeen. A dowry disguised as diplomacy."
"I never gave myself to him," she said. "Not really."
Aurian's fingers stilled beneath her, the weight of those words settling between them like a shadow.
"He was the Baron," she continued, "but I was never his. Not in any way that mattered."
She swallowed hard, as if the next words were lodged deep in her throat.
"I've lived in this house like a ghost… surrounded by walls, by eyes, by silence. Lonely—even when there are people. Even when there's noise."
Her gaze dropped down to his, searching, vulnerable.
"No warmth. No kindness. No one to hold me. Just… duty and distance."
A thin, bitter smile flickered at the edge of her lips.
"He touched me once. A long time ago. It was cold. Empty. Like a stranger's hand."
She looked away, eyes glistening.
"I never knew what it meant to be wanted. To be chosen."
Aurian's hand moved to cup her face, gentle but firm.
"You are chosen," he said softly. "By me. Baroness"
Her breath hitched, a quiet surrender in the stillness.
She flinched almost imperceptibly, as if the word itself was a weight.
"No," she whispered, her breath trembling. "Call me Ellanior."
The name felt like a secret shared between them, fragile and fierce.
He searched her eyes, surprised by how much relief that one word carried.
"Ellanior," he repeated, tasting it like a prayer.
"For the first time in a long time," she whispered, "I'm not alone."
They stayed like that, wrapped in the firelight and each other, as the night deepened—two souls reaching out of their solitude, discovering something fragile and fierce: connection. But before they could be lost again— Knock.
Ellanior froze.
Aurian's eyes lifted to hers. Both of them, still listening.
It came again. A third knock—louder. Slurred words followed.
"Ellanior. It's me. I'm back."
Her breath caught.
"He wasn't supposed to return until next week," she whispered.
Aurian's brow tightened. "Did he know?"
"No," she said. "No one knows."
Another pound against the door. The voice turned plaintive.
"Open up, my dove. Don't be cruel."
Aurian rose silently, the sheet tucked low around his hips, but stayed hidden in the shadows. Ellanior stood slowly from the bed, no robe this time. Just firelight and defiance.
She crossed the room, heart pounding—not from fear, but from the adrenaline of being caught in the edge of something forbidden and thrilling.
She opened the door a crack.
The Baron stood there, red-faced and swaying, his hunting cloak still caked with mud.
"I thought you were in the mountains," she said coolly.
"I came back early," he muttered, voice thick with wine. "Wanted to see you. Missed the scent of your skin."
Behind her, Aurian moved—soundless, bare-chested, a predator cloaked in quiet. His hand slid around her waist, unseen by the man beyond the door.
"I killed a stag with silver antlers," the Baron rambled. "Thought of you the whole way down. I want to feel you tonight, Ellanior. Let me in."
Aurian's mouth brushed her shoulder, then her throat, and she gasped—not from the Baron's words, but from the heat blooming beneath her skin.
"Please," the Baron whispered. "Don't make me beg."
"You're drunk," she said, though her voice trembled now for another reason entirely.
Aurian's hands moved slowly, worshipfully, sliding up her bare torso. She leaned back into him, her body an open rebellion.
"I'll be good," the Baron mumbled. "I swear it. Just one night."
She turned her head, lips grazing Aurian's as the door stood open just inches.
"I'm not yours," she whispered—not to the Baron, but to the man kissing her now, fingers sliding over her skin like a vow.
"Ellanior?" the Baron called again.
She gave him nothing.
Aurian kissed her deeply, and she melted into it, right there in the golden spill of firelight—her moan soft, caught in his mouth.
Outside, the Baron sighed. "You'll come back to me eventually," he muttered.
She reached for the door—Aurian still pressed against her, hands roaming—and slowly shut it with one hand, never breaking the kiss.
The latch clicked.
And just like that, the Baron was shut out—left in the hall, whispering to a woman who had already chosen someone else.
Inside, she let Aurian lift her again, her legs wrapping around his hips.
"Let him wait," she breathed, her voice fierce and shaking.
And in the warm hush of the room, they disappeared into each other again, while the man who once believed he owned her stood behind a closed door, never knowing how close he had come to the truth.