I woke up choking on pain.
Not the sharp kind that faded after a scream, but something deeper—heavier. A pressure wrapped around my chest like iron bands tightening with every breath, pulling inward, refusing to let go. For a terrifying moment, I thought the execution had failed and this was what dying actually felt like.
I gasped and bolted upright.
The world spun violently before settling into focus. I was no longer on the execution platform. Stone walls surrounded me, smooth and ancient, carved with glowing sigils that pulsed softly in shades of blue and silver. Heavy curtains covered tall windows, blocking out the morning light, and the air smelled faintly of incense and old magic.
A bedroom.
Large. Luxurious.
Very much not a cell.
That realization unsettled me more than shackles ever had.
My hand flew to my chest.
There was no wound. No blood. And yet something was undeniably there—an invisible weight lodged beneath my ribs, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. Each throb carried awareness with it, a quiet, relentless presence that did not belong to me.
The contract.
Memory crashed over me in jagged fragments: the blade slicing my palm, Lucien Draven's unyielding gaze, the explosion of magic as my soul locked into something I hadn't fully understood.
My stomach twisted.
I swung my legs off the bed, desperate to move, to do something. The moment my bare feet touched the cold stone floor, agony detonated through my chest. White-hot pain lanced outward, stealing the strength from my legs.
I cried out and collapsed to my knees.
It felt as if something inside me had been yanked violently, stretched too far, too fast. My vision blurred, and I clutched at my chest, gasping for air that wouldn't come.
"What—what did you do to me?" I whispered hoarsely.
The pain eased only slightly when I leaned forward, curling inward instinctively.
Footsteps approached.
I barely had time to lift my head before the door opened.
Lucien Draven stepped inside.
He looked exactly as he had on the execution platform—composed, controlled, terrifyingly calm. His dark coat was gone, replaced with simple black attire, but his presence filled the room just as completely. The air itself seemed to bend around him.
His gaze dropped to where I knelt on the floor.
"You shouldn't be standing," he said.
Anger flared hot and immediate, cutting through the pain. "You don't get to give me orders."
Lucien closed the door behind him with a quiet click. "I do now."
The words settled like chains around my spine.
I forced myself upright, using the bed for support. The pain protested, flaring sharply, but I refused to collapse again in front of him. "What did you do to me?"
"I saved your life," he replied evenly.
"You enslaved me."
Something flickered in his eyes—gone too quickly to name. He took a step closer.
The pull in my chest intensified instantly. My magic reacted without my permission, stirring beneath my skin like a restless animal sensing a predator. The closer he came, the harder it was to breathe.
"I bound your soul to mine," Lucien said. "As agreed."
"I didn't agree," I snapped. "I was forced."
"You were given a choice," he corrected. "It was simply an unpleasant one."
I laughed bitterly. "Death or this. Very generous."
He stopped a few paces away. The pressure between us was overwhelming now, like gravity itself had shifted to revolve around him.
"You're alive," he said. "The bond will stabilize."
"It feels like you're inside my chest."
His gaze sharpened. "That's because I am."
A chill ran down my spine.
"Explain it," I demanded. "All of it. If you've chained me to you, I deserve to know how tight the chain is."
Lucien studied me for a long moment. Then he turned and walked toward the far side of the room.
The pain hit instantly.
It wasn't a warning—it was violent. Ripping. I screamed as my body reacted before my mind could, stumbling forward as if dragged by an invisible force. My knees nearly buckled again.
Lucien stopped.
The pain vanished abruptly, leaving me shaking and breathless.
"That," he said calmly, "is distance."
I stared at him in horror. "You did that on purpose."
"Yes."
"How far?" I asked, my voice trembling despite my effort to control it.
"Several rooms," he replied. "Beyond that, the bond destabilizes. Prolonged separation would be fatal."
The words landed like a death sentence.
"So I can't leave," I whispered.
"You can," Lucien said. "You just can't leave me."
Rage surged, sharp and desperate. "And if I try?"
"You won't get far."
The certainty in his voice terrified me.
"Rule two," he continued. "You will not act against my direct orders if doing so endangers the Empire—or me."
"And if I refuse?"
The bond tightened subtly, a dull ache blooming beneath my ribs. Not punishment. A reminder.
Lucien watched my reaction closely. "The bond enforces cooperation. Resistance causes pain. Prolonged defiance causes worse."
I clenched my fists. "So I'm a weapon."
"You're a stabilizer," he corrected. "A necessary one."
"For how long?"
"For as long as the Empire needs you."
I scoffed. "How convenient."
"Rule three," Lucien said, ignoring the comment. "Your magic is no longer solely yours."
My head snapped up. "What does that mean?"
He extended his hand, palm up. "Give me your magic."
"No."
Pain exploded instantly.
I screamed, doubling over as the bond constricted violently. My magic surged in panic, wild and uncontrollable, tearing at me from the inside as if trying to escape.
Lucien didn't move.
"Again," he said firmly.
Tears blurred my vision. Trembling, I reached inward, grasping the chaos that had always defined my power—and let it flow outward.
The moment it touched him, everything changed.
The pain vanished.
Warmth flooded my chest, spreading through my limbs, steady and grounding. My magic didn't burn or lash out—it settled, guided effortlessly by something stronger than me.
Lucien inhaled slowly.
"Good," he murmured.
The intimacy of it made my skin crawl. I yanked my magic back violently, gasping.
"Don't ever do that again," I said hoarsely.
"You'll need to," he replied calmly. "When our magic aligns, you're stable. When it doesn't, you're dangerous."
Silence stretched between us.
Finally, he turned toward the door. "You'll remain here tonight. Tomorrow, we begin training."
"Training for what?" I asked.
He paused. "To survive the bond."
Then, quieter, "Others will come for you."
"For me?" I whispered.
"You're no longer disposable," Lucien said. "That makes you valuable. And in this Empire… valuable things don't stay safe for long."
The door closed.
I sank back onto the bed, chest aching—not from pain, but from understanding.
I wasn't free.
I wasn't dead.
I was bound.
And somewhere deep inside me, beneath fear and fury, the bond pulsed softly—as if it was only just beginning to wake.