It was a perfect day that day. The lower market was bustling, full of life and noise, with vendors shouting about their wares and the smell of roasting meats in the air. I had Teran with me, of course—my pet, my half-mate—and we were wandering from shop to shop, moving through the crowd with the fluidity of those who had everything in control. My usual guards shadowed us yet made sure to stay out of sight so as to not break the moment.

It had been days since the last time we'd indulged, and I was feeling a sort of itch in me—something raw, something that wanted more. My pet had been behaving, if you could call it that. He kissed for food, though he still had that damned stubborn streak in him that made my teeth grind. Every time I touched him, I could feel the tension in his body, as though he were still fighting me every step of the way.

But that day, that day was different. I felt the heat of him beside me, the way his presence seemed to fill the air around us. His silence was a game now, and I had learned the rules well. I controlled him. I made him bend to my will, and I revelled in the subtle ways he fought back.

We passed a stall selling dried fruit, and I could see his eyes flicker to it, almost like he was starving even despite the rich food I'd been granting him. His defiance was an armour, but his body gave away more than he realised. With a smile, I reached for the dried fruit, not bothering to pay for something so trivial. The merchant didn't dare speak out against me.

“Here, pet," I said, holding it out to him. “Open wide."

He froze. For a moment, I thought I saw a flash of something in his eyes—a flicker of anger, of pride, maybe even disgust—but it was too fleeting. It was always fleeting. He would give in eventually, I reasoned. He already had, as I had pridefully pointed out several times.

“I'm not some trained animal for you to feed," he said, his voice laced with a faltering defiance - there was no real fight in him anymore, and It was for that reason I allowed him to speak so clearly.

I felt a surge of something in my chest—annoyance, but more than that, satisfaction. He was like a pet, whether he admitted it or not. I leaned in closer, pressing the fruit toward his lips with a deliberate, teasing smile, not even bothering to pretend that his resistance meant anything.

“No? Well, you'll eat this anyway," I said softly, my voice dripping with amusement. “It's a reward. For being such a good pet the other night."

I saw the hesitation in his eyes, faint but undeniable, before he leaned forward. His mouth parted just enough to let me feed him, and the thrill of it coursed through me. This small act of submission, insignificant to anyone else, was a triumph to me. I let my claws graze his lips, savouring the contact and the warmth that lingered for the briefest moment.

He swallowed the fruit slowly, and I watched him, waiting for the familiar ripple of frustration that usually came. But instead, his expression barely shifted—flat, lifeless even. The thought barely registered before I dismissed it.

When I reached up to pat his head, his body tensed under my touch, though he didn't pull away. I hesitated, my paw resting there longer than I intended, wondering at his silence. Normally, he'd glare, roll his eyes, or offer some subtle display of rebellion. Today, he simply chewed the fruit, his gaze unfocused.

“Good," I murmured, pulling my paw back. He blinked, but whatever response I expected—a smirk, a muttered word, anything—didn't come.

I offered him another piece of fruit, holding it in my claws just as I had the first. He hesitated again, longer this time. For a moment, I thought he might refuse, but then he opened his mouth, almost mechanically in movement.

The thrill was dimmer this time, clouded by something I couldn't name. As he took the fruit, I let my gaze linger on him, searching for... something. His jaw tightened as he chewed, the lines of his face drawn tight.

“You're so strange sometimes," I teased lightly, hoping to coax a reaction from him. But he didn't meet my eyes.

It was only as I drew my paw back, claws brushing his lips again, that I caught it—just a flicker, quick enough that I almost missed it. His eyes were... wrong. Not angry. Not stubborn or defiant, like they so often were.

Upset.

Not angry, not furious, but upset—like there was something deep inside him that was unravelling, something that I hadn't expected. The emotion in his gaze was subtle, but it hit me hard. I paused, the weight of the moment catching me off guard. I'd been pushing him for so long, prodding at the seams of his control, testing how far I could go, and now, in that moment, I realised—just for a second—that I had touched something I hadn't meant to.

I leaned back, the brief silence between us stretching, uncomfortable.

“What's wrong?" I asked, though the words came out colder than I intended.

He didn't look at me right away. His gaze shifted to the ground, and I could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his shoulders were hunched. It was as if he were trying to hold himself together, but the cracks were starting to show.

I almost hated how it made me feel. His weakness, his vulnerability—it was unsettling in a way I couldn't quite explain. I wasn't used to seeing him like this. He had always been so defiant, so wrapped up in that quiet anger of his. To see him… this way? It was frustrating. It wasn't supposed to happen. It was different, also, from that surrender he had shown when I'd managed an embrace out of him.

“Why are you upset?" I pressed sharply, though I knew the answer. It was my fault, wasn't it? I had pushed him too far, made him bend until he had nowhere left to turn but into something that wasn't anger, wasn't rebellion.

He didn't respond immediately, and when he finally did, his voice was softer than usual. “I'm not upset," he muttered, though the words didn't convince me. There was no fire in them, no heat. Just an empty, distant tone that made my stomach tighten.

I should have pushed him further, made him confess, made him bend to me again. But something inside me stopped me. For the first time since I'd begun our little game, I wasn't sure how far I wanted to take it. The thought unsettled me.

I moved closer to him, close enough to see the way his face had softened, how the tension in his body seemed to have eased just a little.

“You're lying," I growled quietly, my voice barely audible but firm. “Why are you so upset?"

His gaze met mine then, and for the briefest moment, I saw something—something raw in his eyes that I wasn't prepared for. It was the first time I had truly seen him, not as a pet, not as a prize to be claimed, but as someone who had been worn down by everything around him.

But before I could say anything more, he looked away, the moment slipping from us like sand through my claws. “It doesn't matter," he said, his tone clipped. “It's nothing."

I was left there, feeling strangely empty. The thrill I had expected to feel, the satisfaction of bending him to my will, suddenly felt like something hollow. The need to push further, to see how much I could break him, was still there, but now… now it felt different.

I could feel the shift in my own mood, the frustration building in a way I hadn't anticipated. I wasn't used to being challenged in this way.

“Don't lie to me," I said softly, but this time, there was no teasing in my voice. It was genuine. And that was something I didn't quite understand.

There was no answer. Instead, he shifted slightly, his attempt at movement restricted by the chain. With a low sigh, I began to slither, tugging him gently along. He followed, steps careful and measured, the distance between us widening just enough that I couldn't truly reach him. For the first time in days, I found myself feeling unsettled—unwilling to break the silence between us.

The moment hung between us, thick with something I couldn't quite place. As much as I hated to admit it, his upset had managed to shift something in me—something I didn't want to acknowledge. It made the air feel heavy, the mood sour. I hated it. He was supposed to be my pet, my prize, something I could manipulate and control at will. His discomfort was supposed to thrill me, but right now… it didn't. It made me feel off, like something was slipping.

With a sharp, frustrated breath, I turned away from him, my tail flicking against the ground. “Fine," I muttered, my voice sharp but low, as if I were speaking to myself. “I'll let you eat on your own, then."

I could feel his eyes on me, watching me as I slithered ahead, pulling him with me as we made our way through the town. The bustle of the market faded in the distance as we reached a small, quiet eatery, one that didn't bother with the unnecessary luxuries of the higher-born places. The food here was simple—hearty and filling—and for once, I didn't care if it was fancy or not. All I wanted was some silence.

I pushed the door open with an almost unnecessary force, the small bell above the door ringing in protest as we stepped inside. The owner—an older dragoness who was busy cleaning the tables—looked up at me with a weak smile, but I wasn't in the mood for pleasantries, nor would I have engaged with such a lowborn serpent regardless. I motioned toward a small table in the corner, away from the other patrons, and she quickly shoved the dragons outside, emptying it for us in mere moments.

My pet followed me in, his footsteps slow and unsure, as if he were still processing what had just happened. I wasn't going to push him for answers. Not now, at least. The thought of pressing him again only made the discomfort in my chest flare, and I needed a moment to breathe.

I sat down at the table and, without a word, waved away the server who approached with a menu. My usual order was already on the way—it had been the second I'd stepped through the entrance.

“I'll let you eat this time," I said, the words coming out a gruff snarl. I didn't even glance at Teran as I spoke. “By yourself."

He blinked, looking at me like I'd just offered him the impossible.

"Why?" He asked, the question sending a rush of irritation through me, even despite the relative simplicity of the inquiry.

"Because..." It was a good question indeed. "Because you're weak enough as it is. A sick pet provides no entertainment to his master." I felt I'd kept my tone even, but the flash of suspicion in his dark eyes made me believe he hadn't completely bought it. Regardless, we sat in silence until two trays of food were brought to us. After having a server test some of the pieces for poison, I began my own meal, idly watching the human in front of me.

His gaze flicked to the food set in front of him—roasted vegetables, fresh bread, and a savoury stew that smelled far better than I was prepared to admit. His eyes widened slightly, but the confusion in them was obvious. He had no idea what was going on, and honestly, neither did I.

“What?" I said, my voice tight, trying to mask the unease I felt. “You're not hungry?"

His lips parted, as if to protest, but something held him back. I could see it in his eyes—the wariness, the suspicion. He was used to me controlling everything. Feeding him, touching him, everything. I didn't give him room to take care of himself. And now that I was letting him… the tension between us was even worse than before. It was uncomfortable.

He hesitated, then cautiously reached for the food. His fingers brushed the bowl, almost as if he expected it to be taken from him at any moment. But I didn't stop him. I just watched. Watched as he finally dug into the stew, taking a long, hungry sip from the bowl.

For the first time since we'd been together, I let him do it without interference. No teasing, no feeding him myself, no control. I didn't want to make him feel weak, like a toy to be played with. And yet, the absence of that power left a strange emptiness in me. I wanted... both.

I could see him glancing at me every so often, as though waiting for me to say something, to do something. He was confused, but also... relieved, in a way. His shoulders slowly relaxed, his movements becoming more natural.

I placed my arm on the table, and my snout atop my palm, letting the silence stretch between us. I didn't have to fill the space with words. He was eating, and that was enough for the time being.

I watched him for a while, noticing the way he ate—carefully, cautiously, but with hunger in his movements. There was something so… ordinary about it. Something that made him seem less like the pet I had acquired and more like the person he truly was. My pet, yes, but also just Teran. Was there a difference?

As the meal went on, the air shifted again. The tension that had clouded us earlier seemed to evaporate, and for a fleeting moment, I didn't feel the need to control everything. I didn't feel the urge to dominate him or play games with him. I just… let him be.

He wasn't angry anymore, not in the way he usually was. He wasn't defiant, not quite. But there was something new there—something quieter, deeper. Maybe it was frustration, or something else that I wasn't prepared to acknowledge.

I leaned forward, allowing myself a moment to relax, my eyes settling languidly on him as he finished eating. It was the first time I'd truly allowed him to eat without any strings attached, and I found that it didn't feel as satisfying as I had imagined. There was no thrill, no rush of control. It was simply… ordinary.

And that realization hit me harder than I expected.

As he finished, he wiped his mouth with a napkin and looked at me. His eyes were more guarded than before, but the usual fire—the anger and rebellion—had faded. Instead, he looked… thoughtful. Conflicted.

I didn't say anything at first, just watching him. But I could feel the weight of the moment building between us. “What's going on in that head of yours, Ter- pet?" I asked softly, the words almost slipping out before I could stop them.

He didn't answer right away, and when he did, his voice was low, almost tentative. “I don't know anymore," he muttered, staring down at his empty bowl. “It's like I'm stuck."

I didn't know what to say to that. I didn't want to admit it, but hearing those words from him… it stung in a way I didn't want to acknowledge. I had created this situation. I had trapped him, made him play by my rules, and now he was… stuck.

The weight of that realization settled into my chest like a stone. I thought I enjoyed this game, the power, the control. But now, with him looking so vulnerable, so defeated, I wasn't so sure. The control I held didn't feel as satisfying as it once did. Not without the pushback, not without some energy.

I sighed, leaning back further in my chair, the feeling of frustration growing inside me once again. “Well," I said after a long beat, trying to push the discomfort aside, “you're still mine, pet. That hasn't changed."

He didn't respond for some time, and when he did, his reply angered me. "Cerys," he said slowly, "let me go. Take the collar off, and I won't seek revenge. I will leave, do my work, and we will never see each other again."

My lips curled upward on reflex, and I couldn't help the muscles in my jaw from baring my teeth. "Excuse me?" I growled slowly, the earlier discomfort forgotten. "Leave? Revenge? You think you've got a choice in this? Y-You think you can just leave me?"

"W-Why am I even here?" He stammered, sounding genuinely confused. "What's the point in all of this? Why me?"

"Because—"

I paused.

"Because I want you to be!" I snapped. "Because I can have you here, because I'm the one in control, and you aren't!" My grip on the table was iron. "I thought you learned your lesson, or do you actually want to go without food? Do you like starving!?"

I didn't know why we were arguing, why I was letting him respond to me and not simply silencing his voice as I should. Unruly females were put in their place, not allowed to backtalk like he was. It wasn't even the fun backtalk we normally shared.

"N-No, but, Cerys, I have a job to do. Portals are opening up across the country, and I have to close them, or at least try! I can't just sit here and let them run rampant!"

My anger reached a boiling point, and in one smooth gesture, I slapped him across the face with my paw, throwing myself completely off balance, the force knocking me out of my chair. I gasped, shame, anger, and pain clouding me. I rolled pathetically on the floor, snarling and snapping until a guard helped me to my paws. 

I stared at my pet, at the red on his cheek and the look of... pity on his flat snout. I expected him to say something, but he didn't; he just stared, half pitying, half irritated. "Don't you dare look at me like that..." I hissed.

He shook his head, eyes flickering to my prosthetic and then to the horrid scars marring my body. Slowly the look of defiance faded, along with empathy, leaving only a soft kind of tiredness.

"And what's with this look?" I snapped heatedly. "Are you going to continue to be sulky, or have you finally realised your proper place?" My words trembled with humiliation.

He blinked and glanced out of the window before returning his focus to me, a strange look in his eyes. "It's not a moonstone," he at last said, voice clipping. "It's polished lapis, speckled with clear quartz. Pretty, but without magic—you were scammed."

After collecting my scattered thoughts and taking my earlier seat, I then took the gem out and placed it on the table. He hesitated, eyes flicking nervously toward me before moving closer. His fingers, shaky and uncertain, hovered over the stone before he turned it over. "Pretty," he said, voice faltering. “But moonstone is more grey, dull almost. This is lapis."

I frowned and looked to the guard who had been brave enough to lay a claw on me. "Bring me the vendor," I snarled, turning back to my pet. "And you have experience with stones?"

"Certain stones."

For a beat neither of us said anything.

"...why did you tell me?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Why not? I like gems."

I hummed, feeling... strangely curious. "What else do you like?"

The human fiddled with the lapis, tracing the mineral lines, his touch almost reverent. "Plants, I suppose... Natural life. So much is artificial in the cities." He traced one line slowly, drawing my focus. "Look at this," he said. "Even stones are born, in a sense, and you can see how it formed if you know where to look."

"Do you want to keep that?" I asked without thinking. "You can have it if you want."

He nodded.

"And a plant?" A master had to know when to strike with the talon and when to groom with the paw. "If you wish, you could have some small plant to care for." I chewed my lip and curled my talons. "As I said, you can have a good life here, pet. Pleasure and warmth. Forever. Why would you ever go back to your previous life? Hardships and misery? Struggling?" I let the offer hang.

He tapped the stone, his mask of indifference faltering, flashing a look of worry before the tiredness returned. Submission at last, I realised, just barely containing my joy. Silent acceptance was far better than the raw upset he'd shown moments prior.

"I-I suppose..." He whispered, just as my guards dragged a squealing dragoness through the door to the eatery—the same lindwurm who'd attempted to scam me.

"Your highness," said a guard. "Here is the dragon you wished to see."

I smiled broadly, allowing the regal training to take over. "Ah, merchant!" I said cheerfully, purposefully relaxing my posture and leaning my head to the side. "You've got some explaining to do."

I held out my flesh-and-blood paw and only had to wait a moment longer than I'd have liked for the human to pass me the gem. "What's this?" I enquired, holding it up and letting it catch the faint light.

The elderly lindwurm swallowed, claws tapping together anxiously. "A moonstone, princess. M-My nephew found it just yesterday. It's almost completely pure."

"Teran?" I said, tilting the lapis back and forth, trying my best to appear as dismissive as possible of her pleading. "What am I holding?"

His hesitation nearly ruined my image, but eventually he said, "Lapis lazuli, speckled with clear quartz growths. A unique stone, but nothing magical..." His resignation caught my attention, but I paid it no heed.

The merchant looked at my pet in shock. "N-No! It's a moonstone, magical. I can guarantee—" I held up my prosthetic, but managed to keep my balance atop the seat.

"Please don't question my pet, merchant," I said slowly. "He is a magus, and you are a mere sales-ness. I trust his word far more than I do yours. Now..." I leaned forward slightly. "How are you going to make this right...?"

Immediately she took out a satchel of quartz coins, quickly thrusting it in my direction. The guards caught her paws, but I allowed it. "Of course you should give me my treasure back. But what about my time wasted?"

She began to panic, slit eyes contracting tightly and tail swishing madly. She wouldn't be harmed, of course; there was no need for pain, but there would indeed be... something. "Cerys," whispered my pet. "Why not take the rest of her stock?" He suggested, causing my eyes to widen. "That way she isn't able to scam anyone else. And... you get the stones."

I grinned, making a note to reward him for his cleverness.

"Would you like the pretty stones, human?" I purred, leaning to him but not lowering my voice, ensuring the dragoness could hear me. Teran flinched at the closeness but said nothing on the matter. "Regardless. Merchant, to ensure that you don't harm anyone else with your deceitful ways, my guards will seize the rest of your... moonstones, which will then be gifted to my pet for his clever thinking. Is this understood?"

"Your highness, they—"

"Good!" I snapped my jaw shut, delighted by the events. "Guards, grab the stones. Pet, finish your broth; we've got things to do!" All of the victories were mounting, sparking a heat in me. Idly, I wondered if I'd be able to convince my human to take things further with our indulgences to top off the day. Perhaps not mating, not yet, but perhaps he'd be less dull with his tongue...

We left soon after, and for once, I didn't have to drag him with my tail-tip for him to follow. I was buzzing the entire trip back and even got him a small plant to care for in my room. It felt strangely intimate, and I wouldn't deny the slight flush when he smiled as he thanked me.

Things were going perfectly for once in my life.

He kept the original lapis gem as we walked down the halls of the palace, turning it over and looking at the markings. "You truly are fascinated by stones, aren't you?" I joked, feeling light. "It turned out to be a good thing that the merchant attempted to scam me, wasn't it? If not, you wouldn't have it in your paws. True moonstones are magical, are they not?"

"Powerful," he said slowly. "They generate mana. They can also be fairly dangerous, as they disturb runes and glyphs." He turned it over again, tracing the mineral lines. "Why did you want one, princess?"

"A pretty bauble for my pretty pet," I cooed cheerfully. "Not that I'd let you touch it, of course. As you say, they have strong magic."

"Yes, they do..."

As customary, I locked the door and had the guards wait outside. Teran took his usual seat atop his pillow and was busying himself looking over his new plant and collection of blue stones. It was a strange plant—some kind of fast-growing weed you could prune and shape, but he was not to be trusted with sharp objects, even with him behaving as pleasantly as he was and even with guards at constant attention.

Despite the buzz in me and the heat coursing through my body, I paced myself, distantly acknowledging that dinner was to be served soon and that some intrusion would likely happen. We had barely thirty minutes, which meant...

I hummed.

A lot can happen in thirty minutes, I thought, chewing my lower lip. But what? And can I convince him in such a time...? He... Hmm, he has been very good.

My claws tapped idly against my bed. No, not yet. Patience, yes, that's the key. Doesn't food taste that much better when you've starved yourself? Maybe I could manage a mate? Ooh, yes, we could finally... no, no... easy... not yet, not quite.

I hummed again, letting my claws trace idle patterns across the fabric of my bed. The room was quiet except for the faint rustle of Teran's movements. I watched him from the corner of my eye, his focus entirely on his precious plant and stones. It amused me to see him so absorbed, like a child lost in his toys.

Yet there was something... off about him. Subtle, but there. His shoulders were tense, his movements more deliberate than usual. He wasn't simply fidgeting—he was planning.

My tail flicked against the bedpost as I leaned back, resting my head on the cushions. “You're quiet, pet," I said, letting my voice carry that teasing lilt I knew would needle him. “Thinking of something clever, are we?"

He froze for the briefest moment, his fingers pausing over one of the stones. But then he resumed, calm as ever, as though I hadn't noticed.

“Just admiring the stones," he replied evenly, his tone light. Too light.

I narrowed my eyes, studying him more closely. His hands moved slowly now, carefully, as he picked up one of the gems—a smooth, deep blue stone—and held it up to the light. The faint glow from the crystals embedded in the walls caught its surface, making it shimmer.

“Lapis, wasn't it?" I asked, tilting my head as I watched him.

He didn't flinch, but I saw the subtle shift in his expression—the faint tightening of his jaw, the way his lips pressed together into a faint smile.

“Moonstone," he said finally, his voice quiet but steady. He turned the gem in his fingers, his gaze locked on it as though he were examining every detail. “Pure moonstone."

I sat up sharply, my scales prickling. “Excuse me?"

He didn't look at me, his focus still on the gem. “You heard me," he said softly. “This isn't lapis. It's moonstone. The real thing. You must have no magical knowledge not to recognise it."

The words sent a spark of anger through me, and I slithered to the floor, my claws flexing against the floor. “You lied to me," I hissed, my voice low, dangerous. “You've been lying to me this entire time."

He finally looked up at me then, and I saw something in his eyes—something quiet but sharp. Confidence.

“I had to," he said simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

The audacity of it made my blood boil. “Had to?" I snapped, stepping closer to him, my tail lashing against the floor. “You don't have to do anything, pet. You do what I allow you to do."

But he didn't flinch. He didn't look afraid. Instead, he smiled faintly—a small, maddening smile that sent a chill down my spine.

“Watch," he said, his voice calm. Too calm.

Before I could react, he reached for a second stone, holding it alongside the first. The runes on his collar began to glow faintly, the air around us humming with a sudden surge of energy. My eyes widened as I felt it—the sharp, electric pulse of magic radiating from the stones, growing stronger with every second.

“Teran," I growled, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and something darker—something dangerously close to fear. The book had called him powerful. A threat. “What are you doing?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he brought the stones closer to his collar, his movements deliberate, controlled. The runes flared brighter, the glow illuminating his face in an eerie light.

And then, with a sharp motion, he slammed the stones against the metal.

There was a loud crack, a burst of light so bright it momentarily blinded me. I staggered back, my claws scraping against the floor as I tried to regain my balance. The hum of magic surged, sharp and wild, filling the room with a crackling energy that made my scales tingle.

But then… nothing.

As the light faded, I blinked rapidly, my vision clearing just in time to see him sitting there, his hands still gripping the stones. The collar was intact, the runes glowing faintly but undisturbed. The energy in the room began to dissipate, leaving only silence in its wake.

He was frozen, his eyes wide with disbelief, his fingers trembling as they gripped the stones. For the first time since I had taken him, I saw his mask at last crack. The confidence in his expression faltered, replaced by something I had never expected to see.

Panic.

“It didn't work," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. He looked down at the collar, his breathing quickening as the reality of his failure sank in. “Why didn't it work?"

The sight of him—so vulnerable, so defeated—sent a surge of satisfaction through me, but it was quickly swallowed by the white-hot anger that burned in my chest.

“You betrayed me," I snarled, my voice trembling with fury. I stepped toward him, my claws scraping against the smooth stone, my tail lashing violently. “You lied to me. You tried to break free."

He didn't respond, his gaze locked on to the fractured stones still in his grasp, hands quickly beginning to tremble.

I grabbed him by the front of his shirt, yanking him to his feet with a snarl. “Do you have any idea what you've just done?" I hissed, my breath hot against his face. “Do you know what I should do to you for this?"

His eyes met mine then, wide and uncertain, and for the first time, I saw real fear in his expression. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out; his voice caught in his throat.

“I trusted you," I said, my voice trembling with rage. “I was going to give you everything, and this is how you repay me?"

I tightened my grip on his shirt, shaking him slightly, my claws digging into the fabric. The anger coursing through me was nearly unbearable, but beneath it, there was something else—something I didn't want to acknowledge. A flicker of hurt.

“You're mine," I growled, my voice low, dangerous. “And I will never let you go. Do you understand me?"

He nodded slowly, his breathing uneven, his eyes darting to the collar as though he were still trying to make sense of what had gone wrong. “It... you..." It had been an act, I realised sourly; the submission, the friendliness, all false. "I..." And then he dropped the stones, fingers trembling. His eyes at last rose from the flooring and met mine, allowing me a glimpse into his panic, his fear. “Cerys, you have to let me go."

I stared down at him, the sharpness of his plea cutting through the haze of my anger. His words, trembling and raw, dared to scrape at something deeper—something I refused to name. My claws flexed against his shirt, the fabric straining as I pulled him closer, forcing him to meet my gaze.

“Let you go?" I repeated, my voice cold, mocking. “After you've proven you can't be trusted? After you've lied to me, betrayed me?" My snout was so close to his that I could feel the heat of his breath, quick and uneven. “You don't get to ask for freedom, pet. Not after this."

His chest rose and fell rapidly, his body trembling under my grip, but his eyes stayed locked on mine. That flicker of defiance I'd come to know so well was gone, replaced by something quieter, more dangerous. Desperation.

“I'm not..." His voice faltered, and he swallowed hard before continuing. “I'm not what you think I am. You don't understand what I have to do. What's at stake."

I snorted, baring my teeth in a grim smile. “Oh, I understand perfectly," I hissed. “You'll say anything, won't you? Any excuse to wriggle out of the mess you've made." My tail lashed against the floor, the sound echoing in the stillness of the room. “But it won't work."

His gaze darted to the stones on the ground, the faint glow of the wall mounted crystals reflecting in his eyes. I could see the gears turning in his head, the frantic search for some other way out, some last-ditch effort to break free. A low, mirthless chuckle escaped me as I watched him, the sound sharp and mocking. The vulnerability was a testament to the strength I wielded. Were I not so furious with him, I'd have more than enjoyed the sigh, but as it was…

“I don't care about your excuses," I continued, my voice low and biting. “You are mine, Teran. Your purpose is not to question or explain. Your purpose is to obey. Do you understand me?"

He didn't respond right away, his silence stretching between us like a taut wire. His fingers twitched at his sides, as if he were considering something—another escape attempt, perhaps, or an act of defiance. My grip tightened on his shirt, and I leaned in closer, letting my breath ghost across his cheek.

“Answer me," I growled.

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought he might refuse. But then his shoulders sagged, and the tension in his body seemed to drain away. “Yes," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, what?"

“Yes… I understand."

The words sent a surge of satisfaction through me, but it was fleeting, dulled by the memory of his earlier betrayal. I released him with a shove, letting him stumble back onto the floor. My tail coiled restlessly behind me as I turned away, the heat in my chest still simmering as I tried to steady my breathing.

For a moment, there was only silence, broken only by the faint hum of the runes on his collar. I could feel his eyes on me, watching, waiting. It was infuriating, the way he looked at me—not with fear, not with submission, but with something closer to resignation. As if he'd already decided this was the end, that there was nothing left to fight for.

I whirled back around, baring my fangs. “Get up," I snapped.

He didn't move right away, his gaze still fixed on the floor. My claws scraped against the stone as I stepped closer, my shadow falling over him like a dark tide. “I said, get up."

Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself to his knees. His movements were sluggish, as if the weight of his failure had sapped the strength from his limbs. He didn't look at me as he rose, his focus lingering on the glowing stones scattered around him. The sight of them seemed to ignite something in his expression—a flicker of hope, quickly snuffed out by the unyielding collar around his neck.

“You'll stay there until you're told otherwise," I said coldly, my voice echoing in the chamber. “You've done enough damage for one day."

He froze, his shoulders tensing as my words hung heavy in the air. For a moment, I thought he might argue, might lash out with some last shred of defiance. But then he lowered his head, his posture slumping as he sank back to the floor.

It should have pleased me. His submission, his silence—it was what I'd been demanding from him since the moment I'd claimed him. But instead, I felt a strange, hollow ache settle in my chest, gnawing at the edges of my triumph.

I turned away again, pacing the length of the chamber as my claws tapped rhythmically against the stone. My mind raced, caught between the satisfaction of his defeat and the gnawing frustration of his refusal to truly yield. He was mine—he had always been mine—but his silence felt like a victory he hadn't earned.

“You'll stay here tonight," I said finally, my voice tight. “No food. No comforts. Consider it penance for your betrayal."

I didn't look at him as I spoke; I didn't want to see the flicker of resentment I knew would cross his face. Instead, I focused on the soft glow of the crystals embedded in the walls, their light casting long shadows across the room.

“Cerys." His voice, quiet and steady, cut through the stillness like a blade. I froze, my tail flicking against the floor as I turned to face him. He was sitting upright now, his gaze meeting mine with an intensity that made my chest tighten.

“What?" I snapped, my claws flexing against the stone.

He hesitated, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “Why don't you just kill me?" he asked, his voice trembling with something I couldn't quite place. “If I'm such a failure, if I'm so useless to you, why not just end it?"

The question hit harder than I expected, the weight of it sinking deep into my chest. For a moment, I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. My claws scraped against the floor as I stepped closer, my snout hovering just above his face.

“You think death is an escape?" I growled, my voice trembling with suppressed fury. “You think I would let you go so easily? No, Teran. Death is too kind for you. You will live. You will serve me. And you will learn what it means to be mine."

The silence was unbearable, stretching taut between us like a cord ready to snap. His words echoed in my mind, sharp and unrelenting. My claws flexed, digging into the stone floor as I wrestled with the storm of emotions roiling inside me.

“Then kill me."

I hated the way he said it, so calm, so certain. As though he had resigned himself to an ending I wasn't willing to give him.

“No." The word slipped out, harsh and final, my voice trembling with the weight of it. “You don't get to ask for death. You don't deserve that release."

He blinked, his expression unreadable, but I caught the faintest flicker of something in his eyes. Relief? Resentment? I didn't care. I wouldn't give him what he wanted.

With a sharp motion, I grabbed the chain attached to his collar, yanking him forward with enough force to pull him to his feet. He stumbled, his knees buckling slightly, but I didn't give him a chance to recover.

“You want to die?" I hissed, dragging him toward the wall at the far end of the chamber. “Too bad, pet. You'll live because I command it. You'll live and learn exactly what it means to belong to me."

His silence infuriated me. Not because I wanted him to beg or plead—no, I had no need for that—but because it felt like a victory for him. A quiet defiance that mocked my authority.

When we reached the wall, I slammed the chain into place, securing it to the heavy iron ring embedded in the stone. The runes on his collar flared faintly, a reminder of the magic that kept him bound to me. He didn't resist, didn't fight. He simply stood there, his head bowed, his dark eyes staring at the ground.

I stepped back, my claws itching to strike, to shatter that maddening stillness. But instead, I forced myself to breathe, to steady the heat in my chest that threatened to consume me.

“You'll stay here," I said, my voice cold and even. “Nothing but time to reflect on your failures."

His gaze lifted then, slow and deliberate, and the weight of it made my scales itch. “You're afraid," he said quietly, his tone matter-of-fact, as though he'd reached a realisation. “That's why you won't let me die. Because if I'm gone, you'll lose your game."

The words hit harder than I expected, the truth in them cutting deep. I bared my fangs, a low growl rumbling in my throat. “Don't flatter yourself, Teran. You're nothing but a pet. Replaceable. Forgettable."

“Then let me go," he countered, his voice calm but unyielding. “If I'm nothing, why keep me here?"

My tail lashed against the floor, the sound echoing in the chamber like a whip crack. “You don't dictate terms to me," I snapped. “You live because I allow it. You exist because I permit it."

He didn't respond, his silence once again cutting through my words like a blade. I hated how it made me feel—off-balance, exposed. I turned away sharply, my claws scraping against the stone as I stalked toward the door.

“I'm going to dinner," I said curtly, my voice clipped. “And you'll stay here, like the disobedient pet you are. When I return, maybe I'll decide if you're worth feeding."

I glanced back at him one last time, my gaze lingering on his still form. His arms hung loosely at his sides, his shoulders slumped, but his eyes... they burned with that same quiet intensity, like embers waiting for a spark.

It unnerved me.

With a flick of my tail, I stepped through the door, slamming it shut behind me. The heavy thud echoed through the stone halls as I signalled to the guards outside. “He doesn't leave that wall," I growled, my tone leaving no room for argument. “And make sure there's nothing within reach for him to harm himself with. I want him alive when I return."

“Yes, Your Highness," one of them said, his voice low and deferential.

"And bag up those stones..."

I didn't wait for further acknowledgement, my claws clicking against the stone as I made my way to the dining hall. The warmth of the crystals lining the corridors did little to ease the cold knot in my chest. His words, his self-actualised defeat, clung to me like a stubborn itch, refusing to be ignored.

When I entered the hall, the familiar scent of roasted meat and spiced wine filled the air. Nobles milled about, their voices a low hum of chatter as servants flitted between them with trays of food and drink. I took my seat at the head of the table, my tail coiling tightly around my chair as I tried to focus on the meal before me.

But I couldn't. Every bite tasted hollow, every sip of wine sour on my tongue.

A servant approached, placing a plate of roasted wyvern and steamed vegetables before me. I barely acknowledged it, my claws tapping against the edge of the table as my thoughts churned.

I didn't want him dead. That much was clear. But why? Was it really about control? About proving that I could bend him to my will? Or was it something else? Something deeper, more dangerous?

“Your Highness?" a voice interrupted, pulling me from my thoughts.

I glanced up sharply, my gaze narrowing on the servant who had spoken. He flinched under my scrutiny, bowing his head quickly. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I didn't mean to disturb you."

“Then don't," I snapped, my tail lashing in irritation.

He scurried away, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more. I stared down at the untouched plate before me, the weight in my chest growing heavier with each passing moment.

I had won. He was mine, bound and helpless... So why did it feel like I was losing?

The sound of heavy claws against stone pulled me from my thoughts. I didn't need to look up to know who it was; the deliberate cadence of his steps was unmistakable. My father.

“Cerys," his voice rumbled, deep and commanding, cutting through the hum of the dining hall like a blade. He approached the head of the table, his towering presence casting a shadow over me. “We need to talk."

I straightened instinctively, my tail curling tighter around the base of my seat. “I wasn't expecting you, Father," I said, keeping my voice even. “What is it?"

He didn't answer immediately, waving off a servant offering him drink before lowering himself into the chair beside me. His sharp pink eyes locked onto mine, unyielding. “This concerns the kingdom," he said plainly, his tone brooking no argument. “And you."

I bristled. The way he said it already set my scales on edge. “Go on," I said carefully.

“You will be meeting Prince Aedran of the Southern Highlands," he said, his voice as measured as a gavel striking a verdict. “In one month's time."

The words hit me like a physical blow, my tail freezing mid-flick. “Prince Aedran?" I repeated, my voice tight. “Why?"

He leaned forward slightly, his claws tapping against the table in an infuriatingly calm rhythm. “Because it has been decided," he said, his tone leaving no room for interpretation. “The Southern Highlands control vital trade routes and resources that our kingdom cannot afford to lose. A pairing with their ruling family will secure them."

Pairing. My stomach churned, the nausea rising like bile. “And I'm the price for these trade routes?" I asked, unable to keep the venom from my voice.

“You are the best option," he said sharply, his gaze narrowing. “Your sister is too weak, too frail. She would not produce strong eggs, and they would never accept her. You, however, are suitable."

Suitable. The word stung, cold and clinical. I gritted my teeth, my claws digging into the polished wood of the table. “So, I am to be bartered away like a commodity," I said bitterly.

“You are to fulfil your duty," he corrected, his voice firm. “This isn't about you, Cerys. It's about the kingdom."

The room felt smaller, the weight of his words pressing down on me like a suffocating tide. I stared at him, trying to keep my expression neutral even as the anger boiled beneath my scales. “And what does this prince know of me?" I asked, my voice low. “Has he been told he's to be saddled with a crippled, runt princess?"

“He's been told enough," my father said, his tone even. “He knows you are a princess of the Bloodline and that you will fulfil your role. That's all he needs to know."

“What if I say no?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, defiance edging into my voice.

He gave a low, humourless chuckle. “You won't," he said simply. “You don't have that choice, Cerys. This has already been decided. You will meet him, you will mate, and you will secure the future of this kingdom."

The finality in his tone left no room for argument. I felt my claws twitch against the table, the instinct to fight back warring with the cold reality of my position. There was no escape from this—not when my worth had already been weighed and measured.

“When?" I forced the word out, keeping my voice steady despite the heat clawing at my chest.

“In one month," he said. “His delegation will arrive, and you will host him here. You will behave as is expected of a princess."

Expected. My lips curled slightly, the word grating against me like sandpaper. “And if I don't?" I asked, the question more for myself than him.

“Then you will disgrace this family," he said, his tone clipped. “You will weaken this kingdom, and you will pay the price for your selfishness."

Selfishness. That's what it always came back to, wasn't it? My desires, my autonomy—they didn't matter. Not in a world where females were valued only for their ability to breed strong offspring, for the alliances they could secure.

I felt sick.

“You're dismissed," he said, rising to his feet with the ease of someone who knew his authority was absolute. “I suggest you use the next month to prepare yourself. This is not a matter of choice, Cerys. It is a matter of duty."

He didn't wait for a response, his tail swaying with maddening confidence as he left the hall. The weight of his presence lingered, heavy and suffocating. I stared down at my plate, my appetite gone entirely.

Duty. The word echoed in my mind, bitter and cold. It wasn't just the idea of mating with Aedran that made my scales crawl—it was the loss of control, the knowledge that my life wasn't my own. That my worth was defined by what I could give to others.

My father's decision wasn't a suggestion—it was a command. The weight of it pressed down on me, suffocating in its inevitability. I wasn't family to him. I was a tool. A vessel to carry his plans forward. To bear offspring that would strengthen the bloodline, to cement alliances with other clans. My wants, my voice—they didn't matter.

It burned in me, that loss of choice. That sense of being cornered, trapped. Aedran wasn't just a name; he was a sentence. And the thought of bending to his will, of bearing his mark, made my stomach churn.

My tail lashed against the floor as the thought festered, sharp and bitter. Yet, as I turned toward my chambers, a flicker of something unbidden crept into my thoughts—a glimpse of Teran, chained and silent. His defiance was maddening, but so was his position.

I shook the thought away, my scales bristling. He's not like me. My father's command was duty; Teran's place beneath me was earned, claimed. He was mine by right, and I wouldn't let his weakness taint my strength.

The heavy door to my chambers groaned shut behind me, the sound echoing through the oppressive quiet. My claws flexed against the cool stone as I leaned back against it, exhaling sharply. The walk from the hall had done little to temper the heat roiling beneath my scales, the weight of my father's words still pressing on me like a vice.

I crossed the room in a few swift strides, grabbing a small loaf of bread and a slab of cured meat from the platter left on the table. Without thinking, I tossed them toward the corner where Teran sat, his back against the wall. The food landed with a dull thud near his feet, but he didn't react immediately.

“Eat," I said curtly, my voice harsher than I intended.

For a moment, he didn't move. Then, slowly, he opened his eyes, his gaze flickering to the food before him. He reached for it with deliberate care, his movements unhurried, as if weighing the act itself. His fingers tore off a small piece of bread, and he began to eat in silence, his eyes closing once more as he chewed.

I watched him, my tail curling and uncurling against the floor in restless agitation. The sight of him, so calm, so composed despite everything, stoked the embers of my frustration. How could he be so indifferent? So maddeningly unshaken? I wanted to demand answers, to force some kind of reaction out of him, but the words caught in my throat.

Instead, I sat down on the edge of the bed, my claws drumming against the wood frame as I tried to find something—anything—to say. The silence between us was unbearable, stretching taut and heavy, filled with all the things I couldn't voice.

“You're quiet tonight," I said finally, my voice softer, though it lacked its usual teasing edge. “Not even a single remark about my cruelty?"

He didn't answer. His focus remained on the food, his chewing slow and deliberate. The way he sat—his back straight, his breathing steady—made it seem like he was meditating more than eating.

“Still sulking about your little escape attempt?" I pressed, leaning forward slightly. “I'd have thought you'd have more to say for yourself."

Nothing. Not even a flicker of acknowledgement.

The tension in my chest grew, a knot of irritation and something I didn't want to name. I hated this silence. Hated the way it felt like I was the one seeking his attention, like I was the one losing control.

“You can at least look at me when I'm speaking to you," I said, my voice sharpening again. “Or is that too much to ask?"

Finally, he lifted his gaze, meeting mine with an unreadable expression. But he didn't speak. He didn't need to. The quiet defiance in his dark eyes said enough, cutting through me more sharply than any retort.

I looked away first, my tail lashing against the bedpost. “You're insufferable," I muttered, more to myself than him. “Do you think this silence gives you power? That refusing to speak is some kind of victory?"

Again, nothing. He simply tore another piece of bread, chewing it slowly before setting the rest aside. His posture didn't change, his breathing still infuriatingly even, as though my presence barely registered.

The knot tightened. I didn't even want to play the game anymore; I didn't want to indulge in the acts that usually soothed my temper. The weight of the day—my father's decree, the looming spectre of Aedran, the suffocating loss of control—left me drained. For the first time, I didn't feel like toying with him. I didn't feel like punishing him or coaxing submission from him.

I just felt... tired.

“What are you thinking?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it.

He didn't answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost distant. “Does it matter?"

The simplicity of the question caught me off guard, leaving me without a response. Did it matter? Did anything he thought or felt matter to me beyond how I could use it to my advantage?

“Yes," I said, though the word felt hollow even as I spoke it. “It matters."

He let out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking his head slightly as he leaned back against the wall. “No, it doesn't," he said quietly. “Nothing does."

I opened my mouth to argue, to snap back with something cutting, but the words wouldn't come. He was wrong—he had to be wrong—but for some reason, I couldn't say it.

The silence stretched on again, heavier now, almost suffocating. I found myself studying him, the way his shoulders slumped slightly, the dark circles under his eyes. He looked tired. Not just physically, but in a way that ran deeper, that spoke of something fraying inside him.

I hated that I noticed. Hated that it made something flicker in my chest—a pang of... what? Pity? Empathy?

I shook the thought away, straightening on the bed. “You'll stay in this room until you learn to behave," I said firmly, trying to regain some sense of control. “And don't think for a second that silence will earn you leniency."

He didn't respond, his eyes closing again as if to block me out entirely. I stared at him, frustration and unease warring within me. I wanted to yell, to demand his attention, to force him to care about my words, my presence. But he sat there, unmoving, unyielding, a wall I couldn't breach.

With a sharp exhale, I turned away, my tail lashing once more against the floor. “You're a fool," I muttered, though I wasn't sure if he could even hear me. “A stubborn, useless fool."

The only sound was his breathing, steady and infuriatingly calm.

The night stretched long, the silence of my chambers broken only by the occasional rustle of the blankets or the faint crackle of the ever-burning hearth. I lay coiled in my bed, restless, my tail flicking sporadically against the sheets. Teran hadn't moved since finishing his meal, his back still pressed against the cold stone wall. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady, but the tension in his body betrayed him. He wasn't truly asleep. Not yet.

I couldn't stop watching him, the flicker of firelight casting shadows across his sharp features. Even now, in the quiet of the night, he seemed defiant—unbent despite everything. That defiance had always stoked something in me, a fire I both resented and revelled in. But tonight, it felt different. Hollow.

I turned onto my side, my prosthetic arm resting awkwardly against the bedframe, and shut my eyes tightly. Sleep didn't come easily, my thoughts circling endlessly around my father's decree, the weight of duty pressing down like a stone. The image of Aedran loomed in my mind—a shadowy figure I couldn't quite picture but already despised. The idea of him, of what he represented, made my stomach twist.

Then something pulled my thoughts away.

A flicker.

Not in the room, but in my mind—a faint, fragmented impression, like a dream half-remembered. The collar. The connection it formed between us pulsed faintly, carrying with it something foreign.

It came again, stronger: flashes of jagged purple flames, roaring through darkness, consuming the air itself. A figure moved through the blaze—tall, thin, crooked, cloaked in shadow. No face. Only an impression of overwhelming strength.

The dream shifted, blurred, then sharpened. Teran wasn't alone. He and others—figures equally unclear—moved in formation, their focus entirely on the target before them. Their movements were calculated, coordinated, like predators circling prey. Numbers surfaced in the haze, stark and clear. Eight. Then ten. Eight-ten. They meant something, though I couldn't grasp what.

I hissed softly, curling tighter against the bed. The collar wasn't meant to convey thoughts or dreams—it was a tool of control, not connection. But there was no denying what I felt. They were his dreams, bleeding through the faint tether we shared. Whispers of a life he had lived before I took him.

Another flicker. This time, there was sound. His voice, not spoken but felt, edged with urgency. A command, cut off by a deafening roar. The purple flames surged higher, the faceless figure turning toward them with an almost taunting ease. The weight of the dream pressed against me, the tension in it palpable. There was no escape from that fire, no breaking through the wall of sheer power emanating from the target.

Then, a noise—a faint whimper.

It was real, not part of the dream. I sat up sharply, my claws digging into the sheets. The sound came from Teran, his face twitching faintly in his sleep. His breathing was uneven, shallow, and quick. He wasn't calm now, not in the slightest.

“Pet," I said, my voice cutting through the stillness. He didn't stir, his head tilting slightly to the side as if caught in the battle I had glimpsed. “Pet, wake up."

Still nothing. His fingers twitched against his knees, and his lips parted slightly, another faint whimper escaping. It grated against me. Not because it was weakness, but because it was so… human. Raw and unguarded in a way that unsettled me.

“Teran!" I snapped, louder this time, my voice sharp with irritation.

His eyes flew open, wide and unfocused, and for a moment, he looked disoriented, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The connection between us dulled, the flickers of his nightmare fading into nothingness as reality took hold.

“What were you dreaming about?" I demanded, my voice low and edged with something I refused to name.

He blinked slowly, his gaze distant but guarded. “Nothing," he muttered, his voice hoarse.

“Liar," I hissed, my tail flicking against the surface of my bed, disturbing the fine sheets. “It wasn't nothing. I saw it. The purple flames, the figure. The numbers, eight and ten. What do they mean?"

His head jerked slightly at the mention of the numbers, his expression tightening before he masked it again. “Just a dream," he said quietly, looking away.

I wasn't buying it. “Dreams don't make you whimper like a hatchling," I growled, leaning forward. “What did I see, Teran? Tell me."

“It's nothing you need to worry about," he snapped, his voice sharper now. But there was a tremor in it, faint but undeniable. "You wouldn't understand caring about others..."

I bared my teeth, my claws tapping rhythmically against the bedframe. “Don't be smart with me," I said, my tone dangerous. “Do you think I'll simply let this go?"

He stayed silent, his gaze fixed on the floor.

The silence stretched, taut and heavy, and I felt my frustration rise. For all his defiance, there was something different about him now—something fragile.

With a sharp exhale, I rose from the bed and crossed the room to the storage chest near the wall. I pulled out another blanket, thick and lined with fur, and tossed it toward him. It landed across his lap, and he looked at it, then at me, his expression unreadable.

“Here," I said curtly. “You're useless to me if you freeze to death."

For a moment, he didn't move. Then, slowly, he unfolded the blanket and draped it over himself, his movements careful, almost hesitant. He didn't thank me, and I hadn't expected him to.

I watched him settle back against the wall, his eyes closing once more. His breathing evened out, but I could still see the tension in his shoulders, the faint furrow of his brow. Whatever haunted him wasn't gone—it lingered, just beneath the surface.

I hated how it made me feel. Hated the flicker of unease twisting in my chest, the faint echo of his nightmare still lingering in my mind. Eight-ten. Purple flames. The faceless figure.

“Rest," I said after a long moment, my voice quieter now. “And keep your dreams to yourself."

He didn't respond, his silence a quiet reminder of the distance between us.

I returned to my bed, lying down but unable to close my eyes. The flickers of his dreams played over and over in my mind, their meaning slipping through my claws like water. The figure, the flames, the numbers—they were important to him. But why?

And why did it all feel so familiar?